Disclaimer:  Duncan MacLeod et al belong to Davis/Panzer Productions.  I'm just borrowing them for a bit.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Do Us Part?

©, HonorH

Duncan MacLeod sat helplessly at the bedside, unable to tear his eyes away from the ravaged beauty in front of him.  His longtime friend Gina de Valicourt lay in the bed, face ashen, lips white, dark eyes devoid of intelligence.

Duncan almost couldn't bear to look.  She wasn't supposed to look like this -- Gina was strong, temperamental, difficult even.  He remembered a teasing smile, eyes flashing with emotion.  This couldn't be her.  Not this pale, gaunt creature he saw before him.

"Gina?"  He spoke her name as gently as he could.  "Do you hear me?"

No response.

It had been two days since he'd gotten a call from Joe.  The Watcher's voice had been sympathetic as he delivered the news that one of Duncan's oldest friends, Robert de Valicourt, had fallen to the Game.  Duncan had immediately gone to the Chateau de Valicourt.  He'd found Gina, Robert's wife of over three centuries, laying in bed, where she'd been since the night Robert was killed, unresponsive, devoid of emotion.

The chief servant, Louis, who had been with the de Valicourts for over a century, had met Duncan at the door.  A few nights before, Robert had been out late with an old friend of his.  Gina had gone to bed early, expecting it to be close to morning when her husband returned.  Sometime in the night, though, the servants were awakened by horrible screams coming from the master suite.  Somehow, Gina had known exactly when her husband had died.  She had screamed for a full hour before lapsing into this state, whatever it was, and Louis wondered now which had been better.

"Angelina?" Duncan tried the old form of her name, the one she'd used when he first met her.  "It's me, Duncan.  Don't you know me?"  He wasn't sure if he expected an answer, after trying for two days.  "You remember, don't you?" he asked, allowing a hint of Scottish burr into his voice.  "When you made dates with both Fitz and me on the same night?  You said you'd gotten the nights mixed up.  The truth now -- were you just having fun with your two favorite suitors?"

Nothing.  Not a spark from those brown eyes he'd once enjoyed losing himself in.  A lump rose in the Highlander's throat.  Losing his friend Robert had been painful, but watching Gina disintegrate before his eyes was worse.  Much worse.  He could mourn Robert.  But Gina needed his help, and he didn't know what he could do.

Sean Burns would have known, his brain reminded him mockingly, and Duncan felt a stab of pain at the memory of the gentle healer, the man Duncan himself had killed during the time of the Dark Quickening.  Sean Burns had been a great friend of the de Valicourts, and he, of all people, would have known how to bring Gina out of her self-imposed exile.

Duncan felt the sting of tears in his eyes.  He wrapped a strong arm around Gina's thin shoulders and drew her into his embrace.  She offered no resistance, nor did she respond.

"When you feel safe enough to come back, Gina," he whispered, "I'll be here for you."  The Highlander kissed his friend's forehead, then laid her back against the pillows.




Duncan felt inexpressibly weary as he got back to his barge.  He had lost friends before to the Game, but he couldn't even imagine what Gina was going through.

The buzz hit him as he reached the door.  Duncan pulled his katana from his coat, swearing under his breath.  He was not in the mood for a fight.

Pushing the door open, he called, "Who's there?"

"Kato Kaelin," came a dry British accent in reply.  As Duncan moved further into the room, he saw the lean form of Methos spread all over his couch, a beer in his hand and a smart comment in his face.

Whatever the comment was died as the oldest Immortal caught the look in the Scotsman's eyes.  Methos sat up, brow wrinkling.  "Who was it?"

Duncan went over to the refrigerator for a much-needed beer.  "Robert de Valicourt."  He didn't trust his voice beyond that.

The Highlander heard Methos's intake of breath behind him.  "How's Gina taking it?" asked the ancient.

There was a sort of softness in Methos's voice that encouraged Duncan to speak.  Duncan knew Methos had taken a liking to the de Valicourts, especially Gina.  Well, after Gina had stopped trying to take his head and helped him play a beastly joke on Duncan.

Duncan sat in a chair opposite his friend, rubbing his hands over his tired face.  "She's not in there anymore, Methos.  It's like her body's still functioning, but her mind, her soul, are just gone.  Apparently, she's been that way since the night Robert died."

