AN – Sorry for the delay, as I said RL is pretty full on right now. Its hard to find time to write at all, so please forgive any typos.
Genna12001 – Thanks for the review, here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy.
Sari – Ah. It might help to remember that the 17-year-old Richie isn't Immortal yet – while the future one is. I'm afraid its only going to get more confusing from here but I've tried to address that. See the AN at the end!
Supernatural Chick – I'm glad you like the twist. I try not to be too predicable. I find stories more interesting when you can't guess what's coming, so I try to write like that. Thanks for the kind words and hope you enjoy the next chapter.
SC – Grins. This is only the beginning of the end. There is so much more to come!
Neoinean – As I said I thought about writing a longer sword fight, but the idea was that Richie beat Connor easily. With all those teachers he should have learnt something! But there are other trials ahead, more complex than just wielding a sword. I think you will find it interesting.
Ivy3 – Well, this is a tricky one for me as I can't really reply without revealing rather more of my hand than I want to at present! All I can say is trust me everything I've written has its place in the storyline. I hope you won't be disappointed at the end. Thanks for reading.
Tammi -Thanks for the review. You seem to be doing fine to me! Yes, Duncan has lost an arm, Yes, Ares is locked up, and temporarily dead. And now on with the rest!
To clarify. Slick and Duncan are the 1992 versions. Macleod and Richie are the future versions and this is how they will be referred to from now on!
"Now," Knowing to be cautious, Richie didn't attempt to move his blade from the Scot's neck or give Connor the slightest advantage until he had extracted the information he needed. "Tell me where Ares is."
"Over my dead body." Connor declared flatly.
"Damn it Connor, when exactly will you stop thinking of me as the seventeen year old kid who broke into the Store that night? Would he have been able to survive that time in the desert? Would he have been able to rescue you from Belize? Would he have been able to do this?" For emphasis, Richie pressed the point of his sword a little further into Connor's neck. "If you had won you would have expected me to back off like a good little Immortal. Except, I won fair and square. So, you're damn well gonna do me the credit of telling me where he is, or I'm gonna forget wewere ever family."
"Alright," Connor agreed. "Just promise me one thing."
It was on the tip of Duncan's tongue to protest. Connor had acceded far too readily. He took his role was elder of the Clan very seriously. No way would he relinquish that just because Richie had got lucky this one time. But Richie leapt in before he could speak.
"Anything."
Connor recited an address that Duncan recognised as being a warehouse district on the other side of the city. The buildings had been razed and rebuilt many times and were presently all but condemned, but the stone cellars beneath them with their vaulted ceilings had stood since medieval times and would endure for many years to come.
"Thank you." Richie nodded his gratitude and moved slightly, in preparation for sheathing his sword, only for Connor to reach out and grasp the blade, holding it at his throat.
"No."
"What the hell are you doing?" Richie gawped.
He didn't dare move the lethal blade. Already Connor's fierce grip had caused the razor sharp edge to bite into his skin, sending rivulets of blood dripping down the bright metal to drip onto the floor. One wrong move and the Highlander would lose a finger, or three. Richie looked at him incredulously, the first thing any new Immortal learnt was never ever touch the blade. Apart from the obvious danger it was a sure fire way to tarnish the metal.
"One thing." Connor repeated, bringing the sword up to his throat, his meaning clear as Richie's eyes widened with shock and he shook his head in horrified disbelief.
"Connor, don't do this." Duncan protested.
"If the lad is foolish enough to ignore my advice then my Quickening will do him more good than my continued existence. Think of it as my last gift to the Clan." Connor didn't take his eyes off Richie.
"I am not taking your head." Richie tried to dis-engage.
Connor wouldn't allow it. "You gave me your word of honour, Risteard." He murmured forcefully.
The words caused a dark shadow to pass over Richie's face. "This is your idea of honour? You want me to whack you? Well, you know what? Fuck your honour! I might not have been born part of your Sainted Clan Macleod. But I sure as hell know that you don't trick people you love in trying to chop off your head. So what if it helps me beat Ares? How the hell am I supposed to live with myself after that?"
"Please, laddie," Connor's tone was unusually gentle. "I can do no more for you. You'd not wish to see me beg."
"Don't be such a damn fool Connor."
