LoMaRiBa – Glad you enjoyed, more Mac and Richie and Slick and Duncan and Slick and Richie ahead!
Sue - Thanks for the review. Its nice to hear from you again. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story.
Annikaya – Thank you so much for your kind words. I hope the next chapter lives up to your expectations.
Teri – I think you might be right about Connor. He can be pretty stubborn. But then so can Richie!
SC - Richie Richie Richie .. Slick Slick Slick .. OK got it.
Genna12001 – Thank you for reviewing. Sorry for the delay. Hope this is worth the wait.
Supernatural chick – What can I say without giving stuff away? Hmm everyone is moving towards a certain spot where they all need to be and then certain things will happen. Clear as mud? Good!
Sarai – Thanks for the repeat reviews. Your support is much appreciated. Hope you enjoy the next instalment.
Neoinean – Mac's arm .. just below the elbow and big fight with Ares .. coming soon.
Tammi – Hmm do I have a solution that means Duncan won't lose his arm? You'll have to wait and see but .. yes.
Now on with the story ..
"OK," Slick ducked out from under Duncan's hand and scooted as far away from him as the small room would allow, backing up until he was pressed up the headboard of the small bed. "I was pretty cool about the whole living forever thing. I didn't blink at the magic healing stuff and I wasn't even freaked by the whole head taking thing," He considered that. "Well, no more than any sane person, y'know? But this sucks. Big time."
"He didn't tell you?" Duncan was sympathetic.
"No, he didn't tell me," Despite the scornful tone the words sounded hollow to them both. Slick ducked his head. "Guess he didn't much like what he saw, huh?"
"I'm sure that wasn't it," Duncan tried to reassure. "He must have said something?" He couldn't see Slick agreeing to fly halfway across the world with a man he'd only just met without some kind of incentive.
"Come with me if you want to live?" Slick tried to shrug. He couldn't quite carry it off.
"What happened?"
"Some dude with a sword wanted to make me a head shorter," Slick looked away, biting his lip. "Damn near succeeded too. Then Mac took his head and all hell broke loose and suddenly being able to produce a passport from thin air for someone who had never been outta Seacouver before didn't seem like the thing I should be worrying about."
"What about your family? Someone must have been looking after you? Won't they wonder where you are?"
"I can take care of myself."
"I'm sure you can," Duncan almost smiled at the teenage bravardo. Except that, in Slick's case it was probably true. Lord knows the boy didn't seem to have the faintest idea what it was like to have kin who stood by you. "But you're only seventeen. That makes it illegal."
"A whole lotta things I do ain't exactly legit. I thought you got that by now, Macleod."
"Hey," Taking a risk Duncan nudged the boy's foot affectionately. "I'm Duncan. He's Macleod."
It didn't exactly get the response he'd been hoping for.
"Yeah, well," Slick pulled his foot away as he tugged at a loose thread in the blanket covering the bed. "That would be about right. Cos, I ain't exactly the same as Richie Rich out there. Case you hadn't noticed."
"He's just older," Duncan soothed. "Otherwise, he's still you."
"Are you nuts?" Slick looked at him in astonishment. "He's one of you guys. He's an Immortal."
Oh Lord.
"Slick," Duncan was beginning to think this really wasn't his day. He tried to express the idea in a way that the boy would understand. "Its not exactly a lifestyle choice."
"Nuh uh. No way," Slick scooted back, pressing himself up against the headboard as if to distance himself from the very idea. "I'm 100 mortal. I get older every birthday. And I bleed too. See?"
The switchblade was out of his pocket and flashing across his palm before Duncan could reach him.
"Slick, no!"
Even as he grimaced in pain Slick thrust the bleeding wound at the Immortal. "No flashing blue light for yours truly. No siree. And I got the scars to prove it."
"Give me that!" Muttering under his breath, Duncan grasped the injured hand and put pressure on the wound. "Hold it up," he instructed brusquely as he elevated the bleeding above the boy's heart. "Tess. Tessa!"
"Duncan," Tessa appeared in the doorway. "Whatever is wrong?"
"Slick had a little accident," Duncan informed her, not taking his eyes off the boy. "Fetch me the first aid kit will you?"
"What's going on?" Attracted by the commotion Macleod, with Richie at his shoulder, appeared in the doorway, his face creasing in concern when he saw the rivulets of blood leaking around Duncan's hand where it was still covering the wound. At once his face darkened and he stepped forward protectively. "What did you do to him?"
"Hey," Duncan began to protest.
