AN – Do you know how hard it is to keep typing Adam, when you know he's Methos?? I just thought I'd share that!
Seriously, thanks for the reviews, its nice to see both old friends and new faces, and the good news is .. Walkers gets his .. the bad news is .. I like cliffhangers!
***
"Is he dead?" Adam asked, in a tone that did not bode well for Walker.
Duncan gently rolled the teenager over to cradle him in his lap, reaching down into the soft hollow of his neck, to check for a pulse.
And let out a breathe that he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
"No," He noted dully how his fingers left smears of red on the lad's throat. "No .."
Deciding to take advantage of the fact that Richie was currently out cold, Duncan gently leant him forward and pulled up his shirt and jacket to check the extent of the damage.
"I'm going to have to clear my Calendar," he said, much too calmly. "A few millennia aren't going to be enough."
Adam didn't even bother to look.
He could imagine all too well.
"You know," Adam pushed the point of his sword so firmly into Walker's throat, that a little trickle of blood ran down his neck. "It really isn't fair to pick on people who are smaller and weaker than yourself."
He paused.
"But in your case, I think, I'm going to make an exception."
"Who are you?" Walker demanded.
"Ah, yes," Adam circled him with his sword. "Introductions. Let's start with you. Stuart Walker. Born 100 years ago. Adopted as a founding by a wealthy landowner. And a real disappointment for Daddy. He must have been quite pleased when you died. Did he dance on your grave?"
Walker swore at him.
"There's a name for people for try to compensate for their own miserable lack of ability by using their children." Adam's tone was icy.
He tilted his head in Macleod's direction.
"There's a Hospital in the next town. Take the boy. I'll deal with this and bring along the fourth mustakeer over there. We can use Walker's car. He won't be needing it anymore."
The only part of that sentence that Walker appeared to comprehend was the fact that Richie was leaving.
"Nooo," he protested. "He is mine."
***
It took only seconds for Walker to kick over the innocent looking can by the front door and drop his lighter into it.
But the fire shot up around the wooden doorframe like a Hollywood special effect.
"Oh, great, just bloody great," Adam protested. "Macleod, a little help here?"
"Do I look like the kind of person who has a fire extinguisher in his back pocket?" Duncan asked, as he looked around for something to substitute. "What the was in that can anyway?"
He gave a quick, fearful glance upwards, as a lump of burning ash floated down. The fire was beginning to take hold in the beams above.
"How the bloody hell should I know?" Adam shot back. "Is there a backdoor to this place?"
"You can't get out." Walker said, in satisfaction. "I chose this property very carefully. The windows are too small to allow any but a child to pass through. The stone walls are several feet thick."
"I've not .. found Richie, only to loose him now." Duncan, coughed, as the smoke started to burn his throat and eyes.
Adam blinked, his own eyes starting to smart.
"When would you say this house was built Macleod?" he asked, scooting sharply to one side to avoid the flapping of a burning curtain.
Duncan paused. "Of course!"
"What .. " Walker spluttered, as Macleod pushed the sofa to one side and started to roll up the carpet. "What are you doing ..?"
Walker paled as Duncan unearthed a wooden trap door, leading to a cellar below. Then looked up sharply as the whole house, creaked dangerously as the whole of the first floor threatened to give way.
"Take the lad down, shut the trapdoor behind you. You should be safe down there." Adam commanded, urgently.
"What about Marc?" Macleod looked at the still unconscious teenager.
"No time. One way or another Marc will come out of this alive," Adam reminded him. "Richie can still die."
"What about you?" Duncan asked.
"I'll live too, but thanks for asking." Adam grinned.
Waiting until he was sure Macleod was out of earshot, he advanced on Walker.
"I am Methos. And you are dead."
***
"Easy lad," Duncan soothed, automatically as Richie whimpered slightly, his battered body being jolted by the descent down the narrow steps.
"M'ac?" Richie's voice croaked.
Duncan carefully shifted the lad from his shoulder and sat down with him, settling him in his lap to keep him off the cold earth floor.
"Shh. I'm here." Afraid to touch him anywhere else, Duncan slipped a hand around the back of his neck and rubbed gently, pulling the lad to rest against securely his chest.
