AN – Just a small reminder that this is an AU – which means I have changed a few details from cannon to accommodate my storyline. And I know some people have strong feelings about the whole concept of Immortals being able to have children. Personally, I have seen some stories where the idea was well handled and others where it was totally unbelievable. This is simply my take on the issue. But if you really don't like stories that touch on this then please look away now.

…

It was, Methos reflected, an indication of just how complicated his life had become, that his first reaction was to think this was not, in fact, the most difficult question Macleod could have asked.

"Does it really matter?"

"Not to me," Duncan knew he couldn't love Richie any more if he was his biological son and would certainly care for him no less if it was proved that he wasn't. "But it will matter to him."

And there was the truth of it. For none of them had been able to erase the kernel of self-doubt sown by the years of pain and rejection during Richie's unstable childhood, that, somehow, he wasn't quite good enough to be a real Macleod.

Methos acknowledged that with a pained expression. He had hoped by now that Richie would have got over that idea. The kid really couldn't afford any chinks in his armour if he was to face what was to come. "His mother always said he was your son."

"His mother?" Duncan looked at him for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice came in a whisper of shocked realisation. "Rebecca."

"The dates do seem to fit." Methos agreed.

"Rebecca was his mother." The understanding came with an odd sense of completion, as if merely confirming something that he had always known. "But how?"

"In the usual way I'd imagine," Methos stomach growled loudly and he took a moment to scoop up a handful of food and pop it in his mouth. "Really, Macleod, after five hundred years, you can't still believe we were all found under gooseberry bushes?"

"Of course not," Duncan floundered. Immortals had to come from somewhere. They were flesh and blood, after all. "But we can't have children."

"Well, not with mortal women. No."

"But with Immortal women?" Duncan sat up a bit straighter, thinking of Amanda at home in his bed, on his couch, on top of the desk in the office and on the kitchen table for that matter.

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Duncan glared at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Given the average length of our lifespan, it makes biological sense that we don't become fertile until we've proved that we possess the genes to stick around for a while, which can take a few hundred years. And then, we have to be in the right place at the right time. Immortal women are fertile far less frequently than mortal women."

"And the pregnancies?" Duncan raised a sceptical brow. Surely, in all this time somebody would have noticed something.

"If you were an Immortal women, carrying a very vulnerable infant, would you want to advise that fact?" Methos challenged.

"So they care enough to safeguard the foetus, but then they abandon the bairn as soon as it is born?" Duncan scoffed.

"It wasn't always like that. In the beginning, we raised our children. But they were too vulnerable, their Immortality too obvious to any opponent. It made them too easy to use, as bait, as pawns, as revenge. Many died young, much too young," His face tightened with an all too well remembered grief.

"So, you simply gave them away?"

Methos turned his head to look across the campfire, to where Richie had propped himself up on one elbow, his hair still tousled with sleep, but his face hard and angular and his eyes bright with anger.

"How much did you hear?"

"How could you?" Richie ignored his question as his eyes flashed. "How could you do that?"

"Because it was necessary," Methos said, mildly. "To keep our children, our race, safe."

"Safe?"

Inwardly, Methos winced at the hollowness in that tone. He knew as well as Macleod, the hardship that Richie had endured as a child. But there was no sympathy in his tone as he answered.

"You survived, didn't you?"

"Its that simple?"

"Believe me. There's nothing simple about it. It's a very complex operation. Have you ever heard of an Immortal infant who wasn't found?"

Duncan considered that. If the child were left long enough, they would die, of thirst, of starvation, of exposure, only to revive again, this time as a perpetual infant. Sooner or later, that infant would be found, but the baby that never grew up would become the lead story on CNN.

"Except, we never know who we are. Not really." Richie countered.

"We are all connected, Rich," Methos corrected gently. "You, me, Connor, Amanda, even that great lumbering Scot over there."

Richie gave him an old fashioned look. "Next thing I know you'll be telling me that Mommy and Daddy's love makes a magic circle all around me to keep out all the monsters."

