AN Jodi, - sorry, couldn't find your e-mail, to reply but thanks so much the review. You have a point about Richie recognising Methos, I was working on the idea that Richie clearly didn't recognise that 'Jack Ryan' was a fake and thus perhaps hadn't spent that much time with Jack. I know he claimed not to remember what Emily looked like in the series, but I figured that he probably had spent enough time with her that he would recognise her if he saw her again. Does that make sense?
With steel whistling above his head, Richie ducked and threw himself left, narrowly missing getting scorched in the fire. As Ares' sword cut through empty air, he rolled, rising to his feet and taking a ready stance, before his opponent could attack again. The two circled each slowly.
"You think you can best me boy?" Ares taunted. "You should have left me dead."
"That can be arranged." Richie made a sharp thrust, which Ares neatly sidestepped.
"Then you'll need to do better than that."
Richie stepped back and eyed him over his blade. In his bloodstained and sand soiled clothing the recently revived Immortal looked exactly like the ghoulish creatures from the comic books he used to read as a kid.
"Now is that nice? When I am just trying to get acquainted?" He challenged, trying to sound braver than he really felt. Jeez, this guy was older than Methos and Ares' harsh bark of laughter didn't exactly do much for his self-esteem.
"Your bravado doesn't fool me boy. I've been watching you since the day you were born. I know you better than you know yourself. I can smell your fear."
His sword flashed in the sunlight and Richie narrowly avoided loosing a hand.
"Missed." he gloated, albeit in a slightly higher octave than he would have liked.
"So, I did," Ares purred smoothly, advancing. Another flash and Richie swiftly pulled his ankle out of harm's way.
"You wanna dance, or fight?" he challenged, as he pivoted around, only to find Ares close on his heels.
"What I want is to kill you." Ares vowed darkly.
"Oh well, just so long as we have that clear." Richie attacked, driving Ares back, one two, three feet, before a sharp, unexpected pain registered itself in his thigh. He staggered against the burning sensation, trying to keep his footing in the loose desert sand but it was too unstable. He went down, raising his sword as he did, to lock with Ares' blade as it descended.
"Nice, isn't it?" Ares turned his wrist to display the retracting dagger, which had shot out from a sheath on his wrist.
"Oh yeah, gotta put that on my Christmas list." Richie breathed through the pain. He lunged fiercely, trying to take Ares by surprise before he was fully healed, but the Ancient countered his attacks smoothly, almost lazily and Richie knew he was holding back.
"How long shall I keep you alive?" Ares wondered. "A few days? A few months? Maybe a century or two if you amuse me."
"You think that .." Richie panted.
"Hold." Methos voice commanded.
The multiple thrum of Immortal presence brought both combatants to a stand still, eying each other warily across the flickering circle of firelight that marked their arena as the others approached.
"You're too late," Ares greeted Methos without looking at him. "Battle has been joined. His head is mine."
"You can't kill him."
Something that might have been amusement flickered across Ares face. "Oh, I think I can. Believe me, he's not that good. You really should have taught him better."
"Its not time," Methos reminded him. "Not everything is in place."
"So, I come into what is mine a little sooner than you expected," Ares was unrepentant. "He challenged me."
"Exactly."
For the first time Ares looked less than assured. Then he scowled. "A minor detail. It is of no consequence."
"Do you really want to take that risk?" Methos asked. "If the last battle could be decided on a mere challenge, there would have been nothing to stop you killing him when he was an infant. That's why it cannot take place until all the conditions are met. This is neither that time nor that place. If you kill him now, who is to say whether the Prophecy will be fulfilled?"
"And if I'm willing to take that risk?" Ares twirled his sword dangerously.
"Then the Prophecy will be null and void and there will be nothing to stay my blade," Methos hissed. "And I will cut you down before you can even recover from his Quickening. And make no mistake, I will enjoy it."
"And if I decide to put up my sword, you'll simply let me walk away?" Ares mocked. "To live, grow stronger, to fight your precious child another day?"
"Yes," Methos nodded. Much as he hated to see this man live, the only way to be sure that the outcome of the Prophecy was in their favour was to obey the rules to the letter.