"Hm."  Methos unfolded his lanky frame and walked over to a porthole, looking out over the Seine.

Duncan went on, too tired to stop himself.  "They were married for over three hundred years.  It's no wonder she doesn't want to face his death.  I just don't know how to help her.  What am I supposed to do, call a psychiatrist and say, 'Doctor, there's a woman here who just lost her husband of three hundred years.  Can you come, say, Tuesday?'"

"The clan leader rears his head," was Methos's assessment.  Duncan looked up sharply.  The ancient refused to flinch.  "There you go again, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.  Trying to take everyone else's problems on your own head.  It never works, you know.  Gina's a strong woman.  She'll come back."

"Yeah, well what if she doesn't?" Duncan shot back.

Methos, naturally, had a ready answer.  "Unlike a mortal, she's got time to work this out.  Dying of grief won't kill her."

The five thousand year-old's attitude irritated Duncan.  "Look who I'm talking to.  Mr. Never-Get-Attached."

A long silence followed until Duncan met Methos's millennia-old gaze.  "You think that, you don't know me very well, MacLeod," said the ancient very quietly.

"Sorry," Duncan mumbled.  He knew what Methos was trying to point out, and remembered Sean Burns once trying to make a very similar point to him.  "Sorry, Methos.  I'm just really tired now."

"I noticed."  Methos walked back over to the couch and sat down.  "You should get some sleep.  Don't worry, I won't make any noise."

Duncan's brow furrowed.  "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Water pipe broke in my apartment.  I'm beginning to hate Paris."

"So leave."  Duncan stood up and started walking back toward his bedroom.

Methos sank down further into the couch cushions, looking pensive.  "Think I'll stick around a bit."

"Whatever.  I probably won't be much fun."

"You never are."




When Duncan awakened, Methos had breakfast ready.  "Yeast pancakes," the ancient explained.  "A little higher-class than your garden variety flapjacks."

Duncan had to admit they were good.  He used the food as an excuse not to meet the hazel-eyed gaze fixed on him.

"So, are you going over to the Chateau again today?" asked the ancient casually.  Duncan didn't need to answer, and Methos sighed, a wry smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.  "Can't stay away.  I suppose that's what I like about you."

That earned a startled glance from the Highlander.  Methos never said he liked anybody.  He didn't get a chance to comment, though, as the phone cut him off.

He picked it up.  "Hello?  Louis, how is Gina?"  Pause.  A relieved smile crossed the Highlander's face  "That's great!"  The smile was replaced with worry as he listened to whatever Louis was saying.  "Keep her there, Louis.  Do whatever you have to, up to and including killing her.  I'll be right over."  Duncan hung up and reached for his duster.

"Trouble?" inquired Methos.

"Gina's up and about, but Louis is worried she's going to get her head cut off.  I'm going over.  Care to come?"  Duncan pulled on a pair of shoes.

Methos shook his head.  "That would be violating Methos Rule of Survival number 128."

Duncan cocked an eyebrow.  "What's that?"

"Stay away from angry women.  Kipling was right about the female of the species."

"Well, I can't do nothing."  The Highlander made his exit.

Methos flopped back down on the couch.  "Of course not.  You're Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he mused.




Duncan heard Gina's voice even before he felt her presence.  She was screaming, mostly in French but also using a few other languages, and what she had to say wasn't nice in any of them.  As soon as she sensed Duncan, she stopped yelling.

"Duncan!  They have made me a prisoner in my own home, these . . ." she went on to describe her servants in very uncomplimentary terms.

The Scotsman had thought he would have been happy to see her out of bed, or showing any signs of life.  Now he was rethinking.  Gina was even thinner that she had appeared while lying in bed.  Dark circles were under her eyes, and her skin was sallow.  What disturbed him most, though, was the mania in those dark eyes.  Not real emotion, just a strange and frightening drive.

"Gina, it's all right.  I'm here now."  He crossed the space between himself and his friend quickly, making a shooing motion at the assembled servants.  Gina grabbed his arm suddenly, her grip like a vise.

"Duncan, you're here.  You've come."  Her eyes grew wide, as if she was truly noticing him for the first time.

"I'm here, Gina."  He looked down into her eyes, watched as her face fell, dark emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"Then . . . then you've heard."  An echo of grief was in her voice, almost like it was someone else's.  She swayed suddenly, and Duncan caught her.