"Your Mother loved you very much. She was determined, custom or not, that you would know that you were wanted and cared for."

"You tried to stop her." Richie realised, his tone rich with accusation.

"I tried to warn her," Methos corrected. "But there was no reasoning with her. She forced herself to leave you, so nobody could make the connection between her and the foundling. But she wanted to be the one to raise you. So, she came forward as a foster parent."

"Warn her about what?" Duncan asked noticing Richie had gone quite pale.

"Some things, no matter how much we want them," Methos flicked a quick, venomous glance in the direction of Ares body. "Are not meant to be."

"Emily," Richie spoke in a small voice. "Emily was my real mom?"

"What?" Duncan stared. "But she died, of a brain haemorrhage."

"She died, because she was murdered," Methos ran a tired hand over his face, remembering those dark days. "Some fast acting poison, that caused almost instant death."

"And the medical records?" Duncan had looked at those records. There was nothing in them to suggest foul play.

"Changed. The last thing we needed was a Police investigation. Its not like we could have produced a body for forensic examination," Methos threw a compassionate glance in Richie's direction. "As soon as she revived, you were the first thing she thought of. She wanted to go back for you. But she had been declared dead at the scene, in front of half of Seacouver. There was no way you could both return to your old life."

"We could have gone someplace else," Richie argued weakly. "Got a new identity."

"And explained to a five year old, how Mommy had died and popped back to life? You know better than that," Methos rebuked mildly. "Besides, the danger was not yet passed. We did the best for you we could," Methos had the grace to look a bit abashed. "In the circumstances."

"Circumstances? What circumstances?" Richie asked, suspiciously.

"Some things are meant to be." Methos shrugged.

"First of all, could you stop saying that?" Richie scowled. "Second of all, are you saying I had to have a sucky childhood to make me a better person?"

"Well, I wouldn't have put it exactly like that."

"How 'exactly' would you have put it?"

"Look, the 20th Century wasn't the ideal training ground for would be Immortals. Do you really think playing Samurai Shodown on the Gameboy perfect Mommy and designer Daddy bought you for Christmas, would have equipped you to hold your own against others with centuries more experience? We can only teach you so much. You have to have to the strength, the steel and the guile, to see it through."

Richie considered that. He had long since lost count of the number of times his ability to pick a lock, provide a distraction, or simply know when to run like hell, had saved his skin. If he had grown up as a so-called 'normal' kid in a sitcom perfect home, would he, could he, have survived so long? If he were honest with himself, the answer was probably not.

"I guess, there's a reason I'm the youngest surviving Immortal then, huh?" He gave a twisted smile.

"More than you know." Methos sighed.

"No, it canna be," Duncan looked up in barely concealed alarm. "For Lord's sake, Methos, you canna truly believe that we should all stand aside and let the lad face him. T'would be akin to slaughter."

"Um, Mac?" Richie interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

"Its not like it was my idea," Methos scowled at Macleod. "I only wrote it all down because after a couple of thousand years I was worried that I might forget a few things, the way to the market, the name of my last four wives, the fate of the Universe, that kind of thing."

"Wrote what down?" Richie looked from one to the other. "What's going on here?"

"Have you ever even tried to kill him?" Duncan challenged between clenched teeth.

"Of course not! Do you see the world coming to an end?" Methos threw up his hands.

"He tortured you," Duncan threw at him. "He took you and your teacher captive. Your first teacher, a man who was like a father to you, a gentle soul who borne nobody any malice. But he tortured him, until he went mad, all the while forcing you to watch. And when he died, he turned his attentions to you and for the next five hundred years he kept you chained up in the dark, with the rats and the vermin, whilst he inflicted upon you every horror known to mankind and a few more he invented just for the hell of it, until you became so evil, he thought you could never be saved. Then he let you loose to wreck your own brand of havoc across the earth. And you did. Thousands of innocent souls died at your hand and those you did not kill, you taught to be as evil and twisted as you were, until your legacy spanned generations, because of him. Because of what he did to you and yours."

