Scents wafted throughout the living area of the villa Duncan, Amanda, Anne and the children were calling "home", at least for now. In divvying up the domestic chores, it was pretty simple. Amanda didn't want any of them, really. But she accepted, with fairly regular whining, cleaning chores. Duncan cooked. And as Amanda could attest, he was an INCREDIBLE cook. In fact, he had a small feast in the works. It was Joe's idea, the kids get a birthday party. And everyone was pulling out all the stops, yet trying to keep it secret. Duncan was working up a selection of delectables. Joe and Methos had barbeque going in a pit out back. Anne was working on a lovely cake. Amanda was tidying up around the place. Kinda grumbling at it, but she really was feeling festive.
Joe came wandering in, apron all smeared. He saw Amanda folding clothes and chuckled. She shot him a dirty look.
"Constanza didn't provide a maid service," she whined.
"Well, considering EVERYTHING we need seems to just appear out of nowhere, that's not a huge cause for complaint, Amanda." He shook his head and said, "We haven't seen Constanza for a few weeks now, yet these things appear. Food, clothes for the kids. Hell, Methos and I found those pig and cow carcasses we are now roasting. Those weren't there before. Someone is keeping an eye on us and is working to make our stay comfortable, even enjoyable."
"Well, then why not a maid?" Amanda grumped.
"Keep you from getting spoiled, keep you humble, grounded, I guess," Joe said. "Nothing more humbling than changing dirty diapers, eh?"
Amanda made a face, "I'm glad that didn't last long."
Anne came out of the kitchen, covered with flour, "It can wear on you," she confessed. "But like anything else, you get through it, knowing it will end. And it's a chance to be intimate with your child."
"I guess intimacy is one word. To me, if felt kinda like nausea," She sighed and then looked at Joe and Anne conspiratorially, "Don't tell him I said it, but I think he's a lot better at those kind of things than I am."
"Thank you, dear!" said Duncan cheerfully from the kitchen.
Amanda stuck out her tongue in the direction of the kitchen.
"So is the cow cooperating?" Anne asked Joe.
Joe smiled and said, "The Dawson family have been champion barbeque-ers for generations, and we make it a point to continuously pass it down, I'll have you know. We hold many a county fair taste test trophy for the culinary wizardly we work. Whoda thought I'd get a fresh cow carcass out here?"
Methos stuck his head in the door, his 'Kiss the Cook' apron smeared with sauce. "Dead swine, too. Our divine minders do seem to be somewhat concerned about maintaining some semblance of normalcy."
He then sniffed the air, "Garlic, finely roasted? Duncan's lasagna?"
"Spaghetti!" came Duncan from the kitchen.
"Fresh melted garlic butter with the bread?" Methos asked into the kitchen doorway.
"And freshly baked bread!" Duncan said back.
Methos looked a bit downcast. "Makes my porcine piece seem paltry by comparison." He then smiled.
"Wow, this is some shindig. My first birthday was nothing like this, that's for sure. At least I think I'm sure. I don't really remember."
Duncan appeared in the doorway, "I want to do something to let them know their being born is something to be celebrated. We don't know how this is all going to end. Will they have a real birthday? We don't know. I don't want to take a chance."
Amanda looked sad, "Yeah."
Out in the jungle, Ritchie had taken a now thirteen year old appearing Darius rock climbing. They wanted to see if they could reach the top of one of the stone spires in the outer circle of the island. As they ascended, Ritchie glanced at Darius to see how he was doing. The boy looked intently as he ascended, handhold after handhold. His dark brown eyes focused ahead of him. The muscles in his arms, toned and strong in the manner of youth, honed by constant drilling from Ritchie, worked steadily. He had paid close attention to the lessons in making an ascent, though he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.
"Yo, Darius, slow up, man," Ritchie warned.
Darius looked back at Ritchie, the impatience clear on his face.
"Take it easy. No hurry, "Ritchie said with a smile. "That column top ain't going anywhere. But if you fall, you will be. And the sudden stop won't be fun."
"But Immortals don't fear such things," Darius said, heading on up.
"Well, fear isn't the right word," Ritchie grunted as he followed. "No, that fall wouldn't kill me. But it would hurt like hell. Besides, we don't know if you're immortal, man."
Darius paused, then resumed the climb in silence. The two of them eventually reached the top, a large table flat stone surface, with plenty of space to walk around. Below them was the island, green and dark behind its gray rock walls. They could see the sapphire of the lagoon, and the barge in its stone cradle. They could see the stone of the temple and the villa. Twin columns of smoke rose from the villa.
"Wow, I wonder what's going on there?" Richie said, a smile in his voice.
Darius shrugged.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Richie asked, tapping Darius on the shoulder, noting the boy's pensiveness.
"Richie, what are you afraid of?" Darius asked.
"Afraid?" Ritchie said, looking at Darius. He then looked at the deep blue ocean behind them, the sapphire sky above, the gray clouds around, the mist farther out on the ocean.