All three Immortals turned their heads to look at the newcomer, as he detached himself from his vantage point by shadows under the bridge and came forward.
"Mac?" Richie breathed, as he sword fell from his suddenly lifeless hand, causing Connor to hiss in pain as he compensated for the sudden weight. "Oh Mac!"
There was a note of exaltation in his voice that Duncan had never heard before. The other Macleod simply waited, an unreadable expression on his face as Connor and Duncan's eyes travelled down the line of his right sleeve to look at the lose material flapping beyond the elbow. Richie had no such qualms as he threw himself at the figure, hugging him fiercely.
"Oh shit, Mac."
The edge of tears in the lad's voice was sufficient to cause the Scot to pull his good arm around him and drop his face into the blonde curls as he held him close.
"Easy, Tough Guy."
They stood like that, wrapped in each other for a long moment. Feeling oddly jealous, Duncan went to move forward, only to feel Connor's touch on his arm. "No, given them some time." He murmured, as he sucked on his rapidly healing fingers.
As they watched the other Macleod gently drew back, to search Richie's features intently. He said something Duncan didn't quiet catch, as he gently stoked his thumb across Richie's cheek. The lad laughed a little and shook his head in response, before disentangling himself sufficiently to pick up the holdall at Macleod's feet with his free hand. The Highlander kept his good arm, firmly around the lad's shoulders though, Duncan noted
"Hey Mac," As he appraoched Richie was grinning broadly. "Meet yourself."
The face was the same. Like looking into a mirror. Even the eyeswere the same as they looked at him, still softened with love for the young man at his side.
"Can you touch him?" Richie tone was curious. "Or will like the Universe implode?"
"I don't know," Macleod glanced at the lad in amusement. "Didn't you try already?"
"Me and I haven't exactly been introduced yet," Richie shrugged. "Methos seems to think his brain will melt if he figures out who I am. He and Rebecca spirited him off to the Manor to play happy families."
Despite Richie's practised nonchalance, the sudden flash of understanding in Macleod's eyes told Duncan that his other self understood exactly how painful that must have been for his student. His good hand moved up to rub briefly at the bare skin at the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry."
Richie looked up and met his eyes and nodded once, softly, as Macleod's expression portrayed his regret for far more than just that single incident. Anything else he might have said was forgotten as another voice spoke hesitantly.
"Duncan?"
Tessa had come down from the deck of the barge and now stood looking from her lover to this other man with a look of wonder on her face. Duncan watched as Macleod looked up, he knew how he would feel if he saw Tessa living and breathing after he thought her dead in the cold earth. He wouldn't be able to put her down. To his surprise, Macleod's expression grew taut with pain and regret.
"Tessa."
As if the sound of her own name solidified the spectre Tessa stepped forward. Standing on tiptoe she reached up and kissed him, firmly, softly, on the mouth, drawing back slowly to look deep into his eyes.
"You couldn't have saved me. Don't you dare blame yourself for my choices, Duncan Macleod."
Duncan swallowed hard. How well she knew him. Yet her words just added to the consternation on Macleod's face and Duncan could see he was mentally preparing himself to ask something that burned deep within his soul. When the quiet question came it took his breath away.
"Was it worth it?"
"Tell me this," Her fingers caressed the soft wool where his empty sleeve flapped. "Even knowing the price you would pay, would you do anything less for love?"
Macleod reached out and cupped his hand under her chin as he recognised the forgiveness she was offering.
"No, I can't imagine I would."
Duncan Macleod slammed the dishwasher shut a little harder than was strictly necessary to perform the function, taking a certain satisfaction in setting the dishes rattling in their settings. Who did He think He was? Coming into his home and taking over his life? And not just him, if it wasn't bad enough that Tessa was smiling at him and laughing at his jokes, Connor was treating him like an equal and now from the noises he could hear from the salon, Methos, Rebecca and Amanda had arrived to join in the hero worship.
"And what am I?" Duncan mocked himself his Scottish accent pronounced. "Some kind of flunky?"
"What's a flunky?"
Duncan looked up to see the seventeen year-old Richie lounging in the doorframe. In the wash of arriving Immortals he had completely overlooked the small vibrant hum of the pre-Immortal. But of course, Methos wouldn't have left him alone at the Manor
"Shouldn't you be at the party?" he snapped, embarrassed at being caught unawares.