"I know that," Methos moved so fast, Duncan was flat on his back in the sand, with a knife at his throat before he could even draw breath. The face above him was twisted almost beyond recognition. The lips curled in a feral snarl. "And I haven't forgotten a single thing that he taught me."

"Hey, back off."

Richie's indignant shout rang in Duncan's ears, an accompaniment to the blood pounding in his ears. But he forced himself to keep his voice calm and even.

"And now you want to let him live?" Duncan mocked. He hardened his tone. "Take his head. Make him pay for what he did."

For a moment, he thought he had succeeded. The raw hate that flickered in Methos' eyes a testament to the depth of of his feelings. But then it was gone. The knife disappeared into an unseen pocket as Methos sat back on his heels.

"If I could," His expression was haggard and his tone hollow as he met the Scot's searching gaze. "By all the god's Macleod, don't you think I would if I could?"

"You're that sure?" Duncan felt physically sick.

Methos nodded once and looked away. His expression closed.

"Alright, so now I'm pissed," Richie spoke up loudly. "What the hell is going on with you two?"

"I'm sorry," Duncan looked awkward. "I should never have said all those things."

"Why not? They're true." Methos shrugged lightly, but the casual veneer didn't reach his eyes.

"They used to be true. They're not anymore," Duncan put an apologetic hand on his shoulder. "They haven't been for a long time. I'm sorry."

"So, are we OK here, now?" Richie's voice asked hesitantly, after a moment. "I mean, nobody is gonna be chopping anybody's head's off, right?"

"No," Duncan met Methos' eyes in painful understanding. "Nobody is going to be chopping anybody's head off. Not today."

"You mean, expect the dead guy, right?" Richie looked in the direction of Ares. "Cos, its pretty hot here guys. He's starting to smell pretty rank."

There was a small silence.

"About that," Duncan wondered how you were supposed to tell your son that he was apparently destined to save the world.

"In the last days," Methos spoke up. "In a place out of time, the last shall meet the first, each carrying, the strength and hope of all with them, and so it will be decided and henceforth there will be only one power across the face of the earth."

"What?" Richie shook his head. "Man, you sound like some old straight to video movie. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have to be the one to kill Ares." Methos nodded in the direction of the corpse.

"What?" Richie yipped.

"Break it to him gently, why don't you?" Duncan scowled.

"Compared to the way I found out," Methos said pointedly. "I am."

"Why me?" Richie protested. "Its your fight. You started it. I thought I wasn't supposed to interfere. I'm sure there are rules about that. Right, Mac?"

"He doesn't mean here and now, Rich," Duncan cut in soothingly. "Look, we've all had a long day. I'll go and bury Ares, until we decide what we are going to do with him. There's plenty of food on the fire. You both need to eat and rest up before we get any further into this."

Richie knew that he was talking more about him than Methos, the ancient Immortal had enough juice to bounce back pretty fast. Still, he appreciated the gesture of equality. He waited until the Scot was out of earshot before he asked quietly.

"He's really my Dad?"

…

Duncan was scattering the last few mounds of sand over the grave when he felt the buzz of an approaching Immortal.

"I thought you might like a hand." Richie's voice offered, diffidently.

Duncan paused and rested his hands on the top of the shovel, he had brought out expressly for this purpose. The odds were that someone would be dead, after all and it never did to leave bodies out in this heat. A small smile flickered across his lips, at the familiar tactic, but he didn't turn around.

"And I thought I told you to rest?"

"I can rest, right here," Richie settled himself down onto a rock. "I guess, I am a little tired and it's a pretty long walk back to the campsite."

Now Duncan did turn around, letting his amusement show.

"After almost one hundred years, you still think you can con me? You couldn't just say you wanted to talk?"

"It was worth a try," Richie grinned unashamedly at him. "Besides, its fun. You wouldn't want me to get rusty or anything, would you?"

Duncan sat down on the rock next to him. God, there was so much to say. He had no idea where to start. So, he decided to start with what came naturally.

