Doubled Edge

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Doubled Edge by Katt Solano
Disclaimers & further hoopla in part 0
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hilo, Hawaii...

“Coming!” yelled John after the doorbell rang, probably for the fifth time.
He hurriedly shook the salt-water from his hair as he ran, his bare feet
slipping and sliding on the wooden floor. As always, he checked the security
monitor to see who was at the gate. It was Tyce, a backpack slung over his
shoulder, and scratching a hairy leg. “Hey, Tyce!” John greeted through the
inter-comme.

The older boy grinned at the speaker/mic. “Hey, John. Your dad home?”

“Naw, he had to go to the campus for a while.”

“Damn, really? I just came from... ah, hell.” He ran his hands through his
short curls, looking irritated. “He was supposed to give me something
today.”

John shrugged. “He said he wouldn’t be back until three.”

“Ah, dammit.” Tyce’s shoulder’s slumped. “Do you think maybe you could look
for it for me? It’s a bunch of books on British-Hawaiian relations, make-up
stuff before the new school year starts.”

John looked back at his dad’s study. He’d been given strict instructions not
to let anyone in if neither his parents were home. It had been five years
since Kane kidnapped him and John sometimes still got nightmares. He looked
back at the computer monitor. Tyce looked like a harmless enough guy but his
dad had said how good the older boy was at martial arts.

“I’ll go look for it,” he offered, “If I find it, I’ll
hand it to you.”

“No problem, little dude. As long as I get those books.” He took out a water
bottle, drank half of the contents then swiped his forehead with his arm.
“Not used to the heat,” he said with a half- apologetic shrug.

“You car doesn’t have an A/C?”

“That stupid bomber doesn’t have anything.” Tyce made a rueful grimace. “The
damn thing broke down on me this morning. I’ve been hoofing it all over
town.”

Connor may have taught him to be paranoid but the Highlander and his wife
also taught John to be kind. Tyce did look a bit peaked. ::Mom and I both
like him,:: reflected John, ::Dad... maybe Dad’s just being Connor MacLeod
of the Clan MacLeod again.:: That decided, John pressed the button that
opened the high, barred gates. “Come on in and cool off.”

“Thanks a _lot_, man.” Grinning as innocuously as a child, he hefted his
backpack higher on his shoulder. “I’ll just refill my water bottle, if you
don’t mind and--“

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

When Tyce got to the door, John led him to the kitchen. “You can grab stuff
from the fridge if you like. Dad always has beer in the bottom drawer.”

His guest laughed. “Way too early for alcohol, little dude. Besides, I’ve
never liked beer.”

::College student that doesn’t drink,:: John thought as he headed towards
the study, satisfaction making him smile, ::See? He’s all right.::

The history books were in the middle of a waist-high pile of other history
books: Connor MacLeod had a peculiar organizational style that most people
would call “a complete mess.” He always found everything quickly though, and
knew right away when any of his things had been moved. Knowing that, John
took care to arrange the pile exactly the way he remembered before going
back to the kitchen.

Tyce was standing in front of Connor’s wall of pictures. It was the
Immortal’s one indulgence amidst all the protective measures he took
safeguard his secret life. Connor MacLeod needed to keep in touch with his
memories and the people he had met through paintings and photographs. He
didn’t talk about them much, not unless John or Alex asked but sometimes he
would just stand there and stare, just like Tyce was, and John knew he was
reminiscing.

“Uh, here are your books,” John said to interrupt Tyce’s reverie. The older
boy looked like he had to shake cobwebs from his head. Had he noticed that
Connor’s all too unique face graced most of the images?

“Must be nice,” Tyce said as he reached for the texts, “to be able to trace
your history that far back.” His perpetual smile lost some of its shine.
“Both my parents were foundlings.”

“I’m adopted,” said John suddenly, wanting somehow to ease the darknessin
the older boy’s eyes.

