HIGHLANDER KATARINE

GENRE:  Highlander, Fanfiction

RATING: R

SUMMARY: After an immortal is born in Nazi Germany, she crosses paths with a sadistic Nazi Officer, Methos, and Duncan Macleod.

est. reading time: 5 minutes

Flavio, Argentina, 2009

Hanz Clowes stood in his study swirling the old bourbon in his tumbler. He took a deep gulp and closed his eyes, savoring the heady amber flavor. Then he felt it. The power of another immortal, close, within his home. He drew his weapon, a military issue dress sword and waited.

“Show yourself.”

The door to his study, already ajar, pressed in further. And there she was…finally.

Still beautiful…

She had found him.

He quickly finished the drink and threw the glass to the floor, shattering it.

“Katarine.”

“Let us finish this then.”

/

Shinto, Japan, 1953

Katarine crept through the swaying bamboo forest, silent as the wind. She held her booken aloft and listened.

There was the briefest of sounds, a slicing of air before her face. She brought up her bokken and blocked the blow. She then quickly, gracefully fell down into a split and swung her practice weapon out in front of her, clipping Duncan’s leg.

He lept back and brought his bokken down twice. Each time meeting the resistance of her own.

“Yamero.”

The Japanese woman appeared at their side and began to circle, sometimes offering the occasional critique. Usually just adjusting form and stance. She had done neither to Katarine.

But for Duncan, she offered in Japanese.

“You have become lazy and undisciplined. You’re forgetting your strengths and you’re not honing your weaknesses.”

“Kat you are a natural.”

The woman smiled at Duncan over her shoulder and began.

“I’m going back to the dojo. Duncan, practice.  Kat, you may return to the dojo or help McLeod. Your choice.”

“He obviously needs my assistance, sinsei. I will assist.”

“Aww, come on. You ladies are ganging up on me!”

Kat squatted down in a defensive pose.

“-Attack!”

Again, and again she fought off every approach. This woman was giving his ego a good beating. Her body becoming slick with sweat and her hair coming undone, she was making him think of other things, as well.

He decided to play dirty. No more way of the Samurai. This would be all Highlander.

He feigned a strike with his sword but instead dropped it at the last minute and gripped the dull wooden edge of her bokken.

Her eyes flashed and she tried to yank it from his grasp, but he simply used the momentum to pull her closer.

She fell against him and it was obvious what he had in mind. She could feel the evidence pressing between them.

“Duncan, I thought you wanted to practice.” She said, smiling.

“I do.” He said deftly untying sash from around her waist.

/

Kat gasped as Duncan pumped his hips, coaxing the last waves of an orgasm from her.  As he did, he too came.

Breathless she said, in German.  “Are you certain this is part of my training?”

“Absolutely.  And we need to practice for several hours, every single day.” he said, in between kisses.

Kat laughed.  “But you said, I’m a fast learner…Rather gifted, were your exact words.”

“Yes.” he said, a sly smile creasing his lips.  “But this assessment requires repeated examination…”

And they began another round of lovemaking…

/

….Duncan snapped back to himself.

He found himself thinking of her often, these days. He’d worked so hard to push her to back of his mind, but she more than most of the others, often crept to the front of his mind.

When he’d found her she was so vulnerable. When she’d left him, she’d become the opposite, steely in her resolve, and more than capable of completing her quest for revenge.

Methos lunged forward, slashing Duncan’s arm with his sword.  “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention, old friend. Where’s your mind?”

“Hmph.” He said as he sheathed sword “…haunted by old apparitions.” he said, smiling.

It didn’t fool Methos.  He recognized that look of wistful longing.  Perhaps, when he’d had few thousand years…

“I’m not a stone, Methos.”

“A stone?  Duncan, it’s not that I don’t feel…It’s that when you’ve felt it enough, it all becomes old hat, water under the bridge. You can never go back Duncan. You simply keep on, moving forward.”

“Yes.” He replied, frowning. “I know.”

/

Poland, 1941

The uniformed Nazi finished reading the list.

…Dr. Gregor Klein
Professor Astrid Clowes
Katarine Clowes

They were all leaders, intellectuals. All impressively papered. All unclean inferiors. Gypsies, Homosexuals, a few Invalids, and of course, stinking Jews.

Dr. Gregor Klein was a German scientist, blind from birth. Blond and blue-eyed, he would’ve been the perfect Nazi recruit if  had he not been born an invalid. He was shoved behind Astrid Clowes and her daughter, a nineteen year old prima ballerina, Katarine Clowes.  Astrid too would have been acceptable to the Nazi regime, had she not had an affair with an American Negro writer and produced Katarine.

Katarine, who had found international success as a dancer, was now being loaded onto the dank, overcrowded train-car with every other German citizen.

Many cursed, protested, pled their status, but none of that mattered now. It didn’t matter how rich, how much fame one had, all were trash to the SS.

…And Nazis burned their trash.

/

~ by Raven White on July 10, 2009.