AN – Thanks for the reviews. Hadn't meant to update this yet, nor is this the outline of the chapter I planned to write next, but somehow things always take less time in my head than they do on paper, so more than two chapters to go then.

"Aw damn," Richie shook his head in fond exasperation as he perched on the arm of the chair to look Macleod in the eye. "Look Mac, its nothing. He's just trying to look out for me is all."

"Something wrong with Ashe's sword?" Duncan asked mildly.

"No, not at all. Its great, more than great, don't worry about it. Everything's cool."

Duncan doubted that. His other self had been pretty insistent. But if he pressed Richie would more than likely just get stubborn about it. So he simply raised a brow.

"Look, you were kinda freaked out about me going up against Ares," Richie shrugged. "You gave me the Katana so when I faced him I wouldn't feel like I was all alone. But its cool. You don't gotta. Or at least not for another few decades." He joked weakly.

Duncan swallowed hard. He could imagine all too well the tumult of emotion that had engendered such a peerless gift. He hoped it had given Richie the strength he had obviously needed. And would yet need.

"What became of it?" he asked, praying it had not fallen into Ares' hands.

"I still have it. Its just time travel's not exactly like getting on a plane with your duty free and souvenir T-shirt," Richie explained. "There's a whole bunch of things that won't pass through the gate. We still don't really understand it. We've experimented with making gizmos outta all sorts. But the bottom line seems to be that anything that more or less retains its natural form, like gold, silver, wool, leather and the like are OK. Other stuff is just left behind on the grid."

"Not a good idea to wear your polyester pants?"

"Not even if it is the 1970's."

"So, you really didn't have a sword when you faced Ares?"

"I was a little pressed for time," Richie reminded him. "Sometimes, we make stuff when we get here. But usually its just easier to take whatever we need from one of Methos' secret stashes. He's never trusted banks with his real wealth."

"That kind of fortune can be hard to explain when you're trying to pass as ordinary." Duncan agreed.

Suddenly Richie's eyes widened.

"Oh man, of course, that's it!" He grinned excitedly. "Think about it Mac. Where would be the one place on earth that no-one would give you a second glance because they expect to see you there?"

"You think your Da's in Paris?" Duncan sat up.

"It would work. The Watcher's won't take any notice of what he's doing, cos they'll think Joe is on his case. He can keep outta Ares' way, cos Ares isn't going to go ducking down dark alleys looking for any old challenge. Not at this stage in the Game. And this way he can keep an eye on me," Richie gave a rueful grin. "How else did he know I was here?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he knows you?" Duncan offered dryly.

Even on such a limited acquaintance Duncan knew better than to think Richie would stay behind simply because he had been told to. He couldn't blame him. He had been much the same as a lad.

"Mac."

"Alright, I agree its something I might do. If I'd thought of it," Duncan held up a hand to forestall, Richie's whoop of exhilaration. "Hold on. What about that sighting of him in New York?"

"You hate air travel Mac," Richie was almost fizzing with excitement. "Every time we flew to Paris from Seacouver you always insisted on having at least a couple of hours layover in JFK so you could stretch your legs."

"So he picked the boy up in Seacouver and brought him to Paris," Duncan nodded. That would tie in with what Darius had said about losing track of the teenager. "Then what? There's been no sighting of the lad. Where have they been all this time?"

"If this was Seacouver you woulda taken him to the Island," Richie shrugged. "Here, I don't know."

Duncan thought for a moment. "I might."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Duncan muttered as he peered through the rain-streaked windscreen, carefully taking the corner at an almost crawl as he scowled at the road atlas. "It's the middle of the night."

"Just think of it as a really early morning," Richie advised. "You always loved early mornings. Here give me that." He took the atlas and peered at them in his turn. "Left here."

"Here?" Duncan shook his head. "No can do. That's a one way street."

"So?"

"So, its against the law."

"Look you said you hadn't been out here in a while. I still say we should just ring the kid and ask him where he was."

"You want to wake Rebecca so we can follow the directions of a seventeen year old who has never been out of Seacouver before and doesn't speak a word of French?"

