It wasn't nearly as hard as he had imagined it would be. He got off the bike, walked up to the front door and waited. To his left was an ancient bell pull, designed to announce the arrival of the great and the good to the family of the house. He wondered idly if it was still in working order. Not that he needed to use it.
Sure enough, his buzz brought footsteps echoing down the hallway and the large, heavy oak door swung open.
"I told you not to come." Methos scowled, lowering his sword.
"You told me you were going out to buy beer." Richie retorted.
"I did," Methos stood aside to let him enter. "I thought you'd need a drink when you got here. The gods forbid you should ever actually listen to a word I say."
"I always listen," Richie countered, looking round at the black and white tiled entry hall, decorated with a large stone fireplace over which was mounted a selection of animal heads. "Nice."
"It's rented," Methos said by way of explanation. "We were supposed to be in hiding."
"She's really here?"
"If I told you she wasn't would you go away like a good little Immortal?"
"Not a chance."
"How did you find us anyway?"
"I spoke to Joe."
"I knew I should never have become your teacher," Methos complained as he started to make his way down down the corridor which led to the rest of the house. "You'd never have been this devious if I'd left you to Macleod."
Richie knew he should follow him but his legs seemed glued to the black and white tiles that decorated the entry hall. His stomach clenched and his palms began to sweat. It had been so long. And yet he wasn't at all sure he was ready.
"Come on."
He looked up to see the Ancient Immortal had returned to his side, his eyes dark with understanding. Quirking his lips in a smile, he offered his hand. Just as he had when as a child Richie had needed to stay close on a busy sidewalk, or navigate an impossibly wide intersection. Richie gave him a sheepish smile, recognising that he was behaving like an idiot.
Even as he took the hand.
They made their way down the hall to a drawing room furnished in dark heavy oak furniture with thick velvet drapes and an absurdly patterned carpet. But all Richie's attention was focused on the woman seated on the divan. If it wasn't for the photos Mac had given him he would never have recognised her face. But he would know her voice anywhere.
"Oh Richie."
She rose gracefully to her feet and came towards him in a cloud of scent that was achingly familiar. He stood, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe even as she embraced him, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. Then she pulled back and searched his face, her own features creasing into a frown.
"You should not have come."
Richie felt like he had been doused with ice water. He stood there with his jaw hanging slightly open, lacking the coherence of thought, never mind speech, to process what Rebecca had just said. She couldn't have said what he thought she had said. If she did she couldn't have meant it.
Could she?
"And you," Rebecca turned on Methos. "You were not supposed to encourage him. This is wrong. It is not safe."
"Me? I told him not to come." Methos defended himself. "I absolutely forbade it."
"I had to come," Richie spoke up with quiet determination. "Cos I waited a real long time for you to come to me and you never did."
Rebecca looked wordlessly at Methos.
"I could say I told you so," The Ancient Immortal shrugged. "It's been a hundred years. He's not a toddler anymore."
She reached out and cupped her hand under Richie's chin as she always had done when he was child and he had done something to make her especially proud.
"Perhaps I should be more concerned about Ares' safety," She smiled. "For me it has been such a short time. It still seems like only yesterday. I should have known Duncan would raise you well. My little boy has become a man."
"Yeah, Mac did a great job," Richie agreed. "Specially since he had to be Mom and Dad both."
"Oh love," Rebecca took his hand and led him to the couch. "I'm sorry about what happened to your Tessa. And I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you as you were growing up. I wish things could have been different. I tried to keep you but after Ares found us it just proved how vulnerable you were. The only way I could be absolutely certain you would survive was to surrender you to the Prophecy."
"I can see that. I can. I mean, back then I was just a little kid, and Methos explained you knew I'd end up with Mac eventually, but what about later?" Richie couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. "Mac was always introducing me to his old Immoral buddies. I met Amanda. I met Grace. I even met the old timer over there. How come I never met you?"
"That wasn't what we planned," Rebecca frowned at Methos. "That's not what the Prophecy fore told. We were supposed to raise him together, all three of us. How could that not come to pass?"
"I was getting to that." Methos admitted uncomfortably.
"Getting to it? You haven't told her?" Richie demanded.
"I was waiting for a good time."
"Now's good." Richie insisted.
So Rebecca listened in silence as Methos, with occasional interjections from Richie, outlined the circumstances that had led to her beheading at Luther's hands. When they were finished a glimmer of understanding flickered in her eyes.
"Who avenged my death?"
"Amanda wanted to. Mac wouldn't hear of it. He was afraid if she went up against him in the state she was in she'd lose. He took care of it himself." Richie told her.
"Then all was as it should be." Rebecca smiled.
"But you died. I mean I know you loved your husband, but did you even think about me? Just a bit?"
"Not every loss is a defeat my love," Rebecca squeezed his hand, not minding that he was attributing actions far in the future to her present self. They were still the same person after all. "When Duncan took Luther's Quickening he received mine also. All these years I have been part of him, so in a sense we have raised you together."