"Truth? I'm afraid of never finding out where I fit into all this. I'm Immortal. Yeah, so what? I'm gonna live a long time. Maybe. But what does that really mean? I would like to find out what I'm supposed to do with it, if anything."
"Do mortals have that same concern?
"Yeah, they do," Richie said, clearly remembering it, as his formal mortal life was still relatively recent in memory.
"So, what's the difference?" Darius asked.
"Well, Duncan, Fitz, especially Methos could tell you this better, but you have a lot longer to think about it. For me, one of the hardest parts of coping with all this is dealing with it when an answer doesn't come right away. I'm not very patient."
"But you have a long time to figure it out..."
"I don't know that," Richie corrected. "Thing is, is to realize you may not have all the answers, and they may be long in coming. If ever. And somehow accept it."
"Have you?" Darius asked, his eyes on Richie's.
"That'll probably be a life long project for me," Riche sighed after a moment.
Darius stood up, went over to his gear, and pulled out the sword Richie had borrowed from Duncan for his use. He took a few practice swings and took up a guard position. He smiled.
"Up here?" Richie said, looking around.
"Yeah," Darius said, "Up here. Where the Gods can here the clashing of our swords. They're listening, you know."
"Yeah, my priest told me the same thing," Richie quipped. He went and got his blade. Yeah, this would be a fun place to spar, if they were careful. And up there, high above the island, and with everything going on, things did take on a bit of a mythic quality. And Darius had gotten much better at this since he had been schooling him."
The two traded blows and blocks, smiling and chuckling. Their blades sang with impacts nigh musical. And yes, perhaps some celestial entities danced indeed to the song of steel.
Rebecca sat in the glade in front of the chessboard she had put together using local rocks, and tools produced from the ether that so much of their other things appeared. She had also tried getting more attractive clothes. Darius still used the nondescript tan clothes they have been getting since the beginning. She wanted something more. A navy blue sleeveless blouse hung on her shapely shoulders over a light blue tank top. An errant brassiere strap, red in color could be seen on one of her shoulders. And yes, Fitz had notice she was developing VERY WELL. And almost overnight. He's heard tales of women who went to sleep and woke up with bosoms? Well, with Rebecca, it was quite literally true. There they were, round, ripe, already pasting the budding stage and well into full, rounded maturity.
Steady on, Fitz, milad.
Comfortable, loose jeans rode her hips and rounded backside. Long, powerful legs carried her gracefully. She looked like she wanted to just take off and run. And if she did, Doctor Anne would need to introduce her to the sports brassier.
Easy, Fitzcairn.
Her blond hair was in an easy ponytail running down her back. It flapped in the ocean breeze like a banner, flying to announcer her imminent womanhood.
And the Army of Hugh was on the alert. While trying to maintain nonchalance. He made his move.
"Your Queen will be mine, lass," Fitz said, pointedly avoiding her cleavage as she bent over the board.
She moved her King's Rook forward, and said "Take her."
"With pleasure, my sweet," Fitz said, a smile on his face.
"Mate you in seven moves," Rebecca said matter-of-factly.
"Really?" Fitz said, cursing his mind apparently in a permanent entendre mode now.
And, seven moves later, Fitz scratched his head, not quite getting it.
"Where did you learn to play chess like that? I'm good at many things, but my talent in chess is middling at best."
Rebecca sat on her haunches and smiled, "Well, Methos and Joe have given me some tips. But somehow, I just know. I don't know how. I just get..."
"What?" Methos asked.
"Fitz...how many duels have you won? How much Quickening have you taken?"
Fitz's eyes narrowed, all playfulness gone, all erotic thoughts temporarily chased away. "Beg pardon?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, is that..?"
Fitz waved her off, and said, "No, lass, don't worry your head about it. Honestly, I don't think about it much. Some Immortals make hash marks. Me? It's part of what we do. I don't think about it. I'd much rather dwell upon the sweet wine of life, rather than the bitter tears of battle and loss. Why do you ask, luv?"
"Can you talk to them?" she said, her blue eyes on him.
"Talk to whom, lass?"
"Those whose Quickening you've taken? Can you talk to them?"
Fitz stared at Rebecca. He scratched his chin, and formulated his response, "No, I can't. I suppose it's not impossible, but...it's not something I think about."
"I can," Rebecca said. "All those women whose Quickening was lost, I now have. And they talk to me. They tell me things."
"What do they say, since you are on speaking terms?" Fitz asked, in spite of himself.
"More than a few know you, Fitz."
Fitz was numb, but curiousity propelled him forward. "And what do they say, lass?"
Rebecca paused, "Some of them would love to slap you right now, throw a drink in your face."
"And the others?"
"They want you, Fitz. Badly. I can feel it. Oh...I can..."
She stared at Fitz, a line of sweat running down her neck into her cleavage. She then grinned and said, "And you know what? Some of those women are ones who want to slap you. She then paused, "That doesn't make sense," she said, looking perplexed.
"Actually, it does," said Fitz.