"Hey, I could speak plenty of French when I was seventeen."

"Cursing doesn't count," Duncan frowned as he encountered yet another new road. "It's only been fifty years. Don't they have anything better to spend money on?"

They drove for about twenty minutes, sometimes having to go back on themselves as Duncan tried to reconcile where he knew he was heading with the network of modern roads and one way systems that had sprung up in the intervening years. At last he hit familiar roads and shortly afterwards turned into the courtyard and stopped the car.

"This is the place?" Richie looked doubtfully at the palatial surroundings. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Duncan got out of the car and waited for Richie to come around to join him. "I never brought you here?"

"I think I would have remembered." Richie turned slowly in the courtyard looking at the elaborate architecture looming upwards in the pale moonlight.

"Well, I was thinking of selling it," Duncan shrugged, digging in his pocket and pulling out a flashlight. "It was a Hotel until about a year ago and a nursing home before that. But its getting harder and harder for the management company to find tenants for me. The upkeep on these estates is getting out of hand. Maybe I went ahead and sold it."

"Hang on. You own this?"

"I thought it would impress the ladies." Duncan gave him a rankish grin, letting a little of his accent slip through.

"Oh I'd say." Richie agreed.

"It's a bit of white elephant really," Duncan walked up the steps and plucked a key from behind a large stone lion. "At the time I was spending a lot of time at court, going to the Opera, having dinner with the German Ambassador. I don't think I've ever used more than half the rooms." He opened the door and stepped in.

"You don't think you should, I don't know, knock or something?"

"No-one's ever beheaded themselves before." Duncan peered into the gloom.

"Yeah, well," from the bottom of the steps Richie scowled at his retreating back. "You could be the first."

Duncan watched as Richie sifted through the tell tale signs of recent occupancy, a sprinkling of fresh ashes in bottom of the grate, rooms swept out, water from the well pumped into the large metal tanks in the kitchen, the generator oiled and serviced and ready to flick into life as soon as the switch was thrown.

"Why here, Mac?" Richie asked looking out the kitchen window across the fields rather than at him. "Why come here? Why not stay with Darius? Or Rebecca? What's so special about this place?"

Duncan pressed his lips together. He'd been asking himself the same question. Holy Ground wasn't exactly hard to come by in Paris and its environs. It was clear he hadn't wanted his friends to find him. Ashamed of his foppery he'd never told Connor about this place and the one time he'd brought Amanda here he'd told her it belonged to a friend. And Fitzcairn had been more than happy to play Lord of the Manor at his expense. Great expense as he recalled.

So, why had he come here? There was an answer. But Duncan wasn't at all sure he liked it.

"Come with me."

He strode quickly across the courtyard with his heart in his mouth, feeling dread settle in his stomach when he found the old lock replaced with a shiny new pad lock, deftly picking the lock he took the well worn steps two at a time, wanting to see and yet dreading when he might find as he clicked on the lights.

"Oh my God." Richie's voice breathed over his shoulder.

As well it might. The room running the length of the stables had always been off limits to any tenants. With ceilings as high as a cathedral and was almost as long it was an excellent workout space. Back in the days when he had felt the need to be flashy about such things he had stocked it with the best equipment seventeenth century money could buy, although the punching bag and the bench press looked to be more recent additions.

"Well, I guess that explains what they've been doing." He offered.

"No way," Richie shook his head. "No freaking way. Do you have any idea how many times I asked you? Begged you to teach me to use a sword? Too dangerous you said. Swords aren't toys you said. Ask me when you're twenty-one. Twenty-one. Not seventeen."

Duncan was about to reply when he caught sight of something glinting on the floor by his foot, bending over to pick it up he frowned at the gold signet ring. He quickly slipped it into his pocket before the lad could see.

"Mac."

Turning Duncan saw that Richie had been distracted by a find of his own. In a far corner of the room, behind a pile of mats was a largish dark stain that could only have been made by one thing. Blood.

