"You couldn't have put the bloody Gate on the other side of the water, Macleod?" Methos groused, as he transferred his belongings from the trans-pad, to the waiting canoe in which they would complete their journey to the Island. To his mind, the whole point of modern site-to-site technology was that it took you where you wanted to go. Instantly. Not with a twenty minute canoe ride at the end of it.

"That land's protected. What's wrong? Afraid of a little exercise?" Duncan held up a paddle.

"I used up my lifetime quota of rowing several centuries ago."

"It's a twenty minute paddle across the lake. Not the forging of the Aegean Sea."

"Be grateful for small mercies," Richie reached over and snagged the paddle out of the Scot's hand as he hopped down into the canoe. "He only put in the indoor plumbing about ten years ago."

Duncan rolled his eyes at their student's attempt to diffuse the lingering tension between his two 'fathers'. "A bathroom suite does not need a sonic spa to constitute indoor plumbing."

"Says you."

"You be grateful, brat," Methos dropped his bag in the canoe with one hand and pulled the paddle out of Richie's hand with the other. The kid looked much better but that didn't mean he should be over exerting himself. "When I was your age, indoor plumbing wasn't even invented."

"Along with everything else of any use or benefit."

"Not everything." Amanda smirked.

"Its not too late to pick somewhere else to go, you know," Connor cut in. "It is your birthday after all."

"Yes," Amanda added hopefully. "There must be a few places you still haven't visited."

"The Congo?" Methos suggested helpfully.

"I meant in civilization." Amanda pouted.

Richie looked out over the water. Nothing much had changed here since his last visit to the island. Or his first, come to that. This land had been a National Park since before he was born, keeping the communication nets, cramped, high rise housing and those annoying ad pop ups, which used a retina scan and your credit card purchases to reach their target audience, well away from its green shores.

It was almost like being transported back in time.

Almost.

"No, here is fine."

How to explain that he didn't want to do anything that he hadn't done before? Right now, he wanted what was familiar and safe. He wanted to spar with Connor, tease Amanda about her cooking, and try and beat Methos at Poker, just as he had thousands of times before.

"We could go fishing, if you like?" Duncan offered.

"Yeah," Richie smiled at him. "That would be good. Thanks."

As the canoe drifted away from the dock, Richie tipped his head so he could look at his reflection in the water. He had long since got used to the idea that, no matter what he did, he could never look more than late twenties, tops. Which was fine by him, he'd never much wanted to be the CEO of anything and it gave him an excuse to adopt the teenage slang and fashions that so annoyed his elders.

Which was pretty much why he did it.

But he had never in his wildest dreams, imagined that someone like him, rather than well, maybe not Amanda, but certainly Connor, Mac or Methos, would be the one to do battle for the prize.

He wondered what his younger self would have thought.

He would definitely have had a few words to say about the codpiece.

"You can't be serious." Duncan protested. At long last he had managed to get his kinsman alone and he was determined to address the question that had been eating at him, ever since he had heard the news. "When has Richie ever shown the slightest interest in joining the military? He'll be shot for disobeying orders within the week."

"We don't do that anymore. And it was entirely his idea." Connor countered.

"Of course it was, he's just found out he's supposed to single handily save the world! He's scared out of his wits."

"All the more reason to learn the skills that will equip him to survive. You can't fault his reasoning, Duncan. Ares is a military mastermind, it'll take more than luck and native cunning to defeat him, the boy will need strategy,

"We fight one on one, Connor, with swords. The military hasn't employed those kinds of strategies for almost two hundred years."

"I know that," Connor looked calmly out over the water. "And so does he."

"You think he has another reason?"

"Where best to hide than in plain sight?"

Duncan considered that. There was very little personal privacy in the Military, which would make it very difficult for Ares, to catch Richie alone. Also, working for Connor's Top Secret project, he would be protected by a cordon of security protocols. As a defensive measure, it wasn't foolproof, but it would buy the lad some time. He supposed it wasn't as if he was joining the Infantry.

"What is it exactly that you do there anyway?"

"I can't tell you that, Duncan. That's why it's Top Secret. Don't worry, I'll take good care of the lad."