"It wasn't him," Slick came unexpectedly to his defence as Tessa arrived back and started passing Duncan items from the First Aid kit.
"Please tell me I wasn't playing with sharp objects again." Richie grinned ruefully.
"Hey," Slick made an obscene gesture with his free hand. "Swivel on this Immortal boy. I managed this all by myself, right? You weren't even in the room."
"You think?" Richie drawled in a perfect imitation of his teenage self and held out his own palm for inspection. Everyone in the room fell silent as they looked at the old scar running across his palm. To Duncan's eye the two wounds looked absolutely identical.
He came to him, as Richie had known he would, hovering on the edge of his vision, flexingthe hand, deftly bandaged by Duncan and shifting slightly from foot to foot as he waited to be noticed.
Richie purposefully ignored him, wanting the kid to make the first move, concentrating on his sketching, rubbing out a line with his thumb and frowning. Not quite right.
"What are you doing?" Slick's curiosity won out.
"Drawing."
"Now I know you're not me," Slick insisted. "No way do I know squat about drawing."
"You're just saying that cos Mrs Walker in the 3rd Grade told you your kangaroo was a lovely dinosaur," Richie commented absently as he sketched. "Actually, you have a good eye for colour and form."
"I do?"
"Just ask Tess."
"Alright, so maybe you looked some stuff up about me from my files," Slick challenged. "That don't mean you know nothing about me."
Now Richie did look up, bright blue eyes softened with age, meeting bright blue eyes hard and brittle with distrust.
"Max Fulbright's not in your file."
Slick dropped onto the sofa as if someone had chopped his legs off at the knees. His face paled and his mouth gaped open in an astonished oh of disbelief.
"You don't know about Max. You can't. I never told. Not anyone."
"You want to see those scars?" Richie challenged in his turn.
"Hell no," Slick vetoed that. Then he paused. "You're really me?"
"Here," Richie passed him the finished sketch. "That's not in your file either."
Slick looked at the picture that Richie had drawn from memory. It matched exactly the picture seared into his own brain. The way her soft hair curled around her shoulders. The impish look in her eyes. The quirk of her smile and the city skyline behind her as she sat on the roof of their apartment building. Slick pressed his lips together. He had been fourteen and in a particularly abusive foster home that would come to a violent and messy end a short time later. And he had just made love for the very first time.
"Cass." He breathed.
"You'll see her again." Richie's voice was gentle.
"Hey, I see her all the time," Slick shrugged. "Who doesn't? All I gotta do is buy her latest track or turn on MTV or whatever. Hey, you go down the mall in Seacouver they've got a whole billboard of her. Local girl makes good. Hell, I can't turn around for seeing her."
"No, I mean you'll see her again. As in a date. Marriage actually."
"Cass? Marry me?" Slick laughed. "Yeah, right after I win the National Superbike championships. She's got some movie deal or something going on now, you know. She wouldn't give me the time of day."
"Immortals aren't the only ones with secrets," Richie snagged the picture out of his hand and scribbled some formulae on the back. "When you meet her, you'll need that."
Slick scowled at the unfamiliar symbols.
"First the chinos, then the Opera, now you're a science geek?"
"What did you figure you'd be like when you got older?" Richie asked, knowing full well he'd achieved at least eight of his top ten childhood ambitions. Including wining the National Superbike championships.
His younger self gave him a scornful look.
"I dunno. Taller?"
Sometime later Richie sat in the stern, wrapping his arms around his knees to ward off the chill as he waited. As he had known he would Macleod sought him out, sitting himself down beside him without invitation and simply waiting in his turn. Richie almost smiled as he felt his father shift slightly, looking around him, before those deep brown eyes came to rest on his face for a few moments, before looking away again.
Here it comes.
"You've been out here a while. Something bothering you?"
Richie simply shrugged in reply. Outwardly Macleod didn't react, but as he watched the small boats making their way up and down the Seine, his concern went up another notch. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Richie's right leg jiggling in nervous agitation and his arms were crossed defensively across his body. If he didn't know better he'd think he was dealing with Slick.
"C'mon Rich. Tell me what's going on here."
"He thinks I'm a jerk."
Macleod blinked. Whatever he had expected it wasn't that. Gathering his thoughts he offered token reassurance in the hope of drawing the lad further out.
"Richie, he's seventeen. He doesn't know what he thinks. Or who he is yet. Give him time."
"What if he's right?"
"About what, exactly?"