"I heard.  I'm so sorry, Gina."  He wrapped her in a gentle hug.  She didn't seem to notice.

After a moment, she spoke again.  Her voice was painfully tight, as if she was trying to keep the knowledge of her husband's death at bay.  "I felt him, Duncan.  I always knew when he was near.  His presence -- it wasn't like anyone else's.  I felt him the night he . . .he . . ."  The words trailed off, and Duncan hoped she would cry.  Instead, she pulled away.

"I have to go."  Her voice was calm, cold.

"Where, Gina?"  Duncan felt panic rising within him at her tone.

"To find the man who took his Quickening.  I have to go."  Still the same flat tone.

"Gina, no.  You can't.  You're not strong enough.  If you know who killed him, I'll avenge him, but . . ."

Gina cut him off angrily.  "You have no right!  Robert was my husband!  I will face his killer!"  She seemed to choke on the last word, and Duncan caught her as she fell.  He scooped her up to carry her to her room.

Louis and Gina's maid appeared as the Scot laid his friend down on her bed.  They made her comfortable, and Duncan sat with her all day.  The beauty revived enough to take some food twice, but her sleep was punctuated by nightmares.  Finally, as evening fell, Louis approached the Highlander.

"I think we can handle things from here, Sir," he said respectfully.

Duncan stood, reluctant to leave but not seeing how he could be of further aid.  "I want you to call me if there's any change," he insisted.  Louis nodded, and Duncan left.




"Three hundred years."

Duncan started at Methos's voice.  He'd been so preoccupied he'd almost forgotten the oldest Immortal was present.

"What?"

Methos turned away from the window of the barge, hugging himself like he was freezing.  "Three hundred years.  Can you imagine being married to someone for that long?"

Duncan just shook his head.  A thought struck him.  "What's the longest you've ever been married, Methos?"

The ancient leaned back, thinking for a long moment.  "Nearly fifty years, if I remember right.  1723 to 1770, to Celine de Vallant, a baron's daughter."  He grinned, shaking his head.  "Quite a woman.  Had a temper nearly as bad as Gina's, but I suppose that goes with a passionate temperament."

"What was it like for you when she died?"  Duncan nearly smacked himself for letting the question slip out.  "I'm sorry.  That was really insensitive."

Methos sat down slowly on the couch, face pensive.  "It was . . . like having a void in my life.  After only a few years of marriage, I'd gotten in the habit of making mental notes of things to tell her later.  You know, I'd see or hear something that would interest her when she wasn't around, and I'd add it to the list.  All of a sudden, I didn't have anyone to share those things with.  I guess I missed her companionship more than anything."

Duncan absorbed this.  "Thanks, Methos.  I had no right to ask."

"Not to worry.  It was a long time ago."  Methos leaned back into the couch.  "Doesn't help much as far a Gina's concerned, though.  The minute I married Celine, I knew that if I kept my head on my shoulders, I would bury her.  It's a little different for two married Immortals."

Duncan remembered Jakob Galati, driven mad by the murder of his Immortal wife, Irena.  What must it be like for Gina, who had spent over three times the length of the Galatis' marriage with Robert?

"What's the latest word on Gina, anyway?"

"I called over to the Chateau this morning.  Louis said that she's awake, but quiet, and she ate breakfast.  I'll probably head over later."

Methos suddenly chuckled softly.  Duncan fixed him with a curious look.  The ancient caught the look and explained.  "I was just thinking about how Gina made you think she'd killed me.  She said the look on your face was priceless."

Duncan had to smile at the memory.  It had been a perfectly evil thing of them to do, and at the time he hadn't seen much that was funny about it.  "How exactly did you get her to agree to that, anyway?"

"Simple, really.  She showed up at the barge expecting you and found me instead.  Naturally, she tried to take my head.  I managed to disarm her, but I knew that if I killed her either you or Robert would kill me.  So, with my sword against her neck, I explained exactly how I'd gotten suckered into the whole mess.  She started making disparaging comments about her husband, but I convinced her that he was just a desperate man grasping at straws, trying to save his marriage."

Duncan saw where this was headed.  "And I was the one who'd instigated the whole thing, and you and Robert were just dupes."

