I know what I'm doing tomorrow...
My favorite Highlander has a birthday coming up -- his 495th, to be precise. (Connor MacLeod, born January 1st, 1518; still with us. What fourth movie?) So I thought I'd spend the day before Connor's birthday writing short fics* -- a few sentences, three or four paragraphs -- if you guys wanted to give me prompts, other characters for him to
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His quickening crawled suddenly, spiking in surges until it felt like someone was yanking barbed wire under the skin. It was all Connor could do to hold silent, bent over his mug and wondering if someone had dropped something in his coffee, if the government had gone mad enough to try some new energy weapon in the middle of Manhattan… and then it leveled out.
He had just time to catch his breath and wave off the concerned barista he'd been flirting with for a few mornings now when he heard the first sequence of explosions.
Connor's head came up and he headed out the door, weaving around the two idiots blocking the entrance. He'd been in too many wars not to know what he was hearing and he looked down 41st in time to see a mass of small, flying things firing beams of blue light.
A moment's thought told him where he was fairly sure he'd seen that before. He'd hoped never to see those lights again, and later, he'd have a good long panic over a lot of whiskey.
For now, Connor turned around, grabbed the idiot rubbernecking in the doorway, and said clearly, "Call 911. We're under attack and we're going to need the National Guard. When they argue with you, what you tell them is that the attackers have Hydra weapons from World War II. Repeat that back to me."
The boy was still staring but his girlfriend swallowed, eyes wide now, and repeated, "Hydra weapons, World War II, and they're up north of here. Hydra? Are you sure?"
Connor nodded. "Those blue lights look like the old Hydra weapons. Make the call, get off the phone, get everyone in and away from windows."
"What are you going to do?" the boy asked, finally hauling his brain back in. Good. He was young, but if he didn't use his wits, he'd get no older.
"Whatever I can, of course."
There was a blue and black portal in the sky ahead, full of what might be stars. Iron Man blurred past in a stream of gold and red, blowing sky chariots to bit as he went. Connor shook his head, muttering, "Always something new in New York," and looked up to see something decidedly non-Terran coming towards him.
The gauntlet weapon on the alien's arm spat blue at him, sheeting pain across Connor's nerves. Not fun, no, but no worse than the start of a quickening.
Connor let it knock him off his feet, let the stupid bastard walk past him without checking to be sure he was dead... and rolled up to his feet behind it. He took its head off without a shred of remorse; he also took its weapon. He could use his katana left-handed easily enough, and he slid his right arm into the gauntlet thing to feel for controls.
It spat blue fire for him, too. Good.
* * *
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Some of the people making up his line were ex-military, some were or had been martial artists and SCA fighters, and a few had done none of that that he could see but were willing to pick up weapons and fight for their city anyway. They all had the arm guns or those staff weapons by now and they'd worked out a pattern of killing the aliens that had led to Connor taking more hits than he liked, but his wing snipers were damned good shots. No one asked how he was getting back up, and he had no intention of trying to explain.
His lads and lasses were mostly willing to shoot, but a few who just *couldn't* had found ways to help regardless, and with even more bravery: a few of his people were walking backwards in the gaps between shooters, watching for trouble behind and above. Connor had thanked them sincerely when the first lad had offered it, and others had taken it up too.
The whole lot of them had had enough sense to hide from the armored flying eels, thank gods. Connor'd hidden too, being no fool himself.
Still, when the aliens had all collapsed at once, Connor hadn't gotten any argument when he'd started stabbing them on his way past, just to be sure. The guns didn't work anymore, no more than these cyborgs or whatever they'd been -- that was still no reason to be stupid.
The rest of his line had agreed and he'd seen more than a few boot knives come out and into use. They were still carrying the guns in their off-hands, though. Just in case.
They were doing damn fine so far as Connor was concerned, so he was none too happy to have men in suits come up from behind to interfere with their clean-up. Even the National Guard had left them be, being spread too thin as it was.
Connor waved his flankers to a halt, and the entire line stopped with them. He'd remember parts of this day gladly -- damned few parts, but these lads and lasses were high on the good list.
To his surprise, the suits nodded respectfully to his flankers and his 'eyes behind' before they said, "Sir, we have reason to believe you instigated the 911 call reporting HYDRA weapons."
Connor watched them, face impassive, then swung his gun up and right, ostentatiously showing off how much of a paperweight it now was. "Turns out I was wrong."
"Sir... we work for Director Fury."
