Duncan Macleod barely noticed the squealing of his car's tyres as he turned the last corner onto the quay. Sure enough, there it was, parked at a jaunty angle just by the gangplank. Richie's motorcycle. The sight should have been reassuring, being as it was tangible evidence that the lad was already waiting at home safe and well. Except, it meant that if Dawson had been right about that, then he had probably been right about everything else Richie had been up to that day.
"I'm going to kill him." He muttered.
Alerted by the buzz Richie was standing ready to greet him the centre of the barge as he entered. Looking first at the Katana in his hand and then at the angry, determined expression on the Highlander's face he instinctively took a step back.
"Um, Mac. What are you doing?"
"You're a bright boy," Duncan smiled thinly. "You figure it out."
"Look Mac," Richie edged over towards his own sword feeling his fingers close over the hilt as the Highlander advanced. "I'm sorry that I ran out on you. But it was important."
"You gave me your word." Duncan reminded him as he brought the Katana down in a sweeping arc that Richie had to jump aside to avoid.
"I know," Mentally Richie rehearsed the distribution of the furniture as he backed carefully up, trying to keep the irate Highlander arm's or rather sword's length. He'd had enough experience of angry Scots to know that he was in deep trouble. True, the slice 'em and dice 'em and leave 'em for dead was more Connor's brand of discipline than Duncan's but the younger Macleod could also make his point when he chose. And breaking his word was a cardinal sin in his father's book. "And I'm sorry. Really. But like I said it was important."
Duncan's only answer was a grim faced look and a slice that narrowly missed his gut.
"Look Mac, c'mon, you don't wanna do this," Richie cajoled, sweeping his sword round in a blow intended to take Duncan's feet out from under him, so they could at least sit down and talk about this, only to duck wildly left as the Highlander counter attacked, leaving the Katana to sweep down through empty air and slice straight through a priceless mint vase.
"Oh man, not the vase," Richie slid over on his knees and frantically tried to put the pieces back together. "Tessa loves that vase."
The thin cold blade of the Katana on the back of his neck froze him in place, as Duncan leant down, bringing his mouth so close that Richie could feel the warmth of his breath on his ear.
"Is it worth your life?"
Richie moved hard and fast, using a low down dirty trick that Methos had taught him, to duck out from under the Katana with only a slight graze to the back of his neck.
"You talked to Joe," he realised. Which meant he was in way more trouble than he had thought. "Look Mac, it was no big deal. Ares wasn't even there .."
"No big deal?" The Highlander's ire at that statement drove him forward in a flurry of blows that rang around the barge as steel met steel. "What if he had been there? You're in no fit state to fight him. He would have killed you. Did you even stop to think about that?"
Richie didn't want to admit that his mentor was right. Didn't want to acknowledge that although his body was largely healed he still felt weak and shaky from the effects of the prolonged torture. Didn't want to accept that by exploiting all his weaknesses the Scot's actions were making his point more effectively than any words. And he knew that Mac was actually taking it easy on him. Ares would have had him on his knees in a hot second.
"Amanda was in danger," his own anger at the thought of the woman who has always been something of an elder sister, even before he knew they were related, lying in her own blood with her body battered and broken, fired his reserves as he sprung over the sofa and forced the Highlander back in his turn. "Tessa was all alone. What the hell did you expect me to do?"
"You should have called Connor or waited for me. What you don't do is you don't go off on your own."
Normally he would have seen it coming. He knew Mac's style as well as he knew his own and such was the love and trust between them that his Da had held nothing back. There was no skill that he himself had been taught which he had not shared with his son. But today had been anything but normal and he was running on pure emotion. In one swift stroke he was disarmed, his sword clattering uselessly across the floor as he came nose to nose with a verypissed Duncan Macleod.
"Your life is important too. Do ye hear me?"
"Like hell," Richie spat back. "What the hell does it matter what I do anyway?"
"What does it matter?" Duncan demanded incredulously. "What does it matter?"
He wanted to say that it mattered a great deal to him. That he cared enormously what happened to this gently, quirky, caring lad with the off-beat sense of humour and the big heart. But the flat, lost look in the lad's eyes made the words choke in his throat.
"Risteard?"
The soft Gaelic endearment came unbidden from some place deep in his soul, causing Richie to blink and focus on him with eyes wide and vulnerable. He softened his tone.
"It matters, Richie. Of course it matters."
"Does it?" Richie looked at him, openly questioning now. "Die now or die later? Its all the same isn't it?"
"Here," Duncan nudged Richie's hunched form to make room as he settled beside him on the couch and handed over one of the cups in his hand.
