AN- There is some description of Richie torture in this chapter. I know many of you enjoy that kind of thing, but please skip over the third section if you think this may disturb you. There will be reference to his injuries elsewhere but not graphic.
It had been almost a week with no trace of the lad. Between them they had conducted a systematic search throughout the city. They only had a few places left to look. No one would actually say it, but as they all sat morosely around the fire in the barge's salon Duncan knew they were on the brink of admitting Richie was no longer in Paris.
Which meant he could be absolutely anywhere.
"Perhaps it will not be so bad. If he cannot kill Richie, surely hurting him will achieve nothing?" Tessa spoke up.
"Some would say that inflicting pain is an end in itself." Adam said quietly.
"But that's horrible." Tessa recoiled.
"All he really needs to do is hold him hostage," Connor's words were intended to reassure the Frenchwoman but Duncan doubted that his mentor believed them. There were always those who took a sadistic pleasure in inflicting pain for its own sake. "Perhaps we can even use the delay to our advantage. Lord knows Risteard isn't ready to face Ares yet."
The very thought of the blonde youngster squaring up against Ares made Duncan's gut twist, still he felt honour bound to defend the lad.
"He seemed confident enough."
Connor dashed his hopes with a sharp shake of his head.
"He's scared out of his wits. He can't bear the waiting so he just wants it to be over, even if that means getting the dying over with too. He was exactly the same when it came to taking his first head, rushing headlong into danger simply to be done with it." Connor frowned at some memory. "He was lucky then. Both times. He may not be so fortunate with Ares."
Duncan didn't quite understand how Richie could have had two chances at taking his first head. But still.
"What happens if he loses?"
No one it seemed had an answer to that.
Duncan stood and watched, his hands in his pockets as Adam lifted off a manhole cover and shifted it to one side, before dropping down until he was sitting on the edge.
"Not many people remember that these are here any more." He observed.
"You do," Adam peered into the darkness, before producing a small flashlight from his pocket and switched it on. "So, do I, maybe Ares does as well. Its worth a try."
Amazingly the people around them just went about their business, taking not the slightest notice of the two men as one after the other they disappeared into the earth.
It took his eyes a moment or two to adjust to the dim light, following the bobbing light of the flashlight as it glinted off the smooth polished surface of the bones and skulls that made up the walls of the catacombs. In spite of himself he shivered slightly at the grim spectacle. At least he knew that Ares couldn't kill the lad.
But there were worse fates than death.
Suddenly Adam held up his hand, signalling a halt. Duncan peered over his shoulder to see what he had seen. Up ahead in the darkness was a flicker of light, casting its long shadow against the wall. As he strained to listen the soft murmur of a mocking voice was followed by a blood-curdling scream. And then silence.
"I'm going to kill him." Duncan growled softly.
"No. You take care of Richie," Adam shook his head decisively. "I'll deal with Ares."
"Are you sure you can take him?" He eyed the slightly built Immortal doubtfully.
"Absolutely bloody positive," Adam retorted. "I'm going to cheat."
For once in his life Duncan had no argument with that as he followed silently down the passageway. Just as they reached the point where the buzz hit Adam pulled out his sword.
"It's going to be bad."
Duncan swallowed hard and gathered his courage.
"I'm ready."
But he wasn't. Not in the slightest.
Illuminated by the soft light of a circle of torches Richie's body hung suspended by a single thick rope attacked to a hook embedded in the ceiling. Duncan's eyes travelled up from the slender feet, crisscrossed with slash marks over the emaciated body mutilated not with the random pattern of a frenzied attacked but the dangerous artistry of a truly evil mind. He felt his throat tighten as he saw the damaged limbs twisted into impossible configurations and the soft blonde curls matted with blood, which was all he could make out of the lad's features as his head lolled to one side in unconscious agony.
No. Not ready at all.
"Two of you?" Ares greeted them with a mocking smile. "Should I be flattered?"