"I'll warrant Methos knows."

"Then ask him," Connor suggested, inclining his head towards where Methos hovered on the edge of the clearing, like a dark shadow. The elder Macleod rose to his feet, casually brushing the leaves from his clothes. "But when you do, you'd do well to bear in mind that there is another reason that your bonnie lad is running off to join the circus as it were. "

"I know." Duncan sighed. Torn between his loyalty to Duncan and his feelings towards Methos, it was no wonder that Richie had turned to his Uncle Connor, for safe harbour.

"Sort it out Duncan," his teacher's advice was direct. "Lord knows the lad has enough to worry about without you two bickering over him like children with a prized toy."

It sounded simple. But there were still so many questions to which he wanted, needed, answers.

"Would you ever have told us, if I hadn't found that journal?"

"You did find it. As you were meant to." Methos was infuriatingly calm.

"After almost one hundred years. If you knew you would have to tell us one day, would it have killed you to tell us a bit sooner? You know what it would have meant to Richie, to me. How could you see us every day and not tell us?"

"I'm sorry Macleod, Lord knows, I know what it is to lose a son, but it wasn't my decision to make. If Rebecca had wanted you to know you were a father back then, don't you think she would have told you herself?"

"She didn't want me to know?" Duncan stiffened.

Well, obviously not. Methos didn't actually say the words. But then he didn't need to. Rebecca had had several opportunities to tell Duncan the truth. But even when Amanda, had told her that he had taken a new student, she had held her peace.

"Did she know?" Duncan managed. "Before I went to France, did she know that she was pregnant?"

The buzz of an approaching Immortal made them both turn.

"Ah," Richie stepped hesitantly into the clearing, taking in the tension between the two men. "Connor said I should come out here and check that you two weren't killing each other. I thought he was kidding. Obviously not."

"Go on back to the house, Rich," Duncan commanded. "We'll be along in a minute. We just have a few things to sort out here."

"The memory's the first to go huh, Mac?" Richie advanced. "That line never worked on me when I was a kid. Its not about to work now."

Duncan looked at Methos. "I would have thought you of all people would have raised him to respect his elders."

"Its not like I could tell him I was five thousand years old."

"You didn't have any problem, letting him think you were his father."

"Oh please, like that matters," Richie cut in. "I had so many fathers, when I was growing up, I pretty much lost count. Sure, most of them were bastards, but a few were pretty good. You," he turned on Macleod," always said you were glad I had other people who looked out for me."

"And you," he turned on Methos. "How many other kids do I have to share you with? Amanda? Darius? How many others did you clock up over five thousand years? Do you see me complaining? No, cos life isn't like that and it is possible to love more than one person at a time. Right?"

He looked from one to the other.

"Right?"

"How did you get to be the one who is right all the time?" Methos smiled.

"Just lucky, I guess," Richie shrugged. "Mac?"

"I'm sorry, Rich," Duncan looked sharply away, his jaw set and Richie's heart sank. Then the Immortal turned back to him, his eyes soft with affection. "I just .. It seems like I only just found you." He reached out and cupped his hand under Richie's chin, rubbing his thumb along his jaw. "Nothing in my life has made be more proud than being your father. Its hard to accept I might have to share that role"

"Its not like we just met. You've known me nearly all my life."

"There's never enough time, Rich."

"Still, you gotta admit, Methos did a good job laying the groundwork. I mean, a was a pretty nice kid when you met me, right?"

"You were a pretty amazing kid," Duncan vowed, truthfully. Pulling him in for a hug, he looked over the lad's shoulder at Methos. "I should thank you."

"By all the gods, Macleod, haven't you been listening to a word I've said? You don't have to thank me. We are all connected. He's my family too."

"He is? I mean, I am?" Richie turned around. "You mean, cos of Rebecca, right?"

Methos said nothing.

"Oookay," Richie started ticking candidates off on his fingers. "So, its not Rebecca, or Amanda, cos that would just be gross, right? What about Darius?"

"Darius? What about Darius?" Duncan frowned.

"Naw," Richie dismissed that. "He was a priest. Aren't they supposed to be like virgins?"

