Richie made his way leisurely down the street. Sherry was currently being chased around the dojo with Mac, leaving Richie free from worrying about protecting her stubborn, clueless little head at least for a little while. He had enjoyed a quiet lunch Joe's bar and was now making his way as slowly as he could back to the dojo, savoring the last of his brief freedom. He wasn't sure what it was about Sherry that made him feel so trapped and impatient just thinking about her. He'd certainly been around immortals at least as infuriating in his short time since discovering his own immortality, but something about Sherry just set his teeth on edge. She just seemed so... so childish and immature and naïve and thoughtless and clueless and stubborn and headstrong and… and just plain annoying.

Richie was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the presence of another immortal nearby until he was well within range. His head snapped up and looked around the street, silently cursing himself. They had to have sensed him by now and he really didn't want to be challenged just now. But the street was hardly empty and hopefully this immortal would wait until they had a little more privacy before challenging him. He scanned the crowd, trying to locate the source of the presence, but with all the mortals around, it was hard to pinpoint. Then he noticed another man looking watching him surreptitiously. Their eyes met and Richie felt the familiar chill at seeing an immortal he didn't recognize. The man gave him a questioning look, hazel eyes seeming no more eager for a confrontation that Richie was. Richie looked away, crossing the street to put a little more distance between them. The man nodded, then took the hand of the little girl next to him.

Richie felt a sudden chill spreading through him as he realized that the girl was also immortal. No, not immortal. A pre-immortal. She was thin, pale and couldn't have been more than nine, but the way the man was looking at her, with thinly veiled lust on his face, Richie couldn't believe he was her brother.

...They found him... untouched except for that he'd been beheaded...

The man was talking to the girl. She seemed tense and impatient and finally they began walking purposefully down the street again. Richie waited until they were almost out of sight, and then followed them. If the man noticed the immortal shadowing him, he showed no sign of it.

He took the girl to his car and they got in. Richie followed them out to the main street, but then had to give it up. He looked at the license plate, but the car was too far away for him to be able to read it. Frustrated, he turned around and continued on his way to the dojo, now hurrying, impatient to see Mac and ask him about the man he had seen.




When Richie entered the dojo, Mac had already finished with Sherry. She was sitting on the bench at the edge of the room, watching as Mac sparred with Jerome. He was a much better student than Sherry, not that that was particularly hard. Richie watched in amusement as Mac chased Jerome around the room. When they were finished, Mac found his water bottle and walked over to Richie.

"You're early," he commented, only slightly out of breath.

Richie nodded. "I think I found the guy who killed those kids," Richie informed him, getting right to the point.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He was with a girl... an immortal. She was maybe nine or ten and she hadn't died yet. They drove off, so I couldn't follow them and I couldn't read the license plate."

"What did he look like?" Mac asked. There was always a chance he had met the immortal before, and even if he hadn't it was good to know what to look out for.

Richie frowned. "Well... pretty normal, I guess. He had short, reddish brown hair, light skin... I think he was probably a little shorter than you, but not by much. He had greenish eyes, I think, and I don't remember what he was wearing. I think he was maybe in his thirties when he died the first time..." Richie trailed off, seeing that distant look in Mac's eyes – the look he got when he was remembering something.


Boston: 1861

Feeling the presence of another immortal nearby, Duncan looked up. The door opened and there was Steven Hawkings, back from his last trip into the South. He looked tired and somewhat haggard, but he was smiling.

"Not one died, MacLeod," he whispered. "And no one got caught. Thirty blacks and they all made it."

Duncan laughed. "And so did you, it seems."

Steven sank down into a chair.

"Hungry?" Duncan asked, knowing perfectly well the man was starving.

Steven nodded. "But first I want a bath... I haven't washed in ages."

Duncan smiled and set about preparing their dinner as Steven washed up. Steven entered the small kitchen a few minutes later, looking much cleaner and somewhat less worn. They ate, drank and talked. It felt good, so good, to be able to talk to someone who truly understood Duncan. Someone who knew what it was like to be immortal... to lose all your friends and loved ones over and over and just keep going. To constantly have people after your head, to have to start a new life every time you died in front of anyone.

They finished eating and moved into the living room, still drinking. They talked and joked and laughed and drank, sharing stories of past lives. Duncan hadn't talked about his past in ages and it was wonderful not to have to pretend he was centuries younger than he actually was.

Suddenly, Duncan felt Steven's hand on his leg. Whatever he'd been saying – he couldn't remember now – died on his lips as he stared at the hand on her leg. Slowly he lifted his eyes to Steven's face. The man was looking at him with an odd expression – hunger, lust, uncertainty, and a million other emotions Duncan couldn't name mingled on Steven's face.

"Steven?" Duncan said uncertainly.

"You're beautiful, MacLeod," the man whispered, slowly lifting his hand to Duncan's cheek.

"Steven, what are you doing?" Duncan asked in alarmed.

Steven caressed his fingers lightly over Duncan's cheek.

Duncan drew back, catching the man's hand in his own. "Look, maybe you should go home now. I think you're a bit drunk."

Steven tilted his head. "I think we both are," he murmured, leaning forwards to brush his lips lightly against Duncan's.

Duncan sat frozen still, staring into the other immortal's soft, deep, hazel eyes. "No. Don't."

"Why not?" Steven asked. "Because you like it?"

