Full Circle

by Persephone

Chapter Three

Isabelle Manchard suddenly cocked her head to one side, the all too familiar feeling of another Immortal nearby prickling along the edges of her consciousness. She had laid her book aside and risen from the couch before the doorbell even chimed. Pausing only to retrieve her sword, she peeked out the spyglass.

Jack Dawson's distorted features filled her line of vision. With some surprise, she rested the sword against the wall, unlatching the deadbolt and unlocking the door. "Jack," she greeted her former student with some degree of surprise, "When did you get into Paris?"

"Hello to you, too, Isabelle," he replied with a good-natured roll of his eyes. He leaned forward and gave her a brief but affectionate kiss. Then he studied her critically. "You look tired. Have you been sleeping well?"

Isabelle was privately amused. Years ago, their roles would have been reversed and she would have been the one inquiring about him, much to his impatience. "We've had a bit of trouble," she replied evasively.

"What kind of trouble?" his body language screamed his instant alert and readiness. She was glad to see that he'd learned a few things from her.

She ignored that, instead posing a question to him, "Jack, aren't you going to introduce your friend to me?"

Isabelle had noticed the young girl almost immediately, the clear sense of her immortality, if no other reason, impelling her to do so. Still, the girl was striking enough on her own. In more ways than one. She was younger than Jack, probably about Richie's age when he'd suffered his first death. Pretty, too. Large, deep-set black eyes in a pale face with enough black make-up to put any goth-wannabe to shame, framed by a curling mane of raven hair. And a lithe, athletic frame that no amount of black leather (and there was an awful lot of that) could hide. 'Not exactly the type of girl I would have pictured Jack with,' she thought, then mentally shrugged. Since Claire's death, Jack hadn't exactly been discriminate in the company he kept. Just so long as it was female, reasonably cute, and had a pulse.

In the year since Claire's passing, Jack had spent much of that time wandering rootlessly around the world, immersing himself in frivolous and numerous affairs. It had shocked her that Jack, Jack of all people, was actually engaging in such behavior. For heaven's sake, the man had spent nearly a year under her tutelage mourning a love affair eighty years gone before finally admitting his feelings for Claire Neason. During their own affair years ago, he'd spent most of that time still in love with his wife, thinking her dead. And it had been Claire he'd returned to when she'd resurfaced.

Now, however, Claire was truly gone. There would be no reappearing trick this time and while on the surface, Jack seemed to be dealing with his loss, Isabelle knew better. Jack was not dealing. Jack was being an ostrich, sticking his head in the sand and doing everything but trying to deal with and move past his loss. And when he wasn't living it up, he usually crashed, disappearing for weeks or months without word in a brooding fit. God, if there was ever a man who could give Duncan MacLeod a run in that department, it was Jack Dawson.

"Isabelle, this is Faith," Jack was saying as she turned her attention back to him, "Faith, this is my mentor, Isabelle Manchard."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. It was rare these days for Jack to introduce her as his mentor. They'd moved past having their entire, complicated, sometimes maddening relationship defined by the label of 'teacher'/'student'. She narrowed her eyes. What was he up to? "Nice to meet you, Faith," she nodded.

"Yeah, likewise," the girl said amiably, then happened to glance in the doorway. "What a great sword! Can I hold it?"

"Um," Isabelle floundered, darting a questioning look at Jack, "Sure, but you might want to come in before you start playing with it. Nosy neighbors and all--you understand."

"Oh, yeah," Faith nodded in empathy, "The police can be such a drag after they've been screamed at by frightened people. I mean, jeez, like it's your fault some people throw a hissy over three and a half feet of razor sharp steel."

With that somewhat remarkable statement, the girl pushed past her, snagging the sword as she did so and flopping down on the floor to examine it as she did so. Isabelle glanced back at Jack, who lifted his shoulders slightly then followed her into the room.

"Could I get either of you something to drink?" she asked politely.

"A beer would be great," came the immediate reply from the floor.

"She means a coke," Jack said.

Faith raised her head. "No, I mean a beer. Just because you're still hung over from last night doesn't mean you have to punish me."

'I'm not even going to ask,' Isabelle thought though she was dying to. "A beer it is then," she said lightly, "Adam would love you all right."

"Thanks," Faith seemed pleased, then, "Who's Adam?"

Jack shook his head at her while Isabelle headed for the kitchen. She didn't have to see to know that he had followed her. She recognized the sound of his tread on the linoleum.

"So how is Adam?" he asked casually.

She paused, lifting her head to eye him over the half-opened refrigerator door. "Jack, you're about as subtle as a kick in the head."

"What?"

"Why don't you just go ahead and ask what you're obviously dying to know," she suggested, retrieving a beer can and nudging the door shut as she straightened.