"Not quite," Methos decided now was hardly the time to educate Richie on the whys and wherefores of the Catholic Church's varied positions over the centuries in respect of married priests. "Besides, Darius entry into the Church pre-dated the tradition of celibacy."

"Tradition?" Richie spluttered. "I thought it was like a holy law or something."

Duncan, ever the teacher, shook his head. "Even when I was a boy, it wasn't exactly unusual for a man of the cloth to take a companion. The child was usually introduced as his nephew. Which caused a whole new problem for the Church, all those nephews looking for livelihoods and lands. That's where the word nepotism comes from."

"So," Richie looked at Methos. "Did Darius ever have any kids?"

"Rich," Duncan swallowed hard. "Why are you asking him?"

"Just the one." Methos nodded.

"Oh, this is too cool."

"Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Duncan demanded

A soft, delighted, smile had spread across Richie's face. "Maybe, you better tell him, Gramps."

The expression on Methos' face was so priceless that Duncan almost missed the wider implication. He looked from Richie to Methos with dawning realisation.

"Darius, Darius, was my father."

Richie was just putting the final touches to his evening dress, when he felt the soft buzz of an approaching Immortal.

"Need any help?"

Duncan leant against the doorjamb, with two glasses of whiskey, cradled in one hand.

"You know, I'm kinda disappointed that the bow tie went out of fashion." Richie tugged at his robes.

"I thought you hated wearing those things." Duncan came in, passing him one of the glasses and settling himself on the bed.

"Yeah, well," Richie took an appreciative sip of the whiskey. It was warm, smooth and very good. "I liked it when you tied it for me. Made me feel like a real kid."

"That was because, if I had tried to do this," Duncan hopped up and gave Richie a hug, landing a noisy kiss on his curls. "You would have decked me."

"Mac," Richie protested, laughing, as he tried to avoid spilling his drink. "Don't do that, okay?"

"What? This?" Duncan hugged him. "Or this?" A softer, gentle kiss, placed like a benediction on his forehead.

Richie smiled up at him., raising his glass they entwined their arms and drank a warrior toast.

"Love you, Dad."

"Likewise." Duncan tousled his hair, before he finally released him and bounced back onto the bed. Life was good.

"So, have you told Connor yet?" Richie asked, swatting at his hair where Duncan had mussed it.

"Yep. He said he wasn't at all surprised. He always knew that we were true brothers by blood."

"I guess, having different Dads explains why you don't look alike, huh?"

"Probably."

"Although, you'd think though, that Connor might have got a clue before now. I mean, what are the odds that a dude like Ramirez would be just passing through Scotland. I mean its not like its exactly on the way to anywhere."

"Well, he had the completely wrong idea about our Mother. He always thought it was Cassandra."

"Ouch." Richie winced. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm sorry your Mom is dead. But Cassandra is not my idea of a doting Grandma." He didn't have anything against her. But that was one kooky chick that he was happy not to find in his family tree.

"Don't say that to her face. She might turn you into a toad."

"See? My point exactly."

"I thought you were going to get changed for dinner?" Duncan swirled his whiskey around his glass.

"I am changed. See me changed?"

Duncan looked him up and down. "You can't wear that."

"What's wrong with it?"

Duncan threw him a bundle containing a long sleeved T-shirt, a soft flannel shirt and a pair of denim jeans.

"You need to put these on."

When he finally made it downstairs, Richie was touched to find his friends gathered in the lounge room, similarly attired in twentieth century dress. Amanda was wearing a very short skirt. Methos had his trademark sweater. Connor had even found a pair of white tennis shoes and Duncan was wearing a blue silk shirt, Richie remembered Tessa giving him, that first Christmas together.

"What is all this?"

"Its your birthday party." Amanda told him.

"What's sauce for the goose laddie." Connor grinned.

"Oh, I get it, payback time." When Duncan had turned five hundred, Richie had rented a castle in Scotland and organised a costumed ball, so that the younger Macleod could greet his fifth century in the atmosphere of his youth.

"You look good, Rich." Duncan was looking him up and down with a fond expression that suggested he was recalling some particularly embarrassing moment from Richie's younger days.

