AN- Thank you for the reviews, I'm glad to know that some loyal people are still sticking with this and its always great to see some new faces. Grateful as ever to Southern Chickie for her input, personally I was just gonna send Methos out for beer!, and Lori, I'll get to that stuff we discussed in the next Chapter .. OK, so I fibbed, this is going to be a bit longer than I thought. There's going to be at least one more chapter, maybe two, after this. Hope that's OK.
***
"Stay there, Richie," Duncan ordered curtly, as he picked up the Katana and crossed the room in three long sides. Just as he made it to the door, thee came a hesitant knock.
"Do your enemies usually knock?" Adam asked curiously, emerging from the galley, his own blade at the ready.
"Sometimes," Duncan replied tightly. "Not usually though."
"It's Marc!" Richie exclaimed, leaning over to peer out of a porthole. "And, it looks like he's hurt."
"Damn," Duncan swore fervently. Flicking the Katana up and sheathing it under his arm, he stepped up to the door and opened it, only to have Marc practically fall through, instinctively Duncan reached out to steady him, causing the young Immortal to hiss with pain. Bringing his blade around Duncan used the point of the Katana to ease open the long leather coat to reveal trails of blood and half healed sword cuts.
"Please, help me," Marc looked up at him, with eyes wide and scared. "He tried to kill me."
Adam stepped forward and closed the door, before turning to face Marc.
"Then why didn't he?"
"What?" Marc blinked at him.
"Why didn't he kill you?" Adam repeated. "Your father is a seasoned Immortal, with a number of Quickenings to his name. If he wanted to kill you, he would have."
"We were interrupted," Marc shook his head. "These people came by .. I saw my chance and I ran .. " He looked back at Duncan. "I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go. I don't have a sword. Hell, I don't have a clue. And Richie always spoke so highly of you."
"Did he now?" Even in these circumstances, Duncan felt a warm glow. He flashed the pre-Immortal a small smile. "Thanks, Rich."
"We can help him, right Mac?" Richie asked hopefully.
Duncan hid his smile at the "we." "You can stay here, for now." He agreed.
"Thanks Mac, you're the best!" Richie gave him a quick, impulsive, hug, which caught Duncan off guard. Then he looked back at Marc. "C'mon, I'll show you where the bathroom is and I'm sure Mac has something that'll fit you. That's alright, isn't it Mac ..?" Richie's head swivelled back and forth.
"Sure." Duncan allowed.
"Thank you, Mr Macleod." Marc said quietly.
Duncan nodded wordlessly.
"C'mon, its right this way .." Richie dragged him off.
Adam waited until he was sure the teenagers were out of earshot.
"Are you sure that was wise?"
"He'll be safer here, until this is over," Duncan shrugged. "Then I'll find him a Teacher. Maybe, Connor can undo some of the harm Walker has done."
"He'd be safer with Darius on Holy Ground," Adam pointed out. "You're doing this because Richie asked you."
"Yes," Duncan saw nothing wrong in that.
Adam sighed, as the Highlander walked off to find some clothes for Marc to wear.
"Why?" He asked no one in particular, "Do I have the feeling that this is going to get so much worse, before it gets better?"
***
In fact, nothing happened. At least, not at first. It was, he reflected, rather like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The trouble was, with Immortals, that could take centuries.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" Duncan asked, rather testily, as he strode through the lounge area, to find Adam sprawled on the couch, with a beer. Again.
"Right now?" Adam considered that. "Nope."
"You could give me a hand, you know?"
Adam eyed him over the top of his beer bottle. "How is Marc doing today?"
"About the same," Duncan made a face, ducking into the galley. "We're still sparring with the practise swords." He called back.
"That good?" Adam muttered. He raised his voice. "Its been almost a week."
"He has a lot to unlearn," Duncan tried to excuse him as he emerged, clutching two bottles of water, and a can of soda. "And Walker taught him nothing about having a feel for the blade. He'll learn."
"He has to," Adam noted baldly.
Duncan used that thought to focus him though the afternoon as time and again Marc fluffed the counter attack they had been working on.
"You need to attack!" Duncan urged, when he failed yet again.
"I'm trying," Marc responded sulkily.
"Look," Duncan held onto his patience. "When he has you here, you step back and .." with a deft twist and turn, his wooden stick was at Marc's neck.
"Its too hard!" The teenager pushed the stick away, in irritation. "I can't do it."