Now Duncan pulled away entirely, standing up. "Because it isn't right!"

Steven tilted his head and looked at Duncan in a way that made him feel somewhat naked. He resisted the urge to shift under that calm, appraising, lustful gaze. "Why?" the man asked him softly.

"What?"

"Why is it wrong? Because we're both men? We're immortal, Duncan. What does it matter who we sleep with?"

Duncan swallowed. Steven moved his hands to Duncan's hips, staring up into his eyes until Duncan was forced to look away from the intense gaze.

"It doesn't matter, does it? You've traveled all around the world, MacLeod. Surely you've seen that what you've been taught is right isn't necessarily so."

Suddenly Duncan remembered something. "So the rumors, they're true? The rumors that you've been sleeping with the boys you help free?"

Steven smiled. "And the girls."

Duncan stared at the man in horror. "But... but why? How could you sleep with... their just children... they trusted you. How could you rape them?"

Steven sat back. "I lead them to freedom. They were slaves MacLeod. I hardly made their lives worse."

"And that makes it okay?"

Steven shrugged.

"You rape children, an' then you expect me to sleep with you too?"

Steven sighed, folding his arms. "I didn't rape them, it was voluntary."

"As voluntary as it can be, seeing as they're slaves an' your freeing them, not to mention that you're about twice their size and older too," Duncan muttered.

"Well... maybe if you'd sleep with me, I'd stop with the slave children."

Duncan stared at him. "No! It isn't right."

Steven smiled. "So what are you going to do, challenge me? Let me keep – raping – the children?"

Duncan shook his head. "Just stop. Stop raping them."

"I will. If you sleep with me."

Duncan clenched his fists. This was so wrong. The mere thought of... being with another man made him feel ill. But he was immortal. He could move on and start over again. He had all of eternity, and he could defend himself. The children couldn't.

No, Duncan couldn't let Steven go on raping children. Even if it meant sleeping with the man himself. "Alright. I'll do it... but only if you promise to leave the slave children alone."

Steven nodded. "Okay."


Duncan looked at Richie. Steven Hawkings. It had to be. He fit the description. And who else would go after pre-immortals? But how was Duncan supposed to find him? He didn't even know what name the man was living under.

"Mac?" Richie asked.

Duncan stared at Richie for a moment. "Steven Hawkings. It has to be."

"You know this guy?"

Duncan quirked his lips. "We've met."

Oh yeah, we've met all right. Duncan had spent the next five years sleeping with Steven whenever they managed to be in the same town at the same time. He had eventually gotten used to the idea of sleeping with another man, even enjoying it sometimes. He thought that perhaps, for a little while, he had even loved Steven. But then he had found out that Steven was sleeping with young white boys and free blacks. He had confronted the man, but Steven had just told him that they weren't slave children, so technically he wasn't breaking their agreement. When he had refused to stop, Duncan had challenged him. Steven had lost, but a friend of Duncan's had interrupted them at the last minute and Steven had escaped with his head.

But not this time. There was no way Duncan was letting him escape again.

Joe's bar was crowded that night. Duncan sat at the counter, impatiently waiting for Joe himself to turn up. Richie was standing next to him, for all appearances enjoying the blues and his drink. Only the restless flicker of his eyes gave away his impatience. Sherry was at Richie's apartment with Jerome since Duncan was reluctant to tell her about the Watchers. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was just... all right, it was that he didn't trust her. But it was also that Joe didn't appreciate Duncan telling every immortal he knew about the Watchers, for the simple reason that the Watchers were a secret organization. And Duncan knew he was going to have enough trouble trying to convince Joe to tell him about Steve Hawkings even without ticking him off by introducing him to yet another young immortal.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" asked a voice in his ear. Duncan turned around, smiling when he saw his Watcher standing there.

"What do you know about an immortal named Steven Hawkings?" Duncan asked, cutting right to the chase. The music and conversations were loud enough that as long as they kept their voices low, Duncan doubted that they would be overheard. And humans, as Duncan had discovered over the centuries, had an incredible capacity to deny an unwanted truth even when it was staring them in the face.

"Not much," Joe replied. "Why?"

"Because he's the one who's been going around killing pre-immortals off the street."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

Duncan nodded at Richie. "Because Richie saw him… and it's exactly the kind of thing he would do."

Joe sighed. "I'm sorry, Mac, but I really don't know anything…"

"Can you find something out? Look him up. All I need to know is what name he's living under."

Joe shook his head. "You know I can't do that. I'm a Watcher. We watch and record and never interfere. There are rules, you know."

"But the rules say I shouldn't even know about you, but I do. You've helped me before…"

"All the more reason for me not to break any more. Look Mac, I know this is important to you, but you're on your own. I'm sorry."

Duncan stared at Joe in disbelief. "If I don't kill him, more people are going to die. Children! They're just children; they don't know how to defend themselves. Yeah, I can find him on my own, but the longer it takes, the more children he'll kill before I stop him. Do you really want their blood on your hands?"

Joe looked away. "I'm sorry, Mac. There are rules…" He started to turn away. "But I'll see what I can do."

Duncan grinned. "That's all I ask."


The next evening, Joe stopped by the dojo.

"He's living under the name Steve Johnson. Here's his address." Joe handed Duncan a slip of paper.

"Thanks."

Joe gave a brief smile and left.