"Alright, so I'm hungry, we gonna eat? Anyone else wanna eat?" he pressed on hastily, before the Scot could decide to share.

"No, presents first." Amanda uncurled herself from the sofa, stood up and fetched a large box from the kitchen. Richie frowned at it slightly.

"It's too small to be Madonna gift wrapped." Duncan smirked.

"Hey, if I had known I was actually gonna live to be a hundred, I would have put different things on that list." Richie protested.

"Is this the list you wrote when you eighteen?" Connor grinned.

"Um. You guys didn't actually use any of those things did you?" Richie looked worried. "Cos, you know a dude can change a lot in a hundred years."

"We have noticed." Duncan assured him.

"Although, he hasn't got any tidier." Connor observed.

"Or taller." Methos chipped in.

"Do you mind?" Richie scowled. "At least I don't get the urge to spit on the floor, and sing bawdy songs when I've had one whiskey too many."

"Just open your present Richard," Amanda nudged it a little closer to him. "We promise not to sing."

"Sing?" Richie tugged gently at the box cover. "Why would you even want to .?" He trailed off as he uncovered his gift. "A chocolate cake?" Richie's jaw dropped. "With frosting? Oh man, Amanda, you're the best!"

Amanda smiled, genuinely touched by his reaction. The rise of heart disease, diabetes, obesity and other diet related illnesses with the corresponding strain that that this modern day epidemic had put on health providers, had encouraged governments in the developed world to restrict supplies of refined flours, sugars and fats. Such ingredients were not impossible to acquire, just very, very difficult or very expensive.

Richie didn't think it was a good idea to ask exactly how Amanda had come by them. He was fairly sure it wasn't anything legal. So, he settled for safer ground.

"Amanda, honey, I never even knew you could cook." He gave her a rakish grin, to show he was only teasing.

He half expected her to say that Mac had been the one to bake it. But she surprised him.

"Actually, Rebecca taught me. Think of this as our gift to you." She kissed him.

"Me next." Connor produced a small rectangular box from his inside pocket. He tossed the box across the room. Richie caught it cleanly in one hand.

"Looks like a pen." He rattled it. "Sounds like a pen."

"No-one uses pens anymore." Duncan frowned at his kinsman.

"He could try opening it, rather than dissecting it." Connor suggested.

"But this is the best part." Richie rattled it again.

"Its fragile."

"Oh," Richie stopped shaking it and cracked open the box, to reveal a thin metal tube. He had no idea what it was. "Um, well, its shiny."

"It's a sens net device."

"Of course, it is," Richie nodded sagely. Then scowled at Connor. "You want to try that in English?"

"You remember, palm tops," Connor shrugged. This has an encyclopaedia, a personal communication device, a security tracker and a language translator. Among other things."

"Wow," Richie rolled the tube between his fingers. It was lighter than he would have expected. But he couldn't see any buttons on it. "How does it do all that?"

"It fixes itself to the central cortex of your brain."

"What! You are not putting that thing in my head. Its enormous."

"That's the syringe laddie. The actual implant is about the size of a grain of rice."

"Oh, well, good."

"I've never seen anything like it," Amanda peered over Richie's shoulder.

"That's because it's a prototype."

"You're using me as a guinea-pig?" Richie protested.

"How many languages do you speak now? Eight? Twelve? You've worked hard, Risteard, but you don't have the centuries we enjoyed to build our knowledge. Just think of this as levelling the playing field a little."

"Here," Methos plucked it out of his hand. "Turn your head."

"Whoa. You're going to do it now?" Richie shrank backwards. "Don't I need an anaesthetic or something?"

"Trust me, I'm a doctor."

"Hold on a minute,. What if there are side effects or something? Ouch." He rubbed at his neck.

"All done." Methos smirked at him. "You want a lollipop?"

"That's it?" Richie blinked. "I don't feel any different."

"It'll take about thirty minutes to take effect," Connor sipped at his drink. "Open your other presents."

"Here, maybe this will cheer you up," Methos passed him a small, squashy packet, wrapped in silver paper.

"Wrapping paper?" Richie blinked. "Where on earth did you find actual wrapping paper?"