At the swift flash of hurt in the boy's eyes he instantly regretted his tone. Lord knows, none of this was the boy's fault. He almost laughed as the boy read his chagrin and quickly tried to turn it to his advantage.
"Can I have a beer? I mean, if it's a party and all?"
"You can have a soda." Duncan opened the fridge and pulled out one of the cokes. From the satisfied look on the boy's face as he popped open the top it was more than he had hoped for. Hesitating a moment, Duncan pulled out a can for himself. Might as well see what all the fuss was all about.
"You like that stuff?"
"Never tried it before," Now Duncan did laugh at the expression that admission put on the boy's face. "In four hundred years there are some things that I haven't done, you know."
"Right." The blonde looked unexpectedly deflated.
Knowing enough by now not to come at any issue with Richie straight on, Duncan stalled for time by popping open his can and taking a long swallow of the sweet, fizzy, dark liquid. It was surprisingly good. "That's pretty nice."
"You like it, huh?" The boy couldn't have looked smugger if he had invented the drink. "He said it was all sugar and caffeine and stuff."
"I'll let you into a secret," Duncan confided. "He doesn't know, cos he's never tried it before either."
"Oh." He looked a little brighter.
"He made you go for a run every morning and eat your veggies, huh?" Duncan teased.
"Naw," The boy laughed too. "Well, not much. Its just he has that other dude now. I guess I thought maybe you were like me. You know, mortal and stuff."
"Ah," Duncan understood all too well. It couldn't have been easy for the boy to be usurped by his confident, charismatic elder self. "I was when I was your age, if that's any help."
"He's really me?" The boy asked softly. Duncan sighed. He supposed no matter how well things had been explained, it was still bound to be confusing. He had far more experience of the world and he was still trying to get his head around it. He wasn't expecting what came next as the boy gave a disgusted snort. "Cos, I never thought I'd grow up to be such a jerk."
"He's a good person, Richie."
"Slick."The boy corrected. "I'm Slick. He's Richie."
Slick? Duncan blinked slightly at what that nickname told him about the boy's time on the streets. If he had been a thief, he had at least been a very good one. No wonder Amanda liked him.
"He's still you, Slick."
"He likes Opera," Slick shook his head. "And he wears chinos. And he eats weird stuff. And he speaks all these languages and he's been to all these countries. He said one day I'm gonna get a Harley. I mean, what planet is he on? He's totally forgotten what its like to be normal."
"Define normal."
"What?"
"Well, when I was young, normal was wearing a kilt and throwing your chicken bones on the floor. If you had a dispute with your neighbour you didn't take it to the People's Court, you settled it at the business end of a sword. Things change, Slick. People change," He looked darkly at the wall between them and the salon. "Although, I was never so sanctimonious and smug as yon fine booby through there."
"Um, Mac," Slick tipped his head on one side. "I hate to break it to you, but if all this crazy stuff is for real you're gonna be."
Duncan looked at the boy in front of him. His heart lurched slightly as he realised that this lad was as much his son as Richie was. "Well, maybe I can learn from my mistakes."
Out in the salon, Richie finally found what he had been looking for. Dusting off the bottle from the back of the cupboard, he checked the label. This was the one. Deftly opened the bottle he picked up two glasses and made his way to the stern of the boat.
"You're missing one hell of a party," he told the figure standing in the darkness. "Amanda is telling Tessa about the time she and Connor ran that brothel together."
"I'll be in, in a moment."
Richie knew a dismissal when he heard one. But that didn't mean he had to act on it. Subtly hoping to attract the Scot's attention he noisily poured two large measures into the glasses and passed one over. Macleod woodenly accepted the glass with his good hand and drank it down in a long swallow with no regard to its fine vintage, only to gasp appreciatively at its mellow burn.
"What is that?"
"Good, isn't it?" Richie showed him the bottle that he remembered sharing with the Scot on his twenty-first birthday. "And its even better the second time around."
"Rich .." Macleod's demeanour softened considerably as he recognised the gesture. "I was saving that for a special occasion. A verra special occasion."
"Mac, you're home and you're safe," Richie told him quietly. "I happen to think that's a pretty special occasion."
