Sparring session for Nick

[1stmacleod]

For some reason, Connor never expected the holidays to be this hard. Thanksgiving passed by without much notice, he's never really celebrated that, but Christmas has had him on a private roller coaster. One minute he's blissfully happy to have a home and a woman he's in love with who loves him back, even knowing the truth of what he is, the next minute he's remembering holidays with John and Rachel and even Brenda and he just wants to go bury himself in a dark corner with a bottle of whiskey. All the scotch he's been given as gifts is going at a distressing rate. It's not even New Year's yet, and then it'll be his birthday soon after that, which he just hopes nobody will notice at all...

Just a few days after, and he's pacing, resisting the urge to crack open the next bottle. He needs a distraction. He needs to get out. He needs something to do.

The message that comes on Nick's pinpoint is typical Connor, brief and brusque and to the point.
Want to spar?
There's coordinates attached, and he's got the sense to have picked somewhere it's night. Connor's waiting in a grassy field on a quiet world he ran across in a Nexus guidebook. There's an almost full moon that gives him enough light to see by, and it's not the dead of winter, here, so he can stand around in t-shirt and jeans and sneakers without freezing his ass off. He swings the katana slowly, working his way through kata. There's a couple of rapiers and a western broadsword on the ground nearby... and a bottle of scotch, because his willpower gave out already.

Comments

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"I told Napoleon I needed to get out so I could complete my mission and kill Wellington, and he created a diversion..." He pauses to let that sink in, then looks up with a grin.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick snorts and shakes his head.

"So you were friends with Houdini?"

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"Heheh. No, never met him. I fought against Napoleon, though. The real one, not the man with the paper hat in the Psych ward..." He does reach for the scotch this time, and takes a drink. The bottle's about half empty.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"I stayed away from those battlefields, if I could." He eyes that scotch though as Connor drinks. Not that he's interested in a drink, but being significantly wounded usually leaves him a bit hungry from the effort needed to heal.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"...Navy." He looks distant and thoughtful for a moment, then notices the way Nick's looking at him and offers up the bottle. He does feel just a tiny bit bad for running him through.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

He hesitates, he won't stomach it well, but it would be rude now that Connor's offered it. He reaches out and takes the scotch. He takes a small swig and hands it back.

"Thanks." For a moment, he sounds like he might choke, but clears his throat, and he's alright. "So, Navy? I thought you hated the British." He smiles.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

He wouldn't have minded if Nick said no, really. That's more for him. He watches a little, because it doesn't look like that went down easy.

"Heh. There was a time... I fought against them, at Culloden. But after a while, all the alliances against greater evils, all the wars, it seems petty to care." His comment about sassenach was mostly a joke.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

It didn't but it's at least something to drink. He seems fine now though.

"It does." Nick glances up at the sky briefly. "War still brings out the worst of us, though, even if we have good intentions."

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"There's probably a limit on how many wars one person is really meant to see." He rubs at his jaw, thoughtful.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"Probably." There's something in the way he says it, that sounds uncertain and distracted. His mind is wandering to how LaCroix seemed to thrive on war, and the many battlefields he visited to take advantage of the wounded, even after Nick began to protest such behavior.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor eyes him quietly, but he knows that look. All immortals past a century start to get that way, once in a while, and most learn to recognize it even sooner from their first teachers. He drinks a little, looks over his sword, catches his breath and lets Nick get lost in memory for a few minutes.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick blinks and then presses his fingers into his eyes lightly with an annoyed sigh, willing away the memories.

"Sorry." He reaches for his coat and swords. "I should probably go home. Thank you, for the sparring and the scotch."

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

"...Yeah. I get nights like that." Connor nods and makes himself get up, and after a few seconds of thought he offers a handshake, or maybe an armclasp. "Thanks."

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

Nick smiles tiredly and accepts the handshake. He's not really the kind for an armclasp, but it's still a friendly motion.

"We should do this again sometime. It's been fun." Even if he was stabbed in the gut.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor throws back his head and laughs, even though it's the same raspy chuckle he always uses. "Masochist. Be glad to."

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"What can I say? I'm acop, I'm a glutton for punishment." He smiles at Connor's laughter while he pulls out his PINpoint.

[1stmacleod.livejournal.com]

Connor just grins, but he's amused, and relaxing again. The sparring session has done him good, anyway. He really doesn't laugh often enough. The scotch helps. He nods a goodnight when he sees the PINpoint coming out, and takes a step back.

[det-debrabant.livejournal.com]

"Good night, MacLeod. I'll see you around." He nods with a smile, and heads home.

((OOC:Curse you auto-complete.))