"Right now, we're working for the city of New York," Connor said but he eyed them more thoughtfully now. He'd crossed the Howling Commandos' paths twice during WWII; once when they were working for Rogers and Barnes, and then again after those two were gone and the Commandos looked gutshot despite a new CO. Connor thought the man's name had been Fury, but they'd waved him off. They'd also left what supplies they could cached for him.
The senior woman said tiredly, "Sir, we don't want to talk to you because we think you were wrong or that you made the wrong call." She shifted her attention to the entire line. "And any of you who want to apply to SHIELD after this will receive an accelerated review of your application."
"Lady, if this is a day in the life, count me out," Amadej said bluntly.
Stavros shrugged and said, "If you've got jobs for eyes instead of shooters, I'll think about it."
Connor said quietly, "Talk to me first, lads and lasses, and you all know where to look for me later. Now, then, Agent -- that is the right title?"
"Yes. I'm Agent Carter."
Connor nodded. "We're busy. And we're going to keep working until we're done or someone else has it. Are you here to say someone has it?"
"Sir, the National Guard relief force is rolling in as we speak. Relieving your line is, in fact, their first priority--" Carter looked up at the growls from here and there around her and went on clear and unintimidated, "--not because you're amateurs, but because the military's had a way to send people back through the lines for medics, and no one wanted to disturb what cohesion you had. Medics are coming for you, and food and water -- well," she admitted, "MREs."
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Connor grinned despite himself. "It's an attempt at food." He nodded, though. "They can catch up to wherever we've gotten by then." He glanced across his line, meeting the eyes of his walking wounded, and saw that none of them wanted to go off in a strange SUV. Good. He'd thought he had a surprisingly sensible force.
Carter smiled a little. "Like I said. SHIELD would love to talk to any of you later about a possible job." She looked directly at Connor. "You most urgently, however."
"Lost a few today, did you?" Connor shook his head. "I like my life. And I'll be busy enough helping with clean-up on this side of things."
Carter watched him, then her attention slid away for a moment. She nodded, one finger up along her ear and said to someone else, "No, sir." She listened for a few seconds, then nodded. "Understood." She focused on Connor again and pointed to the end of the street. "National Guard reinforcements in four." She reached for her pocket, then slowed, watching Connor carefully. "Business cards only."
He held his katana steady and said, "So long as they are."
She handed them over to him, nodded politely, and asked, "Anything we can do for you until the army gets here?"
"We'll be fine," Connor said calmly. "And you'll be calling?"
Her smile was almost as sharp-edged as his for a moment. "When you're not quite this busy, yes, sir. We do want to discuss what you know about HYDRA."
Connor just looked at her. "I imagine you do." To his surprise, she was willing to leave it at that. She even left with her other agents. He was willing to bet they now had pictures of everyone, but with all the CCTV in Manhattan, that had been a sure bet already.
Connor passed the business cards down the line because he suspected more than a few of them needed a steady job, gave them a few seconds more to catch their breaths and steady the wounded, then said, "Let's see how far we can clear in three minutes, people."
From his left flank, Jewel said grimly, "You're in trouble, sir. They took no for an answer."
Connor snorted. "We're all, in trouble, lass. They didn't demand the weaponry back immediately. Call me if you have trouble or they won't take no for an answer."
"Can you do anything if they won't?" Kai asked, worried but eyes and probably mind still on the job at hand.
"I'll manage if I have to." Connor smiled, trading predatory grins with some of them. "We made it through the aliens. We'll manage everything else."
"With coffee first, please, God," Masoyi mock-groaned, playing it up for laughs and getting them as they went back to work.
Somehow, Connor didn't think it'd be too long before he got another visit -- but he'd time it, too, to see how badly this SHIELD had been hurt in the attacks. Sean was considering working for them, after all.
Maybe they'd trade him some solid new identities for the benefit of his experience....
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I particularly like the detail about him passing out the business cards an noticing that someone of the lads and lasses with him needed a steady job.
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And yeah, Connor's lived through the days of volunteer militias, and fire brigades. ::amused:: He went because he wasn't sure the city'd make it if people didn't, and he organized because he knew what he was doing. I *liked* his lads and lasses! Some great people in that line of his.
Glad you liked it and thank you for such a neat prompt!
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Yeah, I liked the one Buddhist who just went, "I'm sorry, I can't shoot them. But I can watch your backs while you stop them hurting others." Connor thought offering to walk *backwards* into enemy fire was insanely brave and immediately said yes.
Anyway: short version -- thank you, I'm glad you liked it too!
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And yeah. I probably will revisit it. ::amused:: I have to figure out a timeline for that!
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