"Sure you can," Richie encouraged from his vantage point on the wall. "You just have to follow all the way through."
Marc turned and stalked towards him, holding out the staff in challenge, "You think its so easy? You do it."
"Look," Richie hopped down off his perch and took the sword. "Like this." He sketched the move in the air with a fluency and grace that made Duncan blink and stand up a little straighter.
"Its not the same when someone is slashing and poking at you." Marc pointed out snidely.
Richie's face fell. "I guess not."
Duncan frowned. Richie would have to go up against Immortals centuries older than him. He needed confidence in his own abilities. It wouldn't do for the lad to get despondent before he had even started. And it wasn't as if they were using real swords.
"Well, let's see shall we?"
With a smile of invitation he held his practise sword at the ready. At first, Richie's eyes widened with surprise, but then his expression melted into a pleased grin.
"Have at you .. Highlander .." he affected a foppish accent, moving into the en-garde position.
"Richie," Duncan rolled his eyes. "Just do it."
Even allowing for the fact that he had profited from watching Marc's lessons, Duncan did not expect Richie to get the move right first time. Nor did Richie, if the look of shocked surprise on his face was anything to go by as he touched the smooth wood to the Immortal's neck.
"I did it!" his expression split into an astonished grin as Duncan smiled his agreement, he spun around to look elatedly at Marc, "I did it!"
"Daddy's little soldier," Marc sneered. With a disgruntled snort he stalked off in the direction of the barge.
"Marc?" Richie's face fell and he turned back to Duncan in obvious confusion.
Duncan considered his dilemma. Marc's attitude was way out of line and he would deal with that later. But it wouldn't do to encourage a rift between the boys. He didn't want Richie collecting enemies before he had even joined the Game. He made a face. "He has a lot to deal with, right now." He tried to excuse.
"And I shouldn't have rubbed his face in it," Richie sank back down onto the wall, looking miserable. "Man, I'm an idiot. When am I ever going to learn, not to mouth off and piss people off. Especially, sword wielding types."
"Hey," Duncan stepped over. He wasn't about to allow Richie to blame himself for this mess. "You did good, Rich. You listened and you leant. If Marc has a problem with that, then that's his problem .. and mine. Its not for you to worry about." He rubbed the teen's neck comfortingly, causing him to look up, his eyes bright and uncertain. "You fought well, Rich." He repeated, dropping his hand to his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "I'm proud of you, lad."
"Proud of me?" Richie gave him a sceptical look. "For that?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Aw c'mon Mac," Richie retorted. "I poked you with a stick! Its hardly a duel to the death."
Duncan sighed.
"Rich, you don't have to do everything, all at once. Do you have any idea how you it took me to learn that move? You executed it perfectly. First time too. In my book that's something to be proud of."
"But I knew," Richie countered. "I knew, it wasn't real."
***
"How long has it actually been since you had a student?" Adam asked curiously, watching Duncan pace.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Duncan stopped to look at him.
"Its different for youngsters today. They aren't born to the sword, brought up to the realities of death as we were."
"They also don't usually know what lies ahead," Duncan countered. "God willing, it will be years, decades, before Richie has to face up to whether or not he can kill in the way of our kind. Am I just going to let him dwell on it for all that time? What's that going to do to his confidence?"
"You could let him practise on Marc." Adam suggested wickedly.
"Not funny," Duncan scrubbed at his face. "Which reminds me, Marc and I are due a little talk. Where is he?"
"Last time I saw him, he was sulking up in the prow," Adam told him. "Richie took him a sandwich to soak up all the beer he's been drinking."
"Beer?" Duncan's expression darkened.
"My beer, actually." Adam pouted.
"And it didn't occur to you that letting Richie within five feet of Marc when he was feeling jealous and resentful and drunk was, I don't know, not a good idea?" Duncan was already halfway out the door.
"Ah well, when you put it like that." Adam followed.
***
By the looks of the bottles littered around Marc's feet, he'd had more than a few beers. But Duncan was far more worried about the wide eyed look of shock on Richie's face as he pressed his hand up against the thin sword cut on his cheek.
"Marc." He very deliberately drew the Katana out of his coat, it was time to teach his temporary student a different kind of lesson. "Step away from him."
Marc turned his head, his eyes immediately drawn to the sword.
"Adam," Duncan's tone was expressionless. "Take Richie inside and have a look at that cut will you?"