"Hey, hold on a minute," Richie protested. "Don't I get a say in any of this?"
"Absolutely not." Methos didn't so much as spare him a glance.
"Rich, let him go," Duncan counselled, more reasonably. "If you don't have to fight. Don't."
"He's right, Richard," Amanda put in. "You don't want to rush into these things. There's still plenty of time," She made a face. "Well, maybe, not plenty of time. But some."
"What? Weeks? Days? Months?" Richie deliberately let a little of his fear show. "He's zillions of times older than me. Do you really think a couple of centuries would make any difference now?"
It worked. A cool sadistic smirk settled across Ares features. "You know, I don't think I will kill you today. I think I'll let you live with your fear a while. Begin to feel it eating you up inside. And know every morning when you wake up that today might be the day that I come for you. For rest assured, little one, we will cross blades again."
With that he put up his blade with a little mocking bow and began to make his way back to where he had tethered his horse.
"On one condition." Richie's voice stopped him on the very edge of the firelight.
"You dare to make conditions to me?" Half in shadow Ares expression was unreadable, but the amusement in his voice was clear.
"Leave my family alone," Richie's tone was resolute. "If you or any of your goons come after them, I swear I will find a way to screw up this Prophecy even if it means I have to chop my own damn head off."
They all watched in silence as Ares disappeared into the night and then for some time nobody spoke. Richie walked over to a canteen of water left by the fire and took a long drink.
"He's good." He offered, as if nothing much out of the ordinary had happened.
"I could have told you that." Methos growled.
"Yeah, well," Richie put the top back on the canteen and put it aside. "I like to see stuff for myself."
"And the other reasons were?" Duncan asked quietly.
Richie glanced sharply in his direction. Sometimes he wished the man didn't know him nearly so well. "You know. Just for once I'd like to be the dark, brooding, one. Its not like you guys tell me every teensy tiny detail of your lives." He protested.
Duncan blinked at the genuine edge of frustration in Richie's tone.
"Since when did almost getting yourself killed become a teensy tiny detail?" Methos cut in.
"Since when has 'almost' even counted?" Richie retorted. "Besides, if your precious prophecy is right, its not like I was ever in any danger."
"Oh, I don't know," Methos tone was smooth and dangerous. "Pull another stunt like that and I'll run you through myself."
"You know," Richie turned on him. "I'm such an idiot. I actually thought it was pretty cool that this five thousand year old dude might just give a damn about me. But all this time, all you've actually cared about was this damn Prophecy."
"It wasn't like that." Methos attempted to defend himself.
"The tell me how it was, Daddy, cos I sure as hell don't understand."
"I did what I had to do."
"You left me! You left me with people who hurt me and used me," Richie hissed. "Now maybe that kinda thing passed for normal with you and your pervy friends back in ancient times, but .."
Methos didn't think. He didn't plan. Instead, he just reacted as the strain and worry of the past few days boiled over and his fist flashed out, causing a crimson stream to spurt from Richie's, now broken nose. His eyes widening in shock, Richie pressed one hand to his injured nose, turned on his heel, and fled.
"Well, you certainly know how to win a person over, don't you?" Amanda observed dryly in the silence that followed.
"Oh bugger." Methos scrubbed at his face, looking more distraught than Duncan had even seen him. "I'd better go after him."
"No." Duncan stopped him. "Let me go."
"By all the god's Macleod, I only want to talk to him," Methos protested. "Whatever else you think of me, you have to know I've only ever done what I thought was best for him."
"I know," Despite his own feelings of jealously he couldn't deny that Methos proven time and again just how much he loved Richie. He gave a slight smile, to soften his next words. "That's why you are going to let me talk to him."
Which wasn't to say that Duncan thought getting through to Richie would be an easy task. Even in the dim light of the candles the lad's entire body language screamed 'go away'. He could hardly blame him. It had been one hell of a week.
"Mac, don't," Richie's voice was dangerously expressionless. "Just don't, okay?"
"We don't have to talk," Duncan assured him before he could be rebuffed. "I just thought you might like some company."