"And this is why you and Amanda, broke into that top security jewellers the other week? So, you wouldn't get rusty?"

"You know, I knew hooking up you guys would turn out to be a bad idea," Richie groused. "You have way too many ways to get stuff outta her these days."

"I have ways of getting 'stuff' out of you, as well." Duncan reminded him, flexing his fingers with tickling intent near the younger Immortal's ribs.

"Stop that," Richie slapped his hand away. Duncan's finger's advanced again. "Don't do that."

"So, spill, Tough Guy."

"Hey, new security technologies are coming along all the time," Richie defended himself. "A guy has to keep on top of his game. We handed all the stuff back to the Cops."

"All of it?" Duncan raised a brow.

"Alright so most of it," Richie admitted. "Look, somehow the store had acquired one of Rebecca's crystals. You know, the ones she gave her students? Amanda was pretty upset about it. That's why we broke in. But we gave everything else back, I swear."

"So why take it?"

"Because it was fun," Richie's grinned. "No harm, no foul, right?"

Duncan bit his lip. Amanda hadn't mentioned the crystal and he wondered why. Surely, she knew he would have helped her with something so important?

"So, are we okay?" Richie looked up at him.

"I don't know," Duncan looked back at him, in all seriousness. "Are we?"

"I think we are way better than OK, Dad," Richie gave him a shy smile.

"You heard that, huh?" Duncan was gratified to see that he looked absurdly pleased by the idea.

"It feels good, Mac," Richie confided softly. "Right. You know?"

"I know," Duncan agreed. He too, felt an odd sense of completion. As if it was meant to be. Still. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth All those wasted years. The lad was his son. He deserved to have been raised by those who loved him. He wondered why Rebecca had never seen fit to tell him the truth. And now she was dead and he would never know.

Perhaps he should ask Methos, he thought grimly.

"Mac, please, don't. Don't beat yourself up over this," Richie put a hand on his shoulder. "Ever since we met, you've been the best Dad. You've always been there for me when I needed you and, I never thought I'd say this, but maybe it all worked out for the best."

"You canna think that." Duncan swallowed hard at the knowledge of all the suffering and heartache his wee lad had endured.

"I'm not saying it was all fun," Richie admitted. "But it wasn't all bad either. And you gotta be honest, you wouldn't have wanted some sweater wearing Momma's boy for a kid, now would you?"

"Aw, Richie lad." Duncan slipped an arm around his shoulder. Hoping that his gesture would say all the things his constricted throat could not.

"Besides," Richie's light shrug, did nothing to disguise the sudden tension in his shoulders. "Maybe, you couldn't have changed it."

"Rich?"

"Some things are meant to be, right?" The thin note of fear in Richie's voice would have gone unnoticed by most people

"Methos told you?" Duncan scowled in irritation. The man had waited almost five thousand years. Could he not have held off one more day until the lad had had a good meal and a decent night's sleep?

"About how I am supposed to be the champion of all the good little Immortals and Ares is like the cheerleader for all the evil dudes. And, one day pretty soon, I'm supposed to square up to him and, no pressure, but whoever wins will decide the fate of the world? Yeah, he told me."

"You don't have to do it all by yourself." Duncan assured him. The Prophecy had been very clear about that. He, Methos, Connor and Amanda, all had their roles to play. It was only in the final battle that Richie and Ares would face one another over crossed swords.

"Methos said that was why Ares was out here," Richie didn't sound reassured "To whack you. 'Cos, you guys are my strength. He figured if he took you outta the picture then I'd be toast."

"I'm not leaving you, remember?" Fear as he recalled Richie's fevered distress at the mere thought of Duncan dying and leaving him to face the Game alone, made his tone gruff. "We'll face this thing together, my lad."

"Well good." Richie's face twisted.

"Hey," Duncan nudged him. "Come on, none of that. Talk to me."

"I'm scared, Mac," Richie swallowed hard. "Really scared. I don't think I can do this."