AN – Many thanks for your kind comments and reviews, for those of you that were wondering about why 'our' Richie has no memory of his 'new' past, its because it hasn't happened to him yet – only if Ares can undo a number of factors will the amended past become reality. And for those of you who wonder what might happen when Duncan meets Duncan I am going to include that .. eventually!

The past – Paris August 1992

Duncan Macleod ducked out of the doorway of St Julien le Pauvre and turned his collar up against the steady drizzle. Despite being only late August the winds coming off the Seine already held the chill promise of winter. As he crossed the small Churchyard he lengthened his stride, intent only on getting home as soon as possible.

The solitary figure standing at the foot of one of the graves, gave him pause. He had clearly been standing there for some time, his short hair was plastered against his head as rivulets of water ran down his neck to soak into a mid length leather jacket, already dark with rain. Duncan felt his jaw clench with sympathy. He knew was it was to mourn. Still, he had no right to intrude on a stranger's grief. He started to move on.

And then he felt the buzz.

What are the odds?

To his surprise, the other didn't so much as glance in his direction. Wondering if he could be mistaken, he quickly scanned the Churchyard to see if anyone else could be the source of the sensation. But the place was utterly deserted. Even the birds and animals had sought shelter from the incessant rain. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he squelched over the sodden grass.

"I'm Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod."

"Do you practise that?" The other asked, keeping his back to him. "It's very impressive. If I didn't know better I'd be scared," He paused. "You do know this is Holy ground, right?"

"You're supposed to tell me your name."

"Only if I plan to fight you," The other returned blandly. "Which, I don't by the way."

Duncan nodded once, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets. He could just walk away. Pretend that he hadn't seen the dirty, crumpled clothes, the hair neither washed nor brushed in who knew how long, the fingernails, thick with engrained dirt or the utter exhaustion in the sagging posture.

Except he knew what it meant.

It had been a long time since Duncan had felt the need to hide out on Holy Ground and centuries on just the memory of Harrish Clay's mocking laughing was still enough to make his face flame with chagrin. But he had been young and scared and merely that fortunate that Clay was a man of principle and had not decided to pursue him anyway.

This one had run far, if the accent was any guide and fast, if the small blue canvas holdall at his feet was any indication.

He was being hunted.

"Humour me."

For a moment he still thought the other was still going to refuse, but then he swiped his wet hand on his sodden jeans and stuck it out for the Scot to shake.

"Richie Ryan. Of the Seacouver Ryans," He gave a self-depreciating shrug. "You've probably never heard of them."

"Seacouver?" Duncan frowned as he accepted the hand. He didn't think he knew anyone in Seacouver. Not anymore. "You're a long way from home."

"Yeah, well. Can't exactly hang out in the old neighbourhood anymore."

"I guess not," Duncan nodded, not unsympathetically. But he was anxious to get to the business in hand. "You look like hell."

He wondered if he had imagined the brief flash of pain in Richie's eyes before the younger man shifted his feet and looked at him uncertainly.

"Look, I don't know how this is supposed to work. I mean, if I wanted to borrow money, I could go to a bank, or if I needed a car for a few days, then I could use a hire firm, but this? Its not like I can put an advert in the local paper. And Amanda said .."

"Amanda? This is about Amanda?" Duncan's throat went dry. "She's in Paris?" That was all he needed.

"No, she's in Russia, right now. That's the problem. I need to .."

"Oh no," Duncan cut him off. "Whatever, she's got herself into, you tell her she can just get herself out of it. I'm not falling for anymore of her scams."

"You know what, forget it," Richie snapped. "I'll just go break into a Museum or an Antique Store or something." He started to walk away.

"You lost your sword?" Duncan's voice stopped him.

"I didn't lose it." Richie turned back.

Meeting the Scot's eyes to telegraph his intentions, he slowly reached into his coat and brought out a gold rapier with a clam-shell guard, which featured a beautifully ornate image of a ship, its quality testament to the craftsmanship which had gone into the piece. Except that the blade was snapped clean off. The sight sent a chill down Duncan's spine. The power and force that it took to shatter such a blade didn't bear thinking about.

"What happened?"

"I ran that's what happened. I jumped onto one of those tour boats that takes visitors down the river, if you can believe that. Amanda always said if she couldn't get to Holy Ground, she'd hide out in a crowd.

"It was a good idea," Duncan consoled him. "You're alive aren't you?"

So, Amanda was his teacher? He hadn't heard that she had a new student, but then he hadn't seen her in a long time and, always mindful of her debt to Rebecca, Amanda was more willing than most Immortals of her age to take on the responsibility. But if he was so new to the Game then he was hardly worth the chase.

Unless.

The young always run to their teachers.

The thought sent a chill like iced water running through his veins. He hadn't seen Martin Hyde in centuries. But he hadn't heard that he was dead either.

"Who was it?"

"No one I know," Richie's casual shrug, belied the anxiety in his eyes.

"Anyone I know?" Duncan asked with exaggerated patience.

"Oh. I don't know," Richie said quietly. "He said I wouldn't live long enough to tell anyone."

Duncan blinked. Such tactics were not unheard of, but were only used by the very worst of their kind. Which meant that whoever it was had no intention of waiting until Richie led him to Amanda. He was simply going to kill the student and force her to come seeking revenge.

And if that didn't work, he would surely kill again.

He had to be stopped.

"Have you spoken to Amanda?"

"No!" Richie's eyes widened betraying his panic. "No, you can't get her involved."

Duncan admired his loyalty, but it was clear that he was simply too young and proud to realise that he was way out of his depth. Well, he had no desire to see Amanda lose her head either and if it was Hyde then he had an old score to settle.

"You need a sword," he looked Richie up and down. "And a bath wouldn't hurt, either."

He strode off, assuming that Richie would follow. After a few steps he realised that the younger man wasn't following. He looked back to see him standing in place, a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. God, had he ever been that young?

"You coming?"

With a quick, sudden smile, Richie snatched up the small holdall, which lay at his feet, and caught up to fall in step beside the Scot.

Belatedly, Duncan wondered how on earth he was going to explain any of this to Tessa.