Richie lifted his head only slightly as he accepted the cup, peering over the edge with a faint grimace. "Tea?"
"Just drink it." Duncan ordered fondly.
"It doesn't have like roots or mud or anything in it does it?"
"Its Camomile."
"Leaves then." Richie looked sideways at him. "Who ever sat down and thought that was a good idea do you think? I mean, dead leaves stewed in hot water doesn't sound real appealing when you actually think about it."
"Then don't think about it."
"You sound like Methos."
"God forbid."
He watched as Richie turned the mug in his hands but made no move to drink it.
"I'm sorry, lad."
Richie's head came up sharply. "You're sorry? What have you got to be sorry for?"
"You miss your Da and I'm a pretty poor substitute."
"Mac, I hate to break it to you, but you're pretty much a carbon copy," He rubbed at the now healed graze on his neck. "I'm sorry too. I never meant to scare you."
Duncan shook his head. A stranger would have seen his anger. Connor would have recognised his sense of duty in caring for the Clan, Tessa could have looked beyond that to see the love driving his frustration. But few people would have looked on the furious Highlander and seen that he was in fact scared witless. He didn't do scared well.
And apparently he wasn't the only one.
"Richie, there's naught amiss in being afeard."
"Mac, I'm not scared," the lad turned to look at him, his eyes very bright and blue. "I'm absolutely terrified. The guy is centuries older than me, not to mention pretty nifty with a sword and the poster boy for evil. It's not the dying. I could cope with that. But if Ares takes me he'll take out all of you too."
"Then don't let him."
"Like its that simple."
"Rich, nothing about a sword fight is ever simple. You know that. Skill and experience are no guarantee of victory."
"So, the fate of the world depends on whether or not I get lucky?" He managed a rueful grin as he gave up on the tea and put it on the table. "You know, Mac if you'd been around when I first started dating you'd know that's not real comforting."
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
"Alright, what if I win? You always taught me that good is stronger than evil. But I've been Immortal less than a century; Ares has been taking heads since before Methos was born. And Methos said his power overwhelmed him. That's gotta make him stronger than me, right? What if I win and his Quickening just wipes me out. You know, the whole overflowing cup thing? Its not like it hasn't happened before."
Duncan considered that. There was a risk in an Immortal as relatively young as Richie taking on an opponent as old and powerful as Ares. He'd always scoffed at the tales of Dark or Light Quickenings, where the collective essence in the murdered vessel had irrevocably changed the recipient.
But then he had met Darius.
"Maybe you're not supposed to take his head." He mused.
"Do you know any other way? Cos, I don't think Ares is just gonna walk away from this."
"Probably not," Duncan agreed. "I don't know Rich. I wish I did. Maybe this prophecy will show you what needs to be done when the time comes."
"And in the meantime?"
"Don't be so busy surviving you forget how to live." Duncan patted his leg.
"Graham Ashe." Richie nodded.
"That reminds me," Duncan put down his cup and uncoiled himself from the sofa as he went to look out the sword he had retrieved from storage. He passed Richie the leather scabbard with a shy smile. "I think this belongs to you."
"Mac," Almost by its own volition Richie's hand reached out and curled around the familiar hilt that had been his friend and companion and for so many years. "You don't need to give me this."
"I think," Duncan tipped his head on one side. "I already did."
They both laughed, filling the barge with a warm joyful sound that kept the darkness at bay, at least for now.
"You know," Richie grinned at him, his eyes dancing with laughter. "I think you'd make a pretty cool Dad. You just need a little more practice."
"Oh?" Duncan raised a brow. "Any suggestions?"
Richie looked at him as if weighing his request up against something else. Something intangible. Apparently he passed the test because he asked. "How would you feel about a little road trip?"
Following Richie's instructions Duncan drove out of Paris early the next morning into the open countryside passing a collection of small villages finally bouncing the Citroen down unmettled roads until brought the car to a halt and peered uncertainly out into the gathering dawn at the simple metal gates leading to what looked like nothing more than a few stands of trees.
"Are you sure this is the right place? Maybe we should have turned left instead of right at that last crossroads."
"Naw, this is the place," Richie was already getting out of the car. "We can walk from here."
"If you say so."
Following the blonde through the gate he noticed a subtle but telling shift in the atmosphere.
"This is Holy Ground."
"You noticed that huh?" Richie tossed over his shoulder as he kept on walking.
They followed the path through the thick woods as Duncan wondered without irritation why on earth they were there. If Richie wanted to admire the view they were only going to get the slightest glimpse through all these trees.