"Maybe I shoulda made different choices," Richie bit at his lip as he worried at the problem. "I mean these things can change your life. How many times have you hung back to have that extra cup of coffee and met someone you wouldn't have met? Or turned left at the corner instead of right and run into some trouble you could have avoided? Let's face it, Mac. If you'd told me at seventeen I was gonna join the Military, I would have laughed my socks off."
"You had your reasons."
"Oh yeah," Richie gave him a sour look. "I was scared witless."
"Richie."
"No, Mac. I'm serious. Methos keeps saying everything depends on my making the right choice, when the time comes. How the hell am I supposed to do that, when I don't even know what the question is? What if some choice I've made has already screwed things up?"
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know, Mac," Richie looked at him, his eyes dark and serious. "But I think its way past time we go find out."
"Tell me again how I let you talk me into this." Macleod sighed as Richie navigated the Citroen through the narrow streets to the address Connor had divulged.
"Because you knew I'd come anyway and you'd rather have me where you can see what kinda trouble I'm getting into." Richie countered with a smile as he pulled into the square and casting a look around at the squat stone buildings thought of the damage a Quickening could cause and parked carefully across the street.
"Expecting trouble?" Macleod asked as he exited the car.
"Do you want a building to fall on it?"
"Look, Rich," Macleod caught him by the sleeve and pulled him back a little. Seeing the determination in the young man's expression, he realised that there was no point in trying to talk the younger man out of this, so he simply reached out and straightened his collar fondly, patting the lapel into place. "Just, be careful, alright?"
"Always am." Richie nodded solemnly
"Yeah, right." Macleod teased. Reaching into his own coat, his expression grew serious as his hand clasped around the hilt of the Katana. "Alright, let's do this."
"That's it? Let's do this" A familiar voice asked from the doorway ahead of them. "That's your idea of a pep talk?"
"Methos," Macleod sighed. "What are you doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Frankly, no."
"Oh, well. I saw you sneaking off and I thought you might be going to get beer or a pizza or something. So, I followed you."
"How did you get here first if you were following us?" Richie demanded.
"I used my intuition," Methos shrugged. "And your bike. That thing can really move when you open up the throttle."
"Great," Richie looked sourly at Macleod. "Now all we need is Connor and we'll have a real party."
"Um. About that." Macleod nodded towards the dark black sedan that was parked at the corner.
"Damn him," Richie realised. "He's come to move him. He never had any intention of letting me get close to him."
"Well that's fair," Methos shrugged. "Seeing as you never had any intention of keeping your word and taking his head."
Macleod opened his mouth to protest that wasn't entirely fair. Richie had had no way of knowing that Connor would demand such a ludicrous thing in return for his co-operation. But before could get the words out, Richie beat him to it.
"Yeah, well, this time I just might."
Moving cautiously they carefully navigated their way down the narrow staircase that led to the basement. As they approached they felt the familiar thrum of an Immortal presence. Digging around in his pocket for a flashlight, Richie played the thin beam over the walls before entering the room.
"Bingo." Richie breathed.
As Macleod stepped forward he saw Ares shackled to the wall. His head rose weakly at the sound of Richie's voice, but the large metal lance that passed through him and pinned him to the wall inhibited any real movement. Any efforts to struggle free would simply result in exacerbating his wounds and return him to the folds of death.
"Nice, Connor." He murmured.
He looked around, but his kinsman was nowhere to be seen. Turning to speak to Richie he realised that the younger Immortal had already crossed the room and had his sword pressed against Ares throat, the blade cutting a small slice into the side of his neck
"What is it the bible says?" He spoke in a low, dangerous, tone Macleod had never heard before. "An eye for an eye, isn't it?"
"Risteard," Macleod going to stand by his side spoke gently. Lord knows the lad had reason enough to be bitter after the torture he had suffered at Ares' hands. But he was loath to see his bonnie lad twisted by revenge. He knew his gentle spirit would be wracked with guilt afterwards. He knew too well how that felt and he didn't want it for his son. "He's not worth it."
"He hurt you, Mac. He knew he couldn't beat you fair and square. He's gotta pay for that," Richie's pain filled voice surprised him. After everything that he had suffered, Richie still cared more for his family than himself. "You, Amanda, Methos, Tessa. Darius. It's all down to him. You don't think he's gotta pay for that?"
"Aye, with his life," Macleod affirmed solidly. "Not with your soul."
"He's evil, Mac," Richie insisted pressing his sword a little further into Ares throat. "If it took me a thousand years to kill him, bit by agonising bit, it would