"Macleod, take Richie to Darius and wait for me there," Adam instructed without looking at him. "We're going to be a little busy here."
Warily, Duncan looked over at Ares to see if he was planning on interfering but the ancient Immortal gave him a mocking little bow. "I didn't expect you to find me so quickly and yet still you are too late."
"We've had the care of the boy for a century," Adam's tone was scathing. "Even you can't undo that in a week."
"You don't think so?"
The knowledge and cruelty that underpinned the barb was designed to mock him for his own weakness. Instead Adam's gaze hardened at the reminder of his own torment at Ares hands. Lifting his sword almost casually he advanced with smooth purpose.
"You had me far longer and you still failed."
Ares chuckled.
"You're not going to fight me. Not over this. You've wasted the best part of the last five thousand years running away and now all you will have to remember your life by is the view as you looked back over your shoulder."
"Tell that to Olympic Athletics," Adam's eyes had a dangerous glint. "Sometimes running away gets you exactly where you want to be."
"You can't win. And you can't kill me, remember?"
"I may not be able to kill you, but I can make you wish I had," Adam glanced up at the ceiling, where above them stood the towering mass of the ancient Cathedral. "And since this is Holy Ground. You can't take my head either. So, I can't possibly lose."
"You've tried before." Ares purred, lifting his own sword.
"Oh, I really wasn't trying before."
As the two of them began to circle each other Duncan hastened to help Richie. Rapidly assessing the situation he carefully wrapped one arm around the battered body to support its weight as he slashed though the rope suspending him from the ceiling. As he took the weight Richie's body, made slick by the numerous sluggishly bleeding cuts, started to slip through his grasp. With a muttered curse, Duncan tightened his grip before the dead weight hit the floor, only to cause the lad to jerk into agonised consciousness as he pressed on open wounds.
In a primeval reflex Richie's clawed hand came up so fast and so determined to inflict pain on his attacker that Duncan almost lost an eye, not to mention his grip on the struggling form as he went down on one knee, bracing him against his chest.
"Easy, Rich, it's just me, Mac."
Richie stilled and took a great shuddering breath, like a wounded animal scenting the air.
"'ac."
The faltering word came out as the merest whisper of trust from between parched lips as Richie instantly relaxed in his grip, letting his head loll against his shoulder with the simple trust of a child. His throat tightening Duncan gently cupped his hand under his chin, helping Richie to raise his head so he could look him in the eyes.
Except, he didn't have any.
Two blackened holes stared sightlessly at him where the lad's eyes should be. Clamping ruthlessly down on the bile that threatened to overwhelm him, Duncan forced his voice to sound calm and soothing.
"You ready to go home, Tough Guy?"
Easing the battered body to the floor Duncan ignored the rhythm of sword blows and insults that echoed around the cavern to focus all his energies on the lad. He shrugged out of his long cashmere coat and wrapped it gently around his shoulders, knowing all the time he was hurting him.
With an effort Richie raised his hand and waved it in the direction of Duncan's wrist, attempting to still his movements.
"Kill me." He rasped.
"Rich," Duncan closed his eyes. But he knew the younger Immortal was right. Moving him in this state would be nigh on impossible. Plus Duncan didn't think he could bring himself to put him in the trunk and risk that he might revive before he was safe and well in a clean bed. Grimly he reached out the Katana and turned it over.
"No, 'ac,"
Richie's voice faltered as his telegraphed his distress at his teacher blooding his beloved Katana for such a purpose. Wide eyes strained to indicate the readily available daggers of all shapes and sizes on a nearby table. Duncan shook his head. He'd be dammed if he'd let another of Ares butchering tools touch his lad. He reached out and stroked a thumb along Richie's jaw.
"No, laddie. If it must be done, t'will be done with honour."
As he slid the sword gently between the lad's ribs, somewhere in the mists of time he thought Hideo Koto would approve.