“Couldn’t tell,” Tyce said, “No, really. The way your parents treat you...
I’ve seen people treat their natural kids way worse. You lucked out, little
dude.”

“I know.” John ducked his head, now a bit embarrassed. “Well, hope you can
catch up. Must suck having to study in the summer.”

“Not so bad.” Tyce tucked the books in his backpack. “I’m doing it in my own
time and all. Hey, sweet!” He walked over to the weapons display case. “This
looks like stuff that should be in a museum.”

“Dad’s a collector.” John followed him, knowing exactly how he felt. He’d
always itched to open those plexiglass doors and try out some of the
weaponry.

Tyce traced the dragon-headed wakizashi and tanto, John’s blades that were
left out on their own stand. “These are pretty cool, too. They look newer
though.”

“Just got them last week,” John boasted, his chest puffing up. “Dad says
they’re a replica of a Japanese blade made by a master about four hundred
years ago.”

As expected, Tyce whistled appreciatively. “May I?” he asked before lifting
the wakizashi out of its stand. Ever so lightly, he traced the figures
carved on the hilt. “This is absolutely exquisite,” he murmured, “An entire
story written out in six inches of antler.” He lifted the tanto as well.
“And a sequel, too.”

“Really?” John drew closer. He’d been too excited about _having_ an actual
bladed weapon to study the carvings. He’d assumed they were exactly like his
father’s katana whose images he’d memorized since he was in kindergarten.

“See, look here.” Tyce held out the longer blade, point down and traced the
story as it was revealed through the winding tail of the dragon. “In this
one, this samurai army is probably coming back from a battle. Looks like
this one guy was hurt pretty badly.” He twisted the handle to reveal the
rest of the scene. “And it looks like he was given honourable discharge or
something. See him bowing to the rest of the army? And here--“ he switched
to the tanto, “--is the same samurai at home with his wife and son at the
door.”

“He’s giving him a katana!” John said, thrilled at the story. It was like
Connor had given him a pictorial narrative of his life.

“Pretty funky.” Tyce returned the blades reverently back in their places.
“My mom would love to get her hands on these and make a huge landscape-sized
painting. I should really spar with you some time and swipe these after I’ve
knocked you out.”

John made a credible sneer. “As if you could.” He lifted a leg and both arms
a la “Karate Kid” to which Tyce answered by stepping back and imitating Neo
from “The Matrix’s” practice scene. They engaged in some half-hearted
sparring all the way out to the gates, making stupid yelps and groans,
exaggerating hits and talking in “dubbed” English.

Finally, Tyce called a halt, leaning against the iron bars of the gate. “You
have much to learn, little grasshopper.”

John’s brows furrowed, not understanding the nickname. “What movie’s that
from?”

“Kung Fu,” replied Tyce. When the younger boy gave him a blank look, Tyce
gasped and gripped his chest as though his heart were seizing. “You’ve
_never_ seen ‘Kung-Fu?’ I was wrong, you _are_ deprived! That movie’s a
classic!”

“Dad only rented the Bruce Lee classics.”

“Please tell me he’s at least seen ‘The Matrix.’”

The corners of John’s lips jerked up. “Yeah. He really liked it.”

“Thank God. Listen, John, any time you want to, come over to my place and
I’ll let you in my collection. It’s no trouble,” he added when John looked
like he was about to protest, “I see it as my duty and a privilege to help
you out on the finer points of your education.”

“What type of collection?”

“Only the best action movie collection in the world.” Tyce blew on his
fingertips and shone them on a corner of his shirt that wasn’t sweat-soaked.
“’Blade Runner,’ all the ‘Lethal Weapon’ movies, ‘Red Sonja’ if you want
some historical content. My contribution to the Beauregard madness. What do
you say?”

John looked back. There was nothing really to do; all his friends had summer
jobs or were still in the middle of exams. Tyce, only the coolest guy since
his dad, was asking him to go to a college campus and hang out. The decision
was all too easy.

“If we start today, how far a walk is it to your place?”


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