"I've been keeping it for a special occasion. I thought this qualified. Are you going to open it or not?"

Richie needed no further urging. He tore eagerly at the shiny paper, ripping it aside to reveal a small, white, stuffed, horse, twin to the one he had lost, long ago.

"Snowy." He breathed, instinctively hugged the little horse tight to his chest. As he looked up into the sympathetic faces of his friends, with tears in his eyes, he flushed. "Um, sorry. I guess I'm a bit old for this."

"None of us ever outgrows the need for love," Duncan's voice offered.

Richie paused as he stared solemnly into the eyes of the little stuffed horse. The words were as applicable to the ancient Immortal as they were to him. He blinked hard at the memories. Feeling his throat close up.

"Thank you," he managed.

"I know," Methos spoke quietly. "That there isn't anything I can do to make up for everything that happened, but this is something that I can do," He produced five leather bound volumes. Richie looked at them and then back at his teacher. Hope dawning in his eyes.

"There's one for each year."

"Oh man," Richie opened one of the journals at random, and an expression of rapt wonder crossed his face as he relived those early days in the little white painted house, with the blue front door.

"I remember this!" He looked up. His were eyes bright with excitement. "Man, how could I ever have forgotten that?"

Methos had made the record as detailed and complete as his absences allowed, encouraging Rebecca to keep up the journal when he was away, on the grounds that he didn't want to miss out on a second of the child's development. But, in his heart he had always feared that they would be split asunder and he wanted to remember those times.

"Richard," Connor interrupted, at last. "You still have one more gift to open."

"Huh? What?" Richie looked around. "Oh yeah." He grinned sheepishly at the others. "I guess I can read these later, huh?"

He carefully set the journal he had been reading aside and looked expectantly at Duncan. "OK, Mac, bring it on."

"Alright," He shifted forward so he was sitting on the end of his seat. "This isn't quite your usual present."

"C'mon Mac, when I was eighteen you got me a motorcycle, when I turned twenty-one you gave me a Rolex, for my thirtieth birthday, you got me a jet and when I turned fifty, you built me a house, you don't do 'usual' presents."

Even so, everyone was surprised when Duncan reached over and picked up the Katana, from where it was lying, in its scabbard, by his chair. He regarded it silently for a long moment, before he spoke, his voice quiet in the hushed room. "I have carried this sword, since it was bequeathed to me in 1778. For all that time, it has been a means to protect my friends, to deny my enemies, to see justice thrive and persecution whither." He unsheathed the blade and turned it formally over his arm, to offer it to Richie. "This is my gift to you."

"Oh my." Amanda breathed.

"Mac," Richie rose to his feet, but instead of reaching out to take the blade, he took a step back as if retreating from a dangerous animal. "I can't take that."

"You can and you will."

"C'mon Mac, one priceless Antique, well two if you count the rapier, is enough for one lifetime. You already gave me Graham Ashe's sword. You think I don't know what that says? Its more than enough, I don't need the Katana."

"Just take it," Duncan ordered. When it looked like Richie was going to refuse again he stood up and put his hand on Richie's shoulder, softening his words with a plea. "Please."

Richie swallowed. He was finding the look of overwhelming love in the Scot's eyes difficult to resist "But why?"

"Because, if this prophecy is correct and you have to face Ares, then I would not have you do it alone. This sword is part of us, and I want you to keep that close," he touched Richie's head, "here," his fingers brushed his chest, lingering over his heartbeat, and "here," he lifted Richie's hand and placed it firmly on the hilt of the Katana.

Richie looked at the offered blade. This was the sword he had reached out in awe to touch when he'd first learnt the secret of Immortals. It was the sword he had secretly wielded on the deck of the barge in Paris, when he thought Macleod wasn't looking, dreaming of a future he couldn't possibly have imagined. It was the sword Mac had used in each and every one of their training sessions using everything he knew to keep Richie safe.

He didn't need the Katana to remember any of that.

But maybe Mac needed him to have it.

His hand closed around the hilt.

The end of the beginning. Many thanks to all who read and especially reviewed. The full story of Richie's battle with Ares and my take on the Gathering will continue in A Place Out of Time, coming soon.