It was almost dawn by the time they made their weary way back across the courtyard to the waiting car. Duncan had raised no protests when Richie had insisted on searching out cloths and buckets and boiling water to scrub ineffectually at the well soaked in blood stain before they left. Nor when he wanted to search the surrounding area. Just in case.

"It needs lemon juice," Richie fretted. "That's what you always had me use on the Dojo floor."

"Its fine, Rich. Don't worry about it."

"The kid said there was a lot of blood," Richie shook his head. "Man, was he right. That had to hurt."

"At least you know he's alive."

There had thankfully been no sign of a Quickening. Not to mention the fact that Duncan seriously doubted Ares' goons would have stayed behind to turn off the generator, sweep out the grates and generally square things away. Not if they'd just killed a man. His attempt at comfort fell flat however, as Richie looked away.

"So, where is he?" he spoke quietly. "Why doesn't he just come home?"

"I don't know Rich."

"I'm sorry Mac," Richie ran a hand over his face and through his face. "This was a bad idea. I should never have dragged you all the way out here."

"C'mon," Duncan walked around the car. "Let's go."

They drove for a few miles retracing their outward journey, with Richie staring morosely out of the window until Duncan came to a crossroads and turned left away from Paris. He sat up a little straighter and looked at the Immortal with evident suspicion.

"Mac, what are you doing?"

"Going to call on an old friend." Duncan tried to affect an air of innocence, but he'd warrant the lad knew him too well. Sure enough, Richie's next words were laced with sarcasam.

"You don't think it's a little early in the morning for company?"

"Knowing Fitz he probably hasn't even been to bed yet. Besides I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Fitzcairn?" Richie blinked. "Alright, I'll bite. What's going on?"

"When you were seventeen, do you think you could have made it from here to St Julian's in the centre of Paris on your own without getting lost?"

"From here?" Richie looked around at the maze of fields. "Mac, before I met you I thought a park was a pretty scary wilderness."

"I'll take that as a no."

"I got lost in a garden centre once." Richie agreed.

"So you had help," Duncan turned the Citroen off the road onto the long tree lined driveway of another equally impressive house. "Someone you had got to know. Someone you trusted enough to go with. Someone I trusted enough to protect you."

"Fitz?"

"Maybe." He pulled the car up in front of the house and put on the handbrake. "Stay here." Richie gave him a look that told him he had probably said those exact words rather too often in the past. He softened his tone. "Look, I just want to find out what's been going on. That will be easier if he doesn't see you. Just stay in the car. Please?"

"Alright." Richie nodded softly.

"Thank you."

He strode towards the house, letting his Quickening announce his presence. Sure enough, before he had even reached the door, Fitzcairn was poking his head anxiously around the door in a state of undress that suggested he had possibly been in bed after all, if not actually sleeping.

"Duncan, laddie," Fitzcairn greeted him expansively, no doubt grateful not to have to fight a challenge in nothing more than his shirt. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"Lost something?" Duncan held up the signet ring.

"You found it!" Fizcairn accepted the ring with a beam of delight, holding it up as if to admire it afresh. "Well that's just capital. It was a gift from the Duchess of Savoy in recognition of my service. Very personal service if you get my drift."

Duncan nodded. "We need to talk."

"Anytime," Fitzcairn nodded. "Of course. Goes without saying. Except could you come back in an hour or so? I'm a little busy right now." He went to close the door.

Duncan blocked it with his foot. "I'll sure she'll understand."

"Well then, I suppose you'd better come in. And bring yon laddie," he gestured towards the car. "We can finish that card game that was so rudely interrupted. Although, I thought after that little spot of bother you might have left him with Darius. Best place for him really, Holy Ground and all that."

"Rich." Duncan called.

He watched Fitzcairn's beaming expression begin to falter as Richie jogged over. Gradually he took in the broader shoulders, the greater musculature and the innate grace that came from being a consummate swordsman.

"Oh Lord. You're the other one, aren't you?"

Duncan gave a thin smile as he tapped him on the shoulder to ensure he had his full attention.

"Actually, we both are."