"Precisely.  After that, she and I both agreed that a little game was in order.  I just envied her being able to see your face when you thought the oldest Immortal was dead.  Really, MacLeod, you should have realized that I was still alive -- my Quickening would have sent pieces of the barge all the way to the rainforests of Guatemala."  He emitted an audible sniff of disgust and went back to his customary position on the couch.

"Well, I wasn't thinking about that at the time."  Duncan thought back to that day, nearly twenty years ago.  All he and Methos had done was to remind Gina of how much Robert meant to her.  Robert had recently told Duncan that the years since were the happiest he and Gina had ever had.  Duncan was glad they'd had those years.

He relaxed into his chair, suddenly realizing how tired he was.  How many hours had he slept during the last few days?  Immortal recuperative powers helped allay some of the effects of sleeplessness, but not all.  Methos was talking again, but Duncan couldn't focus on what he was saying, and his voice was so soothing . . .




Gina de Valicourt sat up in bed, senses straining, as if for an elusive bird's call.  There it was -- her husband's presence.

"Robert?" she whispered.  It passed back out of her range.  She moved out of her bed and crossed to the window.  Closing her eyes, she concentrated.  It was out there.  She was sure of it.  The Immortal beauty crossed back to her bedside, to the blade she always kept within reach.  She pulled it out, then paused, staring at the bed.  One hand reached out and caressed the side her husband had lain on for over three hundred years.

"We will be together again, my love," she vowed.  "One way or another."




Duncan was startled awake by a ringing phone.  Half-asleep, he fumbled for the receiver.  "Hello?"  It registered to him that the sky was darkening outside.

It was Louis.  "Sir, you wanted to know if anything changed.  It has.  My lady has taken her sword and gone after the man who killed my lord."  The servant sounded badly shaken.  "She threatened to take my head if I tried to stop her."

"Did she say anything about where she was going?  Anything at all?"  The Highlander was wide awake now.

"She would only say that he was near, sir."

"Okay.  Okay.  Thank you, Louis."  Duncan hung up.

"What's going on?"  Methos's voice floated in from the kitchen.

"Gina's going after the man who killed Robert."  Duncan didn't move, but just sat there, deep in thought.

Methos moved further into the room.  "Does she know who he is?"

Duncan shrugged.  "I don't know.  Maybe she really can feel her husband's Quickening.  I've heard of stranger things."

There was a long silence.  "Are you going to do anything?" Methos finally inquired.

The Scot heaved a sigh.  "Don't know if I should.  She's got every right to revenge."

"True," Methos agreed.  After a moment, he spoke again.  "Unless, of course, it's not revenge she's after."

Duncan's brow crinkled.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if she's decided to join her husband?"

A moment later, Duncan had a pair of shoes on and was halfway into his duster and to the door.

Methos called after him, "You realize, of course, that you're violating Methos Rule of Survival number 2?"

"What's that?"

"Friends' troubles are their own.  They're not worth losing your head over."

Duncan tossed a smirk at the ancient.  "Yeah.  I've seen how well you follow that one."  With that, he was gone.

"The insolence.  Young pup like him making a comment like that," muttered Methos.  "Why did I ever have to start caring?"




Duncan drove to the Chateau in record time, breaking most of the laws of the roads and a few of physics.  He barely stopped the car before leaping out.  From somewhere nearby came the faint but unmistakable sound of clashing swords.  The Highlander ran forward, senses straining.

Movement caught his eye.  In the distance, but still on the de Valicourt grounds, he saw two figures fighting, bright sparks flying between them.  Duncan ran toward them.  As he came near enough to feel their presence, they turned.

Gina looked at him, and she lowered her sword.  Her opponent, a man Duncan had never seen before, took advantage of the moment and drove his sword into her stomach.  Gina fell to her knees, offering no defense.

"Gina, no!"  shouted Duncan.  "Please, no!"

The next few moments seemed to slow down.  Duncan saw Gina's eyes meet his at the same time he registered her opponent raising his sword for the death-stroke.  Then, as the blade began to descend, she suddenly ducked under her opponent's arm, thrusting her sword upward into his heart.  The man's blade fell from his hand, and the look on his face was pure astonishment.  For a moment, the two seemed locked in the embrace of death, and then Gina pulled her sword free.  The man fell.

The beauty leaned close.  "You killed my husband, you bastard!" she hissed in French.  Then her sword came down to sever his head.

As the Quickening began to gather, Duncan turned away.  He had always felt like a Quickening was a private experience, and this one, he knew, would be so more than most.