"Mac," Richie responded to what he knew the Immortal was feeling. "I'm OK, its just a scratch."
"Go inside Rich," Duncan instructed. "I'll be along in a minute."
"Mr Macleod," Marc took a step back. "It was an accident, I was upset, I didn't mean .."
"An Immortal doesn't have the luxury of letting his emotions get away from him," Duncan advanced. "Especially, where mortals are concerned."
"I'll be more careful." Marc assured him nervously.
"Mac," Richie was resisting Adam's attempts to shepherd him away. "What are you doing?"
Bringing the Katana up in a swift arc that made Marc flinch, Duncan laid the blade lengthways under his neck, forcing his chin up to meet his eyes.
"Just making a point," Duncan pressed the blade lightly into Marc's neck, causing the smallest trickle of blood to run down his neck. "A lack of control, is a sure way to loose your head. Do I make myself, clear?"
"Yessir," Marc met his eyes. "I understand exactly where you are coming from now."
"Good," Duncan dropped his blade and started to turn towards Richie, only to spin back at the sound of Marc's sword whistling through the air, bringing the Katana up so the swords met in mid air in a shower of sparks.
"What the hell, are you doing?" Duncan yelled.
"He was right," Marc retorted, cutting and parrying with a desperation that forced Macleod to defend. "He said you couldn't be trusted."
"Your father?" Duncan hazarded, as he sidestepped a particularly wild swing.
"He said you wouldn't care about me," Marc didn't notice that he was being manoeuvred into the confined space at the very front of the prow. "He said, there was only one way, that I was going to survive as an Immortal, and that was to take your Quickening!"
"And, how, exactly, were you planning on doing that?" Adam asked, from the sidelines.
"Like this." Triumphantly, Marc pulled out a sleek black gun and pulled the trigger.
He was the only one who was surprised when it failed to fire.
"Mac's a nice guy, you know," Richie was the first to speak. "But he's not stupid, and just so you know, you're not allowed to use a gun. Its against the rules."
"But .. how?" Marc looked in confusion at the useless metal in his hands.
"We took the bullets out," Adam offered. "That usually does the trick."
"You knew I had it all along?" Marc blinked.
"Yeah, and even so, Mac took you in, took care of you, tried to teach you," Richie spoke up. "Because he doesn't think you oughta be punished because your Dad is a jerk. But sooner or later, you gotta make your own choices Marc. You can't hide behind your childhood all your life. I've learnt that myself." He gave a sheepish shrug.
"So, what is it to be?" Adam asked.
In answer, Marc threw down the gun.
"Then consider this a warning," Duncan told him, lining the point of the Katana up against his heart and exerting just a touch of pressure. "Your only warning. Threaten me or mine again and expect no mercy. Understood?"
Marc nodded.
"Your word on it." Duncan insisted.
"I promise."
"Then we'll not speak of this again," Duncan smoothly withdrew the Katana, and very deliberately turned his back, as he went over to check on Richie.
Marc hesitated, but then he glanced up, in the direction of the bridge and with a sudden surge of courage Marc raised his sword and rushed headlong at Macleod's unprotected back.
"Mac!" Richie cried in alarm.
But Duncan was already turning, bringing his sword up to meet Marc's blade. A deft twist of the Katana and Marc's blade flew out of his hand to disappear under the water of the Seine. A second turn and the Katana was pressed hard up against Marc's throat, forcing his eyes upward to meet the angry glare of the Highlander.
"He said .." Marc babbled, trying to see around the Highlander to the bridge. "He said he'd help me kill you ..."
"You're only warning." Duncan reminded him coldly, kicking him in the stomach hard enough to send him sprawling, pausing only to shift his weight to deliver the two handed blow, Duncan took his head.
"You know, Macleod," Adam commented, as his eyes also caught some movement up on the bridge. "I suddenly have a very bad feeling about all this."
As the power of Marc's Quickening rose and gathered, Duncan raised his head to reply, only to see the look of shock on Adam's face, as a bullet from the high calibre rifle entered his back and ripped through his chest, crimson blood blossoming, on his cream sweater.
"One down," a voice shouted. "One to go."
"Walker," Duncan instinctively turned towards the voice, only to be brought to his knees as the power of the Quickening hit. And in the vestige of his mind that was not overwhelmed with the images, memories and senses, he knew that when it was over he would be spent and helpless.
And utterly defenceless.