Survivor Part 3 (5/8)

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***

Duncan was still dazed. But when he finally understood
what Pierson was telling him, he couldn't have been
more grateful and gracious. He didn't seem to harbor
any resentment about my past.

First Pierson, and then I, expressed cautious sympathy
about Connor. That was a delicate topic, and neither of
us said much. Duncan's pain was so obvious that I had
to look away.

After a few minutes, I told him how Carlos had also
saved his life--at the cost of his own.

He closed his eyes, shuddered, and said softly, "I'll never
forget him."

Then he tried to scold Pierson for not having gone back
to England a few days before, when he'd urged him to.
But between his exhaustion and his relief that the older
Immortal was okay, he didn't manage to sound very
angry.

I noticed he was careful not to call this close friend by
*name* till I did. Drained as I felt, that was good for a
chuckle.

So the Brit used different aliases, real name on a need-
to-know basis?

Been there, done that.

But I was impressed by Duncan's having the presence
of mind, even in these circumstances, to protect that
kind of secret.

He expressed concern about Joe Dawson, and asked
whether he too was still in New York.

"Yep," Pierson said easily. "Haven't seen him in a day or
so. But he was probably watching your fight, even if it
can't go in the official Chronicle."

I remembered my speculation that it had been Dawson
who'd tried to break into my penthouse.

And then, the gunfire I'd heard on a lower floor...

I'd forgotten about that. Who'd been shooting? God, I
should have checked it out. What if Dawson was lying
back there, wounded?

Just as I was about to say something, Pierson's cell
phone rang.

He flipped it open. "Pierson here--Joe! We were just
talking about you... Yes, MacLeod's all right. We're
together, in the car, on our way back to the hotel. See
you there."

He put the phone away. "All accounted for. Don't know
how Joe's getting around--combination of cabs and
walking, I guess. But he's headed for the hotel."

This was a man I wanted to meet.

***

By the time we reached the Phoenix, Duncan was able
to walk with support from both of us. And he did indeed
have his room key. He looked terrible, but we made it
through the lobby without being challenged. When we
passed a knot of staring onlookers, Pierson muttered
something about a "drunken brawl." No one was close
enough to realize there was no smell of liquor.

Once we'd gotten Duncan to his room, Pierson indicated
I should make myself comfortable. Have a beer, stay
out of the way.

He seemed prepared to do whatever his friend needed.
Undress him, bathe him, put him to bed and sing
lullabies, if that would help.

But Duncan gently let him know he could manage. He
peeled his torn and bloody clothes off, threw them in a
heap, and tottered into the bathroom.

We heard the shower running for a very long time.

While we sat around discussing--of all things--the beer.

Duncan eventually came back, still unsteady on his
feet. His damp hair and ill-fitting hotel robe made him
look young and vulnerable. He flopped on the sofa, took
the can of beer Pierson handed him, and stared at it as
if he didn't know what to do with it.

***

At that moment we heard a series of taps on the door.
Pierson mumbled something, and went to admit Joe
Dawson.

I knew at once that Dawson hadn't been my rival for
that ringside seat in the penthouse.

But if not MacLeod's Watcher, who in blazes--?

Dawson was also seeing Duncan for the first time since
Connoršs death. They embraced, and when the gray-
haired man turned away, there were tears in his eyes.

Pierson introduced me, and explained how I'd saved
him and MacLeod from being caught in the Kathedral.
Dawson wrung my hand till I thought it would fall off.

Duncan was staring helplessly at his beer again.

We all sat down and clustered around him. It felt like
we were lending support to the chief mourner at a
wake.

***

And it wasn't only a wake for Connor MacLeod. After a
few minutes, Duncan ran a hand through his hair and
muttered, "I still feel dirty."

Pierson said steadily, "You did what you had to do."

"Did I?" The dark eyes were haunted--as if, behind
them, the Highlander was seeing things we weren't.
"Kell wanted to *end* that fight...to walk away without
killing me.

"It wasn't an act of mercy. He was gloating over his
victory. Planned to torture me the way he had Connor.
But still, it was a fight in which no one had to die...
until *I insisted* one of us must."

I couldn't believe my ears. He felt guilty about having
killed *Jacob?*

"That man couldn't have been allowed to live,
MacLeod," Pierson said in the same calm, firm voice.

"No? He was more insane than evil."

"No! He *was* mad, that's true. But the Quickenings
he'd taken in the Sanctuary made him a greater threat
than Kronos ever was."

I remembered from the Chronicle that Kronos was a
three-thousand-year-old megalomaniac Duncan had
killed. The story had seemed to have a lot of gaps, and
I wondered if Pierson had played a part in it.

"There was no way Kell could have been stopped,"
Pierson continued, "short of killing him."

"He meant to go on killing on holy ground," I put in. "He
actually talked about 'cleansing' it by wiping out all the
Immortals who'd taken refuge there."

Dawson cringed. "That would have been a disaster.
And not just for clergy! Most Immortals wouldn't fight
if they were caught on holy ground. Out of reverence--
even if they'd learned there was no penalty."

"*You* wouldn't, MacLeod," Pierson pointed out. "If
you'd followed Kell into a convent where he planned to
murder Immortal nuns, you would have frozen, stood
there and let him do it. He had to be stopped *now*."

Duncan buried his face in his hands and moaned. At
last he looked up and said slowly, "What bothers me
most is that I...slipped into...*hating* him."

That admission seemed to stun his old friends.

But Pierson recovered quickly. "Listen to me! In spite of
the things you've been through these last few years,
the role you've had to play, you're still *human*. We
humans can't help feeling some emotions we don't want.

"What you *felt* isn't important. What matters is what
you *did*, and why you did it. You didn't kill Jacob Kell
for revenge. You killed him to protect the world."

Duncan asked again, "Did I?" His voice was hollow.

"Consider this," Pierson responded. "Suppose I had been
able to take his head before you got there. Shot him and
whacked him, with no more concern for the rules than
he'd shown in whacking others.

"Would you have hated me for robbing you of his
Quickening? Making Connor's sacrifice to strengthen
you count for nothing?"

Duncan recoiled as if he'd been struck.

But then a light dawned in his eyes. "No," he whispered.
"I'd be thankful that you were still alive. That I *hadn't*
been forced to do it."

He looked at his friend, and for the first time, I saw the
ghost of a smile.

***

A half hour later he was asleep. Still on the sofa; the
bed he'd shared with Faith held too many memories.

His Watcher was drinking the beer he hadn't touched.

Dawson emptied the can and said quietly, "I didn't want
to tell Mac this--he had enough on his mind. But he's
not the only one who killed a man tonight."

Pierson looked up from his own beer--his fourth.
"What?"

Dawson made a face. "While Mac and Kell were fighting,
Matthew Hale was planning to shoot them both and
snatch them for a new Sanctuary. He was camped out
in a building down the street--had a high-powered rifle
with a telescopic sight.

"I'm sure he'd gone renegade. But I couldn't take even a
slight risk of other Watchers' learning Mac had fought
Kell. So I didn't just stop Hale, I stopped him
*permanently*. Like they say, terminated with
extreme prejudice."

Matthew Hale.

It was *Matthew Hale* who'd been messing with my
lock?

I almost blurted something out.

But then I saw Pierson's face.

He already knew what I'd been about to tell him. And
he wasn't planning to share it with Joe.

Watcher Matthew Hale had been a pre-Immortal.


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