"All right," he crossed his arms with an air of expectancy, "Where's Adam? And what's happened to make you so wound up?"

"I'm not wound up," she replied as she opened the glass cabinet, deliberately avoiding his gaze.

"Did you two have a fight?"

Now she stopped, glaring at him in exasperation, "No, as a matter of fact, we didn't. And since you're so interested in playing twenty questions, where did you pick up Courtney Love's little sister in there?"

"That bad, huh?" he whistled. His smooth brow crinkled with sudden worry. "Isabelle--"

She held up a hand to ward off the onslaught of questions she knew was coming. "He's at Mac's. Let's just say we've had some unwelcome company of late."

That was putting it mildly. Isabelle wasn't sure just how MacLeod managed to attract one Immortal after another the way he did--most of them being after his head. Her own life was complicated enough without someone showing up after her head every five minutes like they did with Duncan. And Adam... Not for the first time, Isabelle breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving that his true identity wasn't known to most. After all, what Immortal wanting to make a name for himself would be able to resist coming after the legendary Methos? And she liked his head right where it was, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, by virtue of being friends with Duncan MacLeod, neither she nor Methos could completely avoid the trouble he drew to him like a magnet. And in this case, the trouble in question was an old enemy of his, Felicia Martins. According to Mac, there was an old score to settle and not just for him, but for Richie Ryan as well. From what Isabelle had been able to glean, the other Immortal woman had tried to use Richie back when he was mortal to get to MacLeod and had very nearly succeeded. She was good, the Highlander had reluctantly admitted, very good but she hadn't been good enough to win that battle. Methos had already given him a hard time for taking pity on Martins and letting her walk. Privately, Isabelle thought that Mac's reasoning behind that decision might have had less to do with pity for Felicia and more to do with pity for Richie. The boy had made the wrong choice, had fallen in love with her, and she had used that love to her own ends. Concern for Richie had stayed Mac's hand the first time around and it was what had impelled the Highlander to extract a promise from Methos and Isabelle that they would not alert Richie to Felicia's return. Which meant not only could she not tell Richie, Isabelle had to keep Jack out of it. It wasn't that she mistrusted Jack--far from it, but he was Richie Ryan's best friend. And she would rather not put him in the position of having to lie to him.

"Look, Jack," she began, as he opened his mouth to demand more information, "I'd love to let you in on what's going on around here, but I can't."

"Why not?" Blue eyes burned with curiosity.

"Because I promised Duncan I wouldn't." Not only that, but she had promised that she wouldn't try to get between him and Felicia. A promise that was coming increasingly hard to keep after the other Immortal's attempt on Methos' life the other day. Methos had been lucky in that he was close enough to holy ground he'd been able to evade her and call for back up but it had shaken both of them.

"MacLeod?" Jack's voice sharpened, "What does MacLeod have to do with this?"

"Jack," she protested, "please don't."

"All right," he replied unhappily, stepping forward to take her hand, "I won't press, but if you need me, just call me. I'll do whatever I can."

A flush of warmth flooded through her at his urgings. She gave him a smile and a hug, "I know, Jack. And you don't know what it means to me."

He hugged her tightly in return, then kissed her forehead, "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise."

He released her with a lopsided grin then sighed. "Well, my timing couldn't be any more off if I tried, I guess. I was going to ask for your help."

"With what?" she prodded with a keen look of interest. She gladly put aside her own worries for the moment.

"It's about Faith," he leaned back against the counter, jamming his hands in his pockets.

"What about her?"

"She's new to the Game," he shrugged uncomfortably.

"Oh." She knew what that meant only too well. New to the Game meant that she was newly Immortal and might possibly have some idea of just what the hell was in store for her. Then again, Isabelle thought, taking in Jack's fidgeting, maybe she didn't.

Isabelle fixed him with a penetrating gaze, "I see. And have you told her about what she is?" A pause. "Or am I supposed to do that for you?"

"I told her," he said defensively. A little too defensively.

"How thrilling for you," Isabelle replied dryly, "I'm so proud. So what did you need me for?"

"Hey, have you two gotten lost in there or what?" Faith called from the living room, "Or has the fridge gone all 'Ghostbusters' on you and sucked you into an alternate dimension?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes, "Sorry, Faith, just having to dealing with Jack."

"Hey," he protested indignantly.

"Oh. My sympathies," Faith yelled back, "Take your time. Billy Corgan's on the tube--I'll keep."

"I'm so glad you two are getting along," Jack commented. She didn't fail to miss the speculative gleam in his eyes at that statement.

She drew herself up suspiciously, "Just what are you up to, Jack Dawson?"

"Who says I'm up to anything?"