Darius had received his precious cargo with his usual infinite kindness and brisk efficiently. As they laid the battered body in Darius' own bed it was clear that Ares had done what he could to maximise the lad's suffering. Some wounds had been laced with salt others rubbed with noxious powers to slow their healing, broken bones had been intentionally mis-set so they healed in crooked, useless, agony.
He was afraid to ask about his eyes.
Duncan gently prised off the expensive cashmere coat, before helping Darius bath the battered body in warm water steeped with healing herbs to wash out the poisons and then they systematically broke the damaged bones so they could be properly re-set. Only then did Duncan removed the Katana and step back as Darius wound a strip of soft linen around the damaged eyes and before covering him lightly with a sheet.
"Wouldn't those wounds be better left open to the air?"
"Medically perhaps," Darius agreed, giving him a compassionate look. "But right now Richie is not my only patient."
"You'll no hinder his recovery on my account." Duncan protested.
"What about Connor? And Adam? Or Amanda? Your Tessa?" Darius shook his head. "When he wakes he'll need the support of his family. It'll be easier for you all to be strong for him if you don't have to look at Ares's handiwork."
Duncan sighed.
"Do you wish me to call them?" Darius offered.
"No, I'll do it."
Connor answered and arrived shortly afterwards bearing Richie's sword and a pair of black silk boxers.
Duncan saw his distress in the chalk white of his face and the whiteness of his knuckles, but his tone was steady when he reached over and firmly tucked the sword in beside the blonde.
"He'll feel better if he wakes with his sword to hand."
Only then did his façade break as he turned away and put his fist through a piece of fourteenth century panelling. Wincing at the spray of splinters and the distinctive crack of broken bones Duncan knew exactly how he felt. Looking at his heaving back Duncan gave him time to regain his composure before he asked.
"And the boxers?"
A short bark of laughter was his reward. Connor turned and approached the bed, still looking shaken but more in control as his fingers brushed over the freshly washed curls. "Amanda's idea. She didn't want the lad to feel self conscious."
There was something more to it than that Duncan thought. Men of their times neither he nor Darius had given a second thought to the fact that Richie was naked under the sheets. But then neither of them knew the lad all that well.
Connor looked around.
"Where's Adam?"
It was another hour before a buzz roused Duncan from his thoughts as he sat in silent vigil, holding the dead lad's hand more for his own comfort than anything else. Darius had gone to say mass and Connor had been despatched back to the barge to keep watch over Tessa. Not that Duncan's didn't trust Amanda to keep the mortal woman safe, but the idea of the two of them spending too much time alone together did nothing for his blood pressure.
So, it was with a mixture of hope and dread that he looked towards the doorway.
"How is he?" The dark haired Immortal strode into the room, shedding his coat and scarf and casting them to the floor, as he rolled up his sleeves.
"He's still dead. I think the moved taxed him."
Duncan watched as the other pulled back the sheet. A frown settled over the classical features as he surveyed the damage up close for the first time.
"You should see the other guy," He spoke with grim satisfaction.
Duncan couldn't help but feel good about that.
"It took you long enough," Duncan kept his tone casual as he took in the one obvious sword cut where the rent edges of the baggy sweater flapped across the now healed chest. "I was starting to worry about you, " he paused. "Methos."
He wasn't even sure if he head heard right. And even if Ares had suggested that Adam was five thousand years old that didn't mean to say he was right. He was quite prepared for the other to laugh in his face.
Instead, he merely glanced up for a moment before going back to examining Richie. "I was going to tell you."
"Oh?" Duncan wasn't at all sure he believed that. "When exactly?"
"6th March 1995," Methos replied, peering at one of the bottles Darius had left on the bedside table. "Of course, I needed you to kill Kalas for me at the time."
"You wanted me to fight your challenge?" Duncan's jaw dropped.
"Actually, you volunteered, or will volunteer, or whatever. The gods only know what will actually happen now." Methos sighed, as he put the bottle down.