Gina moved a few steps away from her fallen opponent, clutching at her belly wound.  The first tendrils of the Quickening surrounded her, followed closely by the first jolt of lightning.  More lightning bolts followed, but then a second mist gathered.  It seemed to caress Gina, and she opened her arms to it, as if to embrace it.  The mist surrounded her even as bolts continued to strike her body.  The final lightning struck the ground around her, sending up flames.  At last, the second mist drew tight around her body and disappeared within her.  She fell to her knees.

Duncan turned around.  What he saw took his breath away.  Burning in the grass was a double wedding ring pattern of fire, and kneeling where the rings overlapped was Gina de Valicourt, arms folded across her breast as if she was holding something to her.

For a long moment, the only sounds were made by the flames.  Then a keening wail rose above them.  Another, almost animal, cry of grief followed.  Duncan walked to where his friend was and knelt in front of her.  She leaned into his embrace as the tears came at last.




"He is within me now."

Duncan sat quietly as Gina packed a bag.  She had cut her hair short -- almost as short as Amanda's had been when he had last seen her.  It looked good on Gina.  In fact, she looked good.  She was still too thin, and there was redness around her eyes, but her color had returned.  More importantly, the life was back in her eyes.  There was still pain there, yes, and there would be for a long time.  But there was also strength.

"You'll be all right?"  It was less of a question than an observation.

"I will," the Frenchwoman answered.  She offered her old friend a fragile smile.  "Thank you, Duncan."

"For what?" wondered the Scot.

"For being such a good friend to us.  For coming here to be with me during these dark days.  For letting me know, during the fight, that there was someone who still cared about me, about us.  You made me understand that if I died, nothing of what we were would remain."  She paused, wiped away a tear that had made it down her face.  "But mostly, thank you for helping to save my marriage those twenty years ago.  Losing Robert this way was bad enough, but when I think about how I nearly threw him away voluntarily . . ." she trailed off.

Duncan smiled gently.  "I think you would have found your way back to him anyway, Gina.  You two had too much between you to ever let go completely."

"Yes."  Her voice was peaceful.  "And now it still remains.  Within me."  She laid a hand on her heart.

"Where will you be going?" Duncan asked after a moment.

"I am not sure.  I need to be away for awhile, to start a new life.  This place -- too many memories."  She finished packing the bag and zipped it.  "Actually, I was thinking of going to Alaska.  Robert wanted to go there in 1898, during the Gold Rush.  I talked him out of it because I thought it would be too cold.  But it's spring now.  How cold could it be?"

Her friend smiled again.  "It's beautiful country.  I've been there a few times, and it never ceases to amaze me.  Friendly people, too."  He stood.

Gina moved to embrace him.  He held her close for a long moment, thinking back over their history.  Somehow, he knew she was doing the same.  She pulled away, looking into his handsome face.

"Until we see each other again, mon ami," she whispered, and kissed him on both cheeks.

"Until then, Lady Angelina."




When Duncan reached the barge, he found Methos with a packed duffel, apparently ready to leave.  "Was it something I said?" the Highlander asked, mock serious.

"I've decided I really do hate Paris," said the oldest Immortal.  "Time for me to move on.  Besides, I think the Watchers are getting a mite too curious about me.  Maybe I'll kill off Adam Pierson.  He's beginning to irritate me."

"I'll come to the funeral."  Duncan tossed his mail on the table.  "Gina's leaving too.  She's at peace with Robert's death, though.  She believes that she has a piece of him within her now."

Methos pulled on his trenchcoat.  "Think it's true?"

Duncan shrugged.  "I don't know.  The important thing is, she believes it and it brings her peace.  Who am I to question that?"

"Who indeed?"  The five thousand-year-old slung his duffel over his shoulder and made for the door.  "I'll see you around.  Just not in Paris."

"'Bye, Methos."  His friend walked out the door, leaving Duncan to his thoughts.  The Highlander walked over to his bureau and removed a picture of Robert and Gina from their three hundred year anniversary.  Gina was wearing a gown of ivory silk designed by her Immortal friend Maia Welles.  Robert was in a tux, of course.  They were holding champagne glasses and looking at each other, noses almost touching, and they were so happy they were the most beautiful people Duncan had ever seen.

"Rest in peace, Robert," murmured the Highlander.

--end--

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