"I'm not an idiot, Jack," she replied coolly, "And I don't appreciate you treating me as such. You've got something on your mind so why don't you just go ahead and say it."

"I was sort of hoping you might take Faith on as your student," he gave her his most charming smile that she knew better than to buy for an instant.

"Oh, no," she replied immediately, "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on, Isabelle. She needs a teacher, someone to help her through this--"

"And I was the first person you thought of?"

"You were the best person I thought of. I can't think of anyone who'd be a better teacher."

"Don't you try to flatter me, Jack. It's not going to work. I can't take on a student right now. Not with this problem of Mac's to deal with." She shook her head. "End of discussion."

Apparently, Jack didn't see it that way for he took her elbow, preventing her from sweeping from the room, "Isabelle, that won't last for very long and we both know it. MacLeod is pretty good handling things like this quickly."

"Says you."

"Isabelle, she needs you."

She removed the hand holding her elbow, "I don't believe this. You're trying to blackmail me. Why can't you take her on?"

"Me?" he seemed genuinely shocked by the very idea.

Isabelle glanced round the room as if she were searching it carefully before replying to him with the sarcasm he deserved, "Well, there doesn't appear to be anyone else around, so, yeah, I guess I am talking to you."

"I can't teach her," he replied with finality.

"Why not? You do remember which end of the sword to use, don't you?"

"That's not funny," he replied darkly.

"Oh, I don't know. I enjoyed it."

"I'm just not cut out for this kind of thing."

"No one is," she informed him, "Not in the beginning. It'll be a learning experience for the both of you. Good things, those kind of learning experiences."

"Oh, come on, Isabelle. Please," he wheedled, "Do this for me."

"Why? So you can get back to your ever so fulfilled existence?" she snapped. "Life's one long party with no responsibilities or cares, isn't it, Jack? Must be nice for you. Too bad the rest of us don't have that luxury."

She hadn't meant to say that. The words had slipped out and now there was no taking them back. They might have been true, but then she might have found a way a better way to put it. 'You've done it now,' she thought ruefully, not failing to miss the flash of hurt in Jack's blue eyes. 'May as well go ahead and finish.'

"I know you're not going to want to hear this, Jack," she took a deep breath, "but I'm going to say it any way. That girl in there may need you, but I think you may need her even more. Since--since Claire's death, you've jumped from one meaningless relationship to another, ducking out every time you start to feel like you're getting too close."

"Your point?" he asked icily. She winced inwardly. Things were definitely taking a downward spiral.

"My point is Claire's been gone a year and not only aren't you moving on, but you're refusing to deal with it. When she died, you came to Paris, gave me the key to your place in Boston and told me to deal with it as I saw fit. And that was after you had Diane Elders and Richie arrange Claire's funeral. I know you took losing Claire hard and believe me, I understand." She meant that. In spite of everything that had happened, Claire had been a friend, a good friend. And it was her regret that she hadn't told the other woman just how much she had treasured her friendship. Or how glad she was that things had at least been resolved and that friendship renewed before her death.

"I miss her, too," she continued softly, "but I can't dwell on it forever, Jack. And neither can you. It isn't healthy and it isn't right. I've stood by and I've watched you drift in and out, watched you try to maintain an emotional distance from everyone and everything that's tried to touch you. "

"That's not true--"

"Yes, it is. It is absolutely true. You build fences, Jack. You talk about art or the latest baseball scores or the girl you met the night before, but you don't let people in."

She drew in a breath, hesitating before she continued, "I love you, Jack, but I don't have time to keep cleaning up your messes for you. It's time you learned to do a few things on your own. If you want advice on how to train Faith, fine, but this is your problem from here on in."

After leaving Jack to fume in the kitchen, Isabelle went to look in on Faith. Though the television was blaring loudly, there was no sign of the girl in the living room. However, the draperies leading to the balcony were rising as warm air filtered into the room through the open glass doors. Pushing the drapes aside, she stepped into the door frame and paused. Faith was just inches from her, leaning out against the metal railing surrounding the balcony. The girl didn't turn her head though from the way it lifted Isabelle was certain Faith was aware of her presence.

"So I'm a mess to be cleaned up, huh?"

Isabelle winced, wishing she had chosen better words or that Faith hadn't eavesdropped as she obviously had. "So you heard."

"Kind of hard to miss." Just like it was kind of hard for Isabelle to miss the bitterness in the young woman's voice.

"Faith, what happened back there had nothing to do with you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," Isabelle came to stand beside her, "It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Jack Dawson. Damn his stubborn head."

Faith turned her dark eyes on the other woman, "I thought you two were friends."

"Oh, we are. A bit more, maybe. One of the benefits of being friends someone though is being able to tell them when they're being an idiot."

A pause then, "Who's Claire?"