"After all this time, have I and my God had so little influence on you?" Darius didn't wait for an answer as he surveyed the oldest living Immortal from the doorway with a critical eye. "I don't suppose it would do me any good to suggest that you rest?"
"I can rest here."
"At least take a shower and a bite to eat," Darius counselled. "Richard will wake soon enough and we'll all need our strength."
After he had left Duncan watched for a moment as Darius tended to Richie's needs, reluctantly releasing the lifeless hand that had become his lifeline for a brief instant as the Priest went about checking the healing bones were straight and true and moistening his dry mouth to lesson the trauma of a return to life, before he asked the question burning uppermost in his mind.
"How long?"
"I'm not sure my friend, in normal circumstances an Immortal of this age and experience would have healed much faster than this, but I fear what we can see is only the tip of the iceberg. Ares is a master in his field and he has had more than enough time to deplete young Richard's reserves."
"Oh," Duncan scrubbed a weary hand across his face. That wasn't welcome news. "No, I meant, how long have you known, Methos?"
"So, he told you?" Darius didn't show as much as a flicker of surprise. "All my life my friend, all my life. I suppose you could say he was my first teacher."
"Methos was your first teacher? And you couldn't have mentioned this before?"
"I would have. But in order to find the knowledge that the good Lord feels we truly require, first we have to know which questions to pose." Darius gave him an enigmatic smile.
"In other words," Methos returned, his hair still damp from what had to have been one of the quickest showers in history, a half eaten chicken leg in one hand and a half drunk bottle of beer in the other. "You never asked."
"Do you have anymore surprises up your sleeve?" Duncan asked, slightly sourly.
"Well, now that you mention it .." Adam pulled up his sleeve to reveal a blue tattoo, shaped rather like a bird.
"You're an ornithologist?" Duncan scoffed, even as the design triggered some long lost memory in his brain.
"No, I'm a Watcher. It .." Methos blinked suddenly and turned towards the bed.
A second later, Duncan felt it too, that brief surge of awareness that signalled the resurging presence of a returning Immortal.
A sharp, painful gasp echoed around the small chamber as Richie sucked fresh air into stale lungs. Methos rested a hand on his shoulder, gently holding him in place to prevent any further damage from the sudden urge to sit up that seemed common to all returning Immortals.
"Its alright, Munchkin, you're alright." He soothed.
"Daddy?" Richie's voice came out sounding so lost and helpless that Duncan felt the tears burning behind his eyes.
"Shh," Methos kissed the top of his curls. "Its alright. You're safe now. Take a deep breath. And another."
They watched in silence as Richie rasped air through still injured lungs.
"You still with us?" Methos asked.
"Think so," Richie's voice came out a little stronger. More like himself. "Mac? What happened to Mac?"
Belatedly, Duncan remembered that the last time Richie had seen him clearly he had been lying face down in the gutter, bleeding to death.
"I'm right here, Tough Guy," He squeezed the hand he was still holding. "I'm just fine. How are you doing?"
"Hurts," Richie managed. "And I can't see. Oh God, Mac," Richie gripped his hand tightly as his voice rose in distress. "I can't see anything!"
"Just give it time," Duncan soothed. "It'll heal."
"How long?"
"I'm not sure." Duncan felt like a coward. But he couldn't face telling the lad it might take a few days to heal all the damage.
"Like hours?" Richie asked, a thread of anxiety in his voice. "A few hours, right?"
Duncan hesitated. He didn't want to lie. But telling the truth wasn't going to do much good either.
"Mac? Please?"
Duncan sucked in his cheeks at the note of entreaty in his voice. He sounded like a child who had woken from a nightmare about monsters under his bed and needed his Da to tell him that they weren't real. Except that in Richie's case Ares had been all too real and he'd known enough to prey on his deepest fears.
Oh Lord no.
The lad was afraid of the dark.