"Good morning."
The hooded and cowled figure that approached was something of a surprise. Richie spoke a few quiet words to him and he nodded standing aside, in invitation to continue.
"This is a monastery." Duncan realised as low stone buildings began to appear out of the woods, with the occasional figure going about its solitary business.
"Uh huh." Richie was clearly enjoying himself.
"We have these in Paris you know. We didn't need to come all the way out here." He fished.
"Funny, I said that the first time you bought me out here."
"You're not going to tell me anything are you?"
"It's a surprise."
The path wound its way upward through thick woodland, allowing only brief glimpses of the weak winter sun as it struggled its way over the horizon.
"Is that a river, I hear?" he cocked his head. The water sounded like it was running awfully fast.
"Kinda." Richie grinned expectantly as he stood aside.
Duncan's jaw dropped. To be sure it wasn't Angel Falls, or even Niagara, but the tall narrow gorge sent water rushing down in a thin column to a deep, clear pool below. It was absolutely beautiful.
"Richie," he asked warily, "What are we doing here?"
They climbed a little higher first, picking their way up through the rocks of the final feet of almost sheer face carefully. Duncan watched with some degree of pride as Richie scrambled up with the grace of a born athlete. Then they parcelled up clothes and shoes and lowered then down to the bank below on the gossamer thin wire that Richie produced from his jacket for the purpose.
"Ready?" Richie grinned over at him, alive with excitement and every nerve ending positively quivering with anticipation.
"Ready." Duncan was surprised at how eager he was. He had been careful these last twelve years, maybe too careful. Connor would say he was getting staid and predicable was a dangerous trait for Immortals.
"On three?" he asked.
Richie shrugged.
"One, two, .."
Richie flashed him a wicked grin and jumped.
"Hey!"
He jumped too, feeing the adrenalin rush as the wind few past and the ground rushed up, it was exhilarating, almost exactly like flying, he twisted in a somersault, once twice, three times, before uncurling into a smooth pike and entering the water with minimal displacement. His momentum carried him some way down into the clear, cold water, before he could strike upwards, breaking through the surface to take deep, rasping breathes and look around for Richie who was doing the same.
And grinning fit to burst.
It was too cold to stay in the water too long, so they quickly made for the shore, shrugging gratefully back into warm clothes, setting a small fire and falling hungrily upon the simple breakfast left in a wicker basket by one of the brothers.
"How did you know about this place? I've never been here before."
"When Tessa died," Richie plucked at the grass and wouldn't look at him. "At first I went a little nuts. Mac said it happens to a lot of new Immortals. At first he thought what I needed was familiarity, make things as normal as possible, so as soon as we'd buried her he took me back to Seacovuer. But after everything that happened with Annie Devlin, he changed his mind."
"She came after you?"
"Long story short?" Richie asked. He nodded. "Annie was trying to whack this mortal guy. Some politician. You and I stopped her. Only I waded in like Rambo and Annie's husband was killed. So yeah, she came for me."
"You still have your head."
Duncan assumed he had either talked Annie out of fighting or hidden him safe on Holy Ground until her ire had cooled and his skill grown. The lad would have to have been suicidal to take on so experienced an Immortal with so little training.
"I won," Richie shrugged. "I was lucky, damn lucky. And scared shitless. And part of me felt bad for her. I never meant to kill anyone. So, I spared her head and you persuaded her to let it go."
"A life for a life." Duncan agreed.
"Anyway," Richie risked a small glance in his direction. "After that you decided the last thing I needed was to just pick up my life like nothing had happened. You said I had to learn how to live again before I chose to face death. So, you took me to Europe. Man, we travelled all over. We were on our way home when we happened to come by this way. We stayed on Holy Ground a lot cos it was safer, you know? So, our last night I was raving about the things I'd seen and the people I'd met but you looked up at the waterfall and said you had one more thing to show me. The first time I did that I thought you were nuts, but it was kinda like being reborn."
"Immortality can be a pleasure as well as a burden." Duncan agreed. "We forget that sometimes."
Richie smiled softly at him across the camp fire and Duncan impulsively reached over and put him in a friendly headlock, rubbing his knuckled across the top of his blonde curls. This one was a real treasure and he would do everything in his power to see that he was safe. And Ares and his kind be dammed.
"Hey, Mac." He looked down at the head tucked under his arm to see Richie's bright blue eyes on him. "You okay?"
"Never better," he vowed truthfully.
"Good," Richie's smile broadened. "You want to do it again?"