Richie's scowl didn't waver, but he turned his head away in silent acceptance of the Scot's presence. Duncan settled down on the ground. Beside him Richie sat silent and absolutely still. The nervous gestures that as a teenager would have screamed his inner turmoil to the world were utterly absent. If his sharp eye hadn't been able to detect the faintest rise and fall of his chest, Duncan would have sworn the lad wasn't even breathing. It was moments like these that reminded Duncan that, despite his physical appearance, the lad wasn't wholly a teenager any more.
"Here," Duncan nudged him and passed over a handkerchief so Richie could wipe the blood from his face.
"Thanks." Richie accepted it, but only scrubbed half-heartedly at the blood before he sighed and dropped his hand into his lap.
Duncan gave him a few minutes, but when it became clear that Richie wasn't going to talk, he took a deep breath and dove straight in.
"Do you remember Cortes?"
"I thought we didn't haven't to talk?" Richie wasn't looking at him, but Duncan decided to take the note of wry acceptance in his voice as a good sign.
"We don't," He shrugged. "But I think you need to."
"Its not like Cortes is someone I'm ever likely to forget." Richie answered..
The Past
Duncan sighed as he let himself into the empty Antique Store. It wasn't his fault that the plane had been delayed, or that traffic on the freeway had been nose to tail. But that hadn't cut much ice with Tessa. A quick glance across the alley to where Tessa's Mercedes was usually parked told him that the Frenchwoman had carried out her threat and gone to the gallery opening with Richie. He'd have to make it up to her later. His mouth quirked in a rueful smile, he'd probably have to make it up to Richie as well, the lad had probably taken none too kindly to being dragged along.
He dropped his bag in the middle of the floor in the Store and wandered over to the office to pick up the pile of mail on the desk. Checking through the letters that arrived in his absence he made his way to the kitchen for something more appetising than airline fare. As he crossed the room the thin steady thrum that announced the presence of a pre-immortal snaked up his spine. Frowning slightly, Duncan tossed the mail on the kitchen counter and veered towards the teenager's room. Raising his hand to knock, he paused.
Usually, the sound of his music or the rise and fall of the TV announced Richie's presence to the world. He was only quiet when he was asleep, sick, or up to no good. Nine pm was far too early for the nocturnal teenager to be in bed. And Tessa would have told him if the lad was sickening for something.
Dropping his hand, Duncan soundlessly pushed the door open and surveyed the room. The usual collection of dirty laundry used coffee cups and random items apparently essential to teenage life in this decade met his eyes. But to his surprise there was no sign of the lad. Edging his way silently into the room, Duncan honed in on the source of the faint buzz.
Richie was in the closet.
Duncan's features creased with displeasure. He could only think of handful of reasons why a teenager would take advantage of parental absence to hide him self away. Richie had said he didn't do drugs and Duncan believed him. And if Richie had a girl in there, Duncan was pretty sure they would have been making a lot more noise. Which left Tessa's stash of cigarettes or his supply of sprits as likely candidates. A quick sniff assured him the lad wasn't in danger of setting light to himself in there, so he turned away intending to see what, if anything, was missing from the liquor cabinet before he confronted him.
He was halfway across the room when he saw the three drops of crimson blood on the floor.
"Richie."
In an instant, he had turned on his heel and wrenched open the closet. Blinking rapidly to help his eyes adjust to the dim light he saw the teen huddled on the floor, his eyes very blue in his pale face.
"Richie lad, what's wrong?"
His only response was a widening of the eyes in terror as the lad tried to press himself even further into the dark corner.
"Richie, its me." Duncan dropped his tone to its most soothing.
"I'm sorry," Richie whimpered.
"Hey, hey." Hunkering down so he was at eye level with the teen, Duncan ignored the fact that they were having a conversation in a closet. The only way he was going to get Richie out of there right now was by brute force and that wasn't on the agenda. First things first, he had to know about the blood. He scrutinised the teen. Richie was clearly shaken but there was no obvious sign of physical injury.
"Are ye hurt lad?"
If Richie noted the thickening of his brogue, an obvious sign of the Scot's deep concern, he gave no sign of it.
"No. I'm sorry. I tried."
"You tried to get hurt?" Duncan teased, hoping to raise a smile.