Connor had barely got through the door when he realised that Duncan looked distinctly out of sorts and, contrary to all good sense, he was alone.
"Where's Risteard?"
"He was here, I went to pick up lunch. When I got back he was gone." Duncan recited the events of that morning for his kinsman, glancing without interest at the packages Connor placed carefully on the couch.
"You knew he wanted to go out and you just left him here? Alone?" Connor demanded when he was finished.
"He gave me his word as a Macleod," Duncan growled. "I thought you'd have taught him better than to break his bond to a kinsman."
Connor looked up sharply. "He'd given his word?"
Duncan read everything he needed to see in Connor's expression and more. Richie would not have broken his word lightly. At least not to Duncan Macleod.
"I'm not his Da." He shrugged. Painful to admit. But true.
"No matter," Connor eyed him keenly at the note of jealously in his tone. "He's still the lad you raised. He wouldn't have left unless it was a matter of life and death."
"Ares?" Duncan's mouth went dry.
"Not likely. That one would want us all close at hand to wallow in the lad's agony. Where are the others?"
"Amanda took Tessa to the safety of a nunnery," Duncan dismissed that. Not even Ares would cross that line. "Methos left this morning saying he was going to buy beer. I haven't heard from him since."
"That's not surprising," Connor observed, as he made his way over to the answering machine where the red light was blinking patiently. "If you never pick up your messages."
As he pressed the button it was Tessa's voice that filled the barge. "Duncan, where are you?" A sigh. "Never mind. I just wanted to hear your voice. All is well here, I will speak with you tomorrow." A pause. "You know Duncan, you never told me you were quite so flexible."
Duncan could feel his cheeks flaming red as he quickly stabbed at the button to move the machine onto the next message, acutely aware of the amused gaze of his mentor. He was going to kill Amanda.
"Macleod?" Methos voiced echoed around the room. "Macleod, if you're there, pick up the bloody phone," A pause. "Oh great, just bloody wonderful. Richie's just been seen leaving the barge. You'd better be dead Macleod or I'll kill you myself."
"Dawson," Duncan seethed. "Watching but doing naught to help. Again."
He was having a great deal of trouble understanding how a man he had apparently counted among his most trusted friends could see disaster approaching and do nothing but watch.
"There's another message." Connor noted.
Finally Richie's disembodied voice filled the barge. "Mac? Its Richie. Look I'm sorry I had to duck out on you but it was important. But its OK, I'm fine. We're all fine. Everything's fine here. Um, how are you?" A pause during which Duncan could almost feel the lad wince. "Look, I gotta go. Don't worry OK? I'll be back before you know I'm gone. Hey, time travel's gotta be good for something, right?"
"Can he do that?" Duncan wondered into the sudden silence.
"If he had we would hardly be looking for him now, would we?" Connor frowned. "Something's amiss."
Duncan surveyed the small bookshop, squeezed between a grocers and a bakery with grim determination. The front of the store was in darkness, closed and shuttered against the approaching night. But Duncan was only concerned with the small, desk light that flickered in the small office, right at the back of the store.
"Someone's home."
"Duncan," Connor caught his arm, demanding his attention. "Use your head man. You can't just walk in there and demand to know where the lad is."
"Do you have a better plan?"
"Always," Connor grinned tightly. From his pocket he produced a floppy disc. "And this way Dawson will never have to know that we know that he knows anything at all."
Duncan frowned at the small black disc. The computer that Tessa had bought to keep track of her commissions seemed to do nothing but beep every time he touched it. But Connor seemed to know what he was about.
At least he hoped so.
"Alright, so we wait until .."
The loud crash of something shattering followed by a cry of pain, caused both Immortals to look at each other, their eyes widening in concern. As one they moved smoothly into action, Connor covering the door as Duncan deftly picked the lock, advancing soundlessly like the trained soldiers they were, using the bookcases as cover as first one and then the other advanced.
And froze, as from the direction of the office they heard a voice thick with now familiar menace.
"Now tell me where Ryan is."
"Not in this lifetime. He seemed like a pretty good kid. You on the other hand look like a murdering bastard," Joe hissed between gritted teeth. "So go ahead. Kill me. I'm not giving him up."
"How little you know of pain, Watcher." Ares purred. "Would you like me to show you?"
"You think I got these playing in the sandbox at Kindergarten?" Joe used a hand to indicate his prosthetic legs. "So go ahead. Do your worse. You still won't know where to find the kid."
"You're bluffing and you don't even have any idea of the stakes," Ares sneered. "Ryan loves you. You were like a favourite Uncle to him. If I kill you, because of him, he will be utterly devastated, so you see either way, I win."
"Go to hell," Joe raised his voice. "You're gonna kill me even if I do tell you. At least this way I get to do something good."
Duncan looked across to see if Connor had heard. Judging by the expression on his kinsman's face he had. Duncan closed his eyes briefly as he tried to consider their next move. A few steps closer and Ares would undoubtedly sense them.
Which could work to their advantage. Or it could get Dawson killed.