"You came." Richie breathed into his shirt.
"Did you ever doubt it?" Duncan asked, gently.
Richie said nothing, but Duncan thought he saw the sparkle of tears on his lashes.
"Rich?" Duncan frowned slightly.
"I thought ..." Richie threw his arms around the Immortal, and buried his face in his shirt, too worn down by the events of the last week to hold back.
"Hey, hey," Duncan stroked his hair, slightly surprised by the strength of emotion as the teenager sobbed desperately in his arms. "Shh. Its alright. I've got you. You're safe now."
"I hate him," Richie hiccupped. "I really, really, hate him."
"I know," Duncan soothed, his own tone steely. "Believe me, I know."
The sounds of a Quickening above caused him to glance quickly upwards, as the roof creaked ominously, only to flinch instinctively at a thunderous crash.
"What was that?" Richie's eyes were wide with panic.
"Nothing to worry about," Duncan frowned. "But maybe, we should see if we can find another way out."
Richie took a deep, quivering, breath, and looked at their surroundings from the first time.
"Mac, we're in a basement," He sniffed, and rubbed his face on his sleeve.
"I know."
"Well, how are we going to get out?"
***
"So," Richie peered past the small wooden door down the tunnel, as Duncan struggled to get the old oil lamp to light. "You've done this before, right?"
"Well, not here. But places like here," The lamp flared. "Once upon a time, cottages like were used to store goods from the ships. But you had to pay tax if your cargo landed at the wharf. Not all of their goods came through what you might call official channels."
"You mean like Pirates?" Richie asked.
"More like Smugglers," Duncan looked back at him. "Contraband and the like. You ready?"
He gave the teen an appraising look. Richie looked pale and tired, visibly sagging the heavy warmth of the Immortal's leather coat.
"To get out of here? Sure."
"Alright, give me your hand, huh?"
"Sorry?" Richie blinked at him.
"These tunnels are long and dark, and we only have one lamp. I just found you. I don't want to loose you again." Duncan shrugged sheepishly.
"Fine." Richie said flatly, offering his hand.
"Um. Good lad," Duncan praised awkwardly, a little disconcerted by such easy compliance. "This way."
He could tell by the slight slope and there general direction that the tunnels were heading towards the sea. Given that the smugglers often had to transport heavy casks and wooden boxes, he was hoping that they wouldn't end up halfway up a cliff.
"The floor's getting wet." Richie looked up, "You think there's a crack or something?"
"Something like that." Duncan murmured, looking straight ahead.
Richie followed his gaze.
"Oh shoot." he said softly
As the ground sloped down, directly blocking their path, was a long, narrow lake of water.
***
"Stay here." Duncan instructed, pulling off his shoes.
"Like I have any choice." Richie rolled his eyes, and then winced, as if expecting a blow.
In sudden understanding, Duncan put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Hang in there Tough guy. You'll get through this. I promise." He tried to catch his eye, but couldn't.
Richie nodded sharply, as if unwilling to trust his voice, his downcast eyes unnaturally bright.
Duncan sighed. The lad needed a little time. That was all. He turned and waded into icy water, sucking in his breath at the icy cold.
"Arh, its freezing." He complained.
"Mac?" Richie's high, anxious, voice, stopped him. "Be careful, yeah?"
"Always am." Duncan gave him a soft smile.
It wasn't half as bad as he'd feared. True there was a good deal of water flowing through the tunnels. But there were parts all along where a man could come up for respite and air. They could do it in stages. Richie wouldn't have to hold his breath, that long.
Now all he had to do was convince the lad.
***
"I can't do that." Richie looked at him in absolute horror. "I can't swim, remember?"
"You don't have to," Duncan soothed, "I'll do all the work."
"I'll drown." Richie sounded close to panic.
"And if you sit here, you'll more than likely bleed to death." Duncan let his own worry and exhaustion get the better of him. He took a breath. "C'mon, Rich. Just trust me."
"Sure," Richie shrugged. "After all, what does it matter?"
"Pardon?" Duncan blinked.
"I said," Richie regarded him flatly. "What does it matter, if I drown?"