Macleod didn't speak, but the glance he gave to his useless, empty, sleeve spoke volumes. Richie waited. He'd learnt over the years that given enough time Mac would usually come clean, at least with him.
Although, sometimes he needed a little prodding. Richie refilled his glass.
"How bad was it?"
Downstairs in the little corridor between the galley and the small bedroom under the wheelhouse, Duncan froze, the tray of hot chocolate, cookies and cake for his video fest with the bored and unsettled teenager, feeling suddenly heavy in his flesh and blood hands as Richie's question drifted through the grate in the ceiling.
"That bad, huh?" Richie asked lightly, when he received no reply.
Duncan sucked in his breath. He knew exactly how he would feel if he was deprived of his right arm, his ability to defend his family, to become less than the warrior he was born to be. And he wasn't at all sure that he could share that rawness. Not even with Tessa, much less the lad. To his surprise his other self didn't seem to share those reservations.
"Pretty bad." the tone was rueful.
"They cheated." That was a statement, not a question.
"There were three of them. I fought as best I could. I knew I had to give Fitz time to get Slick to safety. I guess I did too good a job. So, they shot me."
Duncan leant back against the wall, closing his eyes. So the arm had been removed when he was already dead? Not a wound received in honourable battle, but a token of the pettiest emotions known to man, revenge, and retaliation.
"Slick? Man, I haven't heard that nickname in years," To Duncan's surprise there was amusement in Richie's tone. Then he realised the lad was subtly deflecting Macleod from the painful memories. "Not since I was seventeen. Did he ask you to call him that?"
"It was easier. He wasn't you, Rich," Macleod was deadly earnest. "Much as I wanted, needed him to be, he wasn't the man I have grown to respect as my equal, trust as my friend and love as my son."
"So," Richie's voice grew more distant as if he had turned away. "Why didn't you come home?"
Duncan straightened. He wanted to hear this too. What possible justification could his elder self possibly have for letting the lad think he was dead, or worse, that he had abandoned him, like so many others?
"I wanted to," Macleod paused, as if considering whether to admit the truth. "But I was afraid."
"Of what?" Richie's voice was angry now. "Of this?" There was a soft thwacking sound as if Richie had slapped the empty sleeve. "Did you really think I'd care worth a damn? I needed you, Mac."
"I know," There was a rustle of cloth as if Macleod had put down his glass and wrapped his good arm around the lad's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I thought I was doing right by you. You had your own burdens. I didn't want you to have to carry mine also."
"Yeah well, the next time you feel like getting all holier than thou, just check will ya? They do have the telephone in this century you know, you could have asked what I wanted." Richie sounded only partly mollified.
"You seem to have been getting along well enough with the laddie."
It took Duncan a moment to realise that Macleod meant him. He bristled slightly at the implication. There was only a hundred years between then. That didn't exactly make him wet behind the ears.
"Yeah, well. He is you," Richie paused as if considering. "Kinda."
"But?" Macleod prodded in his turn.
"I thought it would be the same, but there was so much he didn't know. It was almost like I was the older and wiser one all the time. That's your job."
"Ach, Laddie," Macleod's tone was full of love. "Your Da's here now."
A small crash as plastic shattered on hardwood floor was Duncan's first indication that Slick had come out of the small bedroom, chosen video in hand to see what was keeping him. Looking up he saw the boy's face was pale with shock andhis eyes wide with amazement.
"He's .. They're .. No way." He swayed.
"Whoa, steady," Duncan hastily dumped the tray and reached out to grasp his collar as the boy looked in imminent danger of keeling over. "You'd better sit down." Steering the boy back into the bedroom, he settled the boy on the bed. "Put your head between your knees."
"That's stupid," Richie protested groggily. "I'm not doing that."
"Yeah well, passing out and gnashing your head on the side table is even stupider." Duncan pressed his head down, holding it in place, when the boy squirmed. "I'm trying to help you here. Just keep still, will you?"
"You can't tell me what to do," Richie muttered resentfully, although he stopped struggling. "You're not my Dad."
Duncan opened his mouth. Closed it. Had no idea what to say. Under his hand, Richie stilled as the realisation struck.
"Oh shit." he breathed.