"You don't hold back, do you?" Isabelle wasn't angry; she was actually quite pleased the girl had the pluck to speak up and ask. She'd need that pluck if she were going to make it through. "Claire was Jack's wife. And a friend. A good friend."

"She's dead?"

"We all die, Faith. In our own time and our own ways, but to answer your question, yes. Claire's been dead a little over a year now."

Faith seemed to absorb this, turning her gaze out on the city again. A comfortable silence rose up as Isabelle let her mull. She was certain the girl had questions--the new ones always did. Given enough time, Faith would--

"How old are you?" Faith asked with unsettling abruptness.

Of all the questions Isabelle had expected, it certainly hadn't been that one. "Impolite to ask a lady's age," she teased, slipping into automatic evasiveness.

Faith raised an eyebrow. "That old, huh?"

"What do you mean 'that old'?"

"Well," Faith shrugged, "I figure you must be older than dirt if you won't even give me an answer."

"Older than--" Isabelle had to rein in an unsettling flash of indignation. Her lips twisted ruefully. Just when you think you've moved beyond certain vanities... "That wasn't why I was being evasive. It's just--"

How could she say that living with Methos, seeing his constant 'security measures' had rubbed off on her? Duncan might be right that Methos was paranoid, but there was ample reason for that. But did she want to become as paranoid?

Isabelle sighed. "Let's just say that when I was young, men walked around in iron trousers and you were lucky to live beyond twenty. Why?"

"I was just wondering...does any of it really ever change?"

"Some things do, some don't."

"Gee, thanks. That clears things up ever so nicely," Faith replied sarcastically.

"I can't answer your question unless you're going to be a little more specific. Do fashions change? Obviously. Have people gotten over their aggressive tendencies? Obviously not."

"It's just... I've spent most of my life trying to make sense of it all. Trying to find something worth fighting for. For a while, I thought I had..." Faith trailed off. "Only it wasn't or maybe I just wasn't the right person for the job. God, how pathetic is that, being born Chosen and you're still not good enough."

Isabelle wasn't quite sure what that last part had meant, but she thought she had a pretty good idea where Faith was coming from. "Most of us are trying to make sense of it all. Being older doesn't mean I'm any more sure than you are, Faith. It just means I've lived longer and seen a bit more than you."

"So how do you...? Why do you keep doing it?"

"Because...because there are things worth fighting for. Adam. Jack. For the future. For ice cold cappachinos and Cary Grant films. Hell, I'm not entirely sure myself some days. I do think it beats the alternative though."

"Mostly, I keep going because I'd like to be able to say at the end of the day that I tried. I may not survive," her voice grew quiet, "but I'd like to know that I gave it my best shot."

She turned to look at Faith suddenly, her face crinkling into a smile. "And what could it hurt?"

"But--but-," Faith hesitated, "How do I know this is the right choice for me?"

"I can't answer that for you, Faith. Maybe at this time and in this place, this is where you're supposed to be."

"Destiny again," she scoffed.

"Don't sell it short. Some things are just meant to be."

"Meant to be? I'm meant to go around hacking people's heads off? How do I get so lucky?"

"That's one way to look at it, I suppose," Isabelle acknowledged. "Or maybe you're here for another reason."

"Like...?"

"Maybe you're here because this is the best place for you at this stage in your life. Or maybe you're here to help Jack. I don't know. Like I said, I don't have all the answers, Faith."

She thought of Methos briefly, "Because they're aren't any. Not any clear cut ones."

"Help Jack?" she echoed, her dark eyes piercing Isabelle, "How the hell am I supposed to help Jack when I can't even help myself."

Isabelle touched her arm, "I think you're underselling yourself, Faith."

"Oh, yeah? And what would you know about that? You don't know me."

Isabelle clamped her teeth down on the sigh of exasperation threatening to escape. 'Patience,' she told herself. "You're right, I don't know you. But instinct tells me that you're a strong person. And I trust my instincts."

"Jack needs someone to ground him," Isabelle continued, "He needs to be challenged. And you need a teacher."

"Why don't you 'challenge' him?" Faith retorted, "You'd be just perfect for the job."

A dull flush crawled up her cheeks and she looked away. "I tried that once, Faith. And I very nearly destroyed my relationship with both Jack and Claire."

Faith's eyes went wide. "Uh, er. What--"

"That you're just going to wonder about," Isabelle said firmly. "Or get Jack to tell you about. Anyway, it's beside the point. "

"But--but, Jack doesn't want to teach me!"

"Jack doesn't want a lot of things. He'll get over it."

Crossing her arms, Faith attempted to stare the other woman down. "You're pretty used to having things your own way, aren't you?"

Isabelle didn't even bat an eyelash. "You have no idea."

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