Codicil by Whistle

Word Count 600

The Legacy episode puzzled me when I was a kid and still does on reading the transcript many years later. I never quite understood why Murdoch agreed to play by Harlan Garrett’s rule. And now I have a chance to make a modification…  the answer I wish Murdoch had given him. It’s a double drabble.

Here’s the original dialogue, according to the transcript posted on Sharon’s web site:
Harlan: “Then we can make a bargain. Whether Scotty returns to Boston or not must be solely his decision without any outside influence….not yours…..not mine. Agreed Murdoch?” 
Murdoch: “Agreed.”
Harlan: “Good.”


“Then we can make a bargain,” Harlan said. “Whether Scotty returns to Boston or not must be solely his decision without any outside influence…  not yours, not mine. Agreed, Murdoch?” 

“Outside influence?” Murdoch itched to wrap his fingers around his former father-in-law’s neck and shake him. “I’m his father. I’m not an outside influence!”

“I raised him, not you.”

“You stole him from me. Do you think for a minute I’m going to let you get away with that again?”

“There is no need to raise your voice.”

“There is every need.” Murdoch’s eyes scorched the older man. “Get this, and get it straight. Scott is my son, not yours. I wouldn’t put him through a custody battle when he was five years old, but there’s no way on earth I’ll let him go now without a fight.”

Harlan lifted his chin. “I warn you, you’ll regret it. You have another son. Or aren’t you satisfied with your half-breed brat?”

“Don’t you dare call Johnny that, ever again, or you’re the one who will regret it!” Murdoch took a step toward Harlan, who backed up.  “I should have fought you years ago. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”


(At least, that’s the end of a double drabble that follows the rules of the July challenge. Another 100-word drabble follows, just because I couldn’t resist the temptation while I was at it anyway.)


“Not so bad, Old Man,” a quiet voice drawled. Murdoch spun to find his younger son leaning casually in the doorway, watching him. Murdoch, still seething, shot him an irritated look. He knew this son’s movements were rarely as casual as they might appear. 

“How much of that did you hear?” 

“Enough.” Johnny gave his father a crooked smile. “You don’t have to fight by yourself, you know.”

“I know,” Murdoch said. “But I don’t want you bumping heads with Harlan Garrett, Johnny. This isn’t your battle.”

The smile disappeared abruptly. “Reckon you’re wrong about that. My brother, my battle.”


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