Instead, Richie looked absolutely terrified.
"I'm sorry. I tried to stop him, but he didn't care about me. He only wanted Tessa."
The present
"At first," Richie swallowed hard as he relieved the memory. "I thought he was gonna kill me. Then, afterwards I figured you were gonna kill me for not getting myself killed."
"Even if you had thrown yourself on his sword to protect her, he would still have taken her." Duncan said, more bluntly than he had dared with the traumatised teen. "And you would have died for nothing."
"I should have done something," Richie berated himself. "I should have refused to deliver his message. Something."
"And every time you defied him, he would have hurt Tessa again," Duncan vetoed that. "In curbing your own feelings and obeying his commands you did what you could to spare her future harm. That took maturity. I admired you for that."
"I should have killed the bastard."
"You were seventeen years old and mortal," Duncan reminded him. "If you had gone up against a man as old and experienced as Cortes it would have been tantamount to committing suicide. You just weren't ready."
"So, instead I get to be responsible for maybe getting you killed?" Richie demanded, then winced as if he had let slip more than he had intended.
Duncan sighed he had feared this was where the lad was coming from. "Cortes was the one who decided to take Tessa hostage. I was the one who accepted his challenge." He shrugged. "I fail to see how you were responsible for any of that."
"Cos I was the one dumb enough to let Cortes take Tessa out from under my nose."
"Rich, when I die, it will be because of choices I've made. Even if you are part of those choices, that still doesn't make you responsible for my death."
"No?" Richie laughed hollowly. "What about Connor's, or Amanda's. Hey, I might even get to rack up the Old Timer's death, imagine that. All those centuries and I'm the one who brings him down."
"Rich .."
"Amanda told me. At the end, the last, whatever, the number of Quickenings will get too much for any one person to hold, " Richie pulled out Rebecca's crystal and turned it over in his hands. "That's when we're all gonna have to wear these. The pieces of the crystal will act as a conduit for all our Quickenings. She isn't sure how its supposed to work, but apparently it means we'll share each others strengths and weaknesses."
"So, when you win against Ares, we all win?" Duncan realised.
"And if I loose," Richie's quiet tone, revealed what he was really worried about. "We all die."
"So, better to get yourself killed now and let the rest of us fend for ourselves?" Duncan guessed.
"Better than being responsible for all your deaths."
Duncan sighed. The lad had always cared more about his friends than his own safely. It was a trait that he admired, but it was also the one that gave him the greatest cause for worry. "Alright, answer me this. Do you choose to be the focus of this Prophecy?"
"Like hell," Richie snorted. "I would have chosen you."
"Then how can you be held responsible for any of this?"
"Maybe because I'll be the one holding the big, sharp sword?"
"I dunno Rich," Duncan butted his shoulder. "Think about it. If we have all your strengths and weaknesses then you will have ours also."
"You really think?" Richie brightened slightly. The idea that he would be carrying the combined strength of his friends into battle with him sudden made the prospect seem slightly less impossible.
"And after today's performance, Ares will be far more likely to underestimate you," Duncan said dryly.
"You noticed that, huh?" Richie squirmed.
"Well, quite aside from the fact that you rushed in like an idiot," Duncan scolded. "I haven't seen you parry that broadly since you were first my student." He gave the lad a knowing look. It was a good strategy, if a dangerous one, to lull your opponent into thinking that you were less of a swordsman than you truly were. It encouraged them to get complacent and that bred mistakes.
"He already thinks I'm just a kid. I didn't think it would do any harm to live down to his expectations some." Richie defended himself. "A guy's gotta use what he has, right?"
Duncan slipped his arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. "Then don't run off and try and solve this all by yourself. We're all in this together, Tough Guy. Let us help you."
"Thanks Dad," Richie smiled softly as he leant into his strong grip, taking comfort from his presence. If he lived to be a thousand he would never understand what he had done to deserve this man as a father.
But then what did that make Methos?
"I have to talk to him, don't I?" He sighed.
"I think so," Duncan agreed. They were all in this together, after all. "Although, you might want to wipe the rest of the blood off first."
"Actually," Richie considered. "I don't think I will. I've got a better idea."