AN- OK thanks again for all the reviews – This really is the final chapter – well apart from the Epilogue! I was only kidding about holding it to ransom, I just had to write it first!! I hope its worth the wait – it turned out longer than I thought. Again. And you do get the Epilogue as well!

To Spike's Girl – yep Risteard really is the Gaelic version of Richard. Brat is a real Gaelic word as well!! But Duncan's little ceremony is entirely a figment of my twisted imagination and to the best of my knowledge has no basis in historical fact at all. Do I need to say don't try this at home? You may surely die!

***

"You're actually serious about this?" Richie looked up from making his sandwich.

"What made you think I wasn't?" Duncan enquired.

"I don't know." Richie shrugged. "I think it was the bit where we all have to roll up our pants legs and paint our knees blue."

"Its tradition." Conner murmured

Richie shot him a surprised look.

"Will you two stop it?" Duncan objected.

"You really want to do this?" Richie brought his sandwich to the table.

"I called Conner didn't I?" Duncan nodded at his kinsman. "For all the help he's being."

"I came didn't I?" Conner reached out and took one of Richie's sandwiches.

"You know. I think I liked you better when you didn't like me." Richie told him, moving his plate out of reach.

"The question is Rich. Do you want to do this?" Duncan asked.

"Don't I have to be able to, like speak Gaelic, or something?" Richie played with his food.

"You already can." Conner chewed his sandwich.

"I think I would know." Richie raised a brow.

"Brat is a Gaelic word." Conner smiled thinly.

Richie decided to ignore that.

"No. Seriously." He insisted. "I mean, I'm allergic to porridge, I hate the wilderness, and I don't have the legs to wear a skirt."

"Its not a skirt." Duncan corrected mildly. "It's a kilt."

"See." Richie dumped his uneaten sandwich in the trash. "Shows what I know."

"Well. That went well." Duncan observed.

"Let me try." Conner offered.

***

"You don't want to do this because you like him?" Conner arched a brow. "That makes sense."

"I just think .." Richie faltered. "Mac deserves better. OK? He just hasn't realised it yet."

"And in four hundred years he's met so few people to compare you with." Conner observed dryly.

"I'm guessing he didn't get out much." Richie smiled.

"See." Conner nudged him. "That's why he loves you."

"He told you he loved me?" Richie blushed. "But that isn't .. I mean he can't .."

"Why not?"

Richie looked at him.

"You're serious aren't you?" he said in a tone of dawning realisation.

"Risteard. I know you've had some bad experiences in the past. But not everything that seems too good to be true actually is."

Beside him Richie froze.

Silently Conner cursed his stupidity. Duncan was going to kill him.

"Yeah. Mac said you found out all kinds of neat stuff about me from my foster records." Richie said bitterly.

"Just because Duncan is a big strapping lad of  four hundred and four doesn't mean his old teacher doesn't worry about him." Conner confessed. "Yet I'm sorry for it. You have a right to your privacy."

"Tell that to the people at Child Services." Richie scoffed.

"Records can be lost." Conner deadpanned.

"Excuse me?" Richie wasn't sure he had heard right.

"Computers are such fickle things." Conner said with a glint in his eye. "Hard drives crash. Files get corrupted."

"You can do that?" Richie grinned. "Mac has trouble turning the thing on."

"I know."

"I'm guessing after four hundred years you must know him pretty well huh?" Richie looked away.

"It is something of an advantage." Conner agreed. He fervently hoped that Richie would have the chance to find out.

"He really wants this?" Richie asked hesitantly.

"He really wants you." Conner affirmed.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to talk to him." Richie allowed.

***.

"Hey Mac? Is this a bad time?" Richie hovered in the office doorway.

Duncan looked up from the stack of invoices in surprise. It wasn't like Richie to seek him out to talk.

"That's OK. I can come back." Richie mistook his hesitation and turned away.

"No." Duncan jumped up before the lad could take off. "I was just about to take a break, why don't you join me?"

"This isn't just another way of trying to get me to come for a run, is it?" Richie asked warily.

"I was thinking more .. rocky road, double scoop." Duncan smiled, leading the way through the door.

"Remind me. How old are you again?" Richie teased.

"Rich. If I worried about all the things I was supposed to be too old to do .."

"I get it." Richie laughed.

"Its good to hear you laugh." Duncan looked serious. "You haven't done much of that lately."

"Its been an interesting few weeks." Richie stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"You know." Duncan swallowed. "Perhaps I'm wrong to ask this of you. I can't promise that there won't be others like Robbins. You deserve better."

"I deserve better?" Richie stopped in the middle of the Store.

"Aye." Duncan managed gruffly. "I can't promise that I'll always be able to protect you. I can't promise I'll always come back. Lord knows you've had enough pain in your life. I've no right to add to that. Maybe it would be better .." he blinked at the sudden stinging in his eyes.

"Or maybe you are worth the bother." Richie said with quiet determination.

"What?" Duncan blinked.

"Besides." Richie shrugged. "If this is suddenly going to become Immortal central. I figure you need someone to watch your back."

"I .. You .." Duncan floundered.

"I have some experience you know." Richie offered. "I'm sure Conner will give me a reference."

"Richie .."

"And somebody needs to teach Tessa how to cook. You know, it's a good job you're Immortal otherwise she'd have killed you by now."

"Is that a yes?" Duncan managed.

"If you'll have me." Richie looked up shyly.

Duncan suddenly couldn't speak over the huge lump in his throat. Instead he reached out and hugged Richie hard.

This time Richie hugged him back .. and didn't let go.

"Is this a good time to ask for a raise?"

***

"Alright. Did Duncan tell you about the origins of the ceremony?" Conner enquired.

"He said it was so you guys could find each other on the battlefield when you were dead." Richie eyed the knife with concern.

"That's part of it." Conner acknowledged. "But it is also a sign to the world that you are part of the Clan. That you belong."

"Do you have one as well?" Richie asked curiously.

In answer, Conner bared his left arm and showed the small dark blue tattoo that looked like the point of an arrow.

"The sons of the Clan were marked when they reached their sixteenth birthday and could declare their loyalty of their own free will."

"That's why you guys still have the marks." Richie realised. "It happened before you became Immortal."

"That's right." Conner agreed.

 "But I'm already sixteen." Richie pointed out.

"Then you won't have any problem with the long words." Duncan teased him.

"There are words?" Richie shot back.

"As I was saying ..?" Conner put in.

"Sorry." Duncan and Richie chorused. Then grinned at each other.

"Its also a symbol of trust." Conner continued. "The Clan needs to be able rely on each other both in battle and hard times. Its takes faith to offer up your life's blood when the nearest Emergency room is centuries away."

"Life blood?" Richie looked anxiously at the Chalice. "Um. That's a pretty big cup."

"It only takes a few drops." Duncan assured him. "A cup like that would serve for the whole Clan."

"Unless, of course, the knife slips .." Conner murmured.

"Conner." Duncan reproved.

"I'm sure the lad has every faith in you cousin." His kinsman said blithely.

"Can we just do this please?" Richie asked testily.

***

Duncan went first.

With a deft, practised, movement Conner made two swift, small, incisions, in his younger kinsman's arm. Then Duncan held his arm over the chalice, allowing a few dark, drops of blood to fall into the bottom before the Quickening healed the wound.

"Why the left arm?" Richie asked.

"A precaution." Conner told him. "If the wound became infected, it was better not to risk the sword arm."

"Um. I'm quite attached to my arm." Richie pointed out. "Especially in light of recent events."

"We don't have to do this." Duncan assured him. "Not if you don't want to."

Richie looked at the knife and back to the cup.

"Few things of true value come without some risk." Conner murmured, passing him the knife and offering his own arm.

"You want me to do it?" Richie gulped.

"Just remember, if I bleed to death, I'll have to explain to Tessa how I ruined her favourite rug." Conner pointed out.

"Truly a fate worse than death." Duncan smirked.

"OK." Richie looked to Duncan. "I just do what you did, right?"

"Right." Duncan assured.

Richie took a breath to still the shaking in his hands and performed the cut as competently as any surgeon.

"Wow. Sharp knife."

"Take care of a blade and it will take care of you." Duncan smiled.

"Is that the family motto?" Richie quipped.

"It's as good a one as any." Conner agreed.

Then it was Richie's turn.

***

"You ready?" Duncan asked gently.

"Yeah." Richie nodded, taking care to hold his arm still. "I've been ready for this for a real long time." He admitted.

"Likewise." Duncan smiled.

Conner rolled his eyes.

The cut was deft and sure, Richie barely felt it, watching almost in surprise as the dark blood dripped into the cup.

"OK?" Duncan asked.

Richie looked back at the wound to see that Duncan had already pressed a cloth over it to help stem the bleeding.

"So is this what its like to give blood?" he joked.

"I think they use needles." Duncan told him.

"And they usually take rather more." Conner smirked.

"Alright." Duncan peered at the wound. "This next part won't hurt a bit."

He carefully rubbed in the pigment that would leave a permanent mark.

"What is that?" Richie asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Conner raised a brow.

"Its harmless." Duncan promised him.

"Is that it?" Richie asked flexing his arm.

"Not quite." Duncan picked up the chalice and swirled it around so that their three bloods mixed. Then he dipped his finger in.

"I Duncan Macleod, of the Clan Macleod, offer you my hearth and my heart, to live under my protection, as a son of my blood, for as long as we both shall live."

Then, with a smile, he dabbed a cross of blood on Richie's forehead, like a baptism.

"I, Conner Macleod, of the Clan Macleod, offer you my fealty as a kinsman, to instruct and shelter you as the blood of my kin, for as long as we both shall live."

Then Conner also marked him with the blood.

"Um. What do I have to do?" Richie asked, when he could find his voice.

"Just say yes." Duncan told him kindly.

"Yes. Oui. Ya. Si .." Richie babbled.

"We get the idea .. laddie." Duncan tousled his hair. Enjoying the look of shocked pleasure that little word put on Richie's face.

"Does this mean that I get to learn how to use a sword?" Richie asked eagerly.

"No!" Duncan and Conner spoke together.

"Jeez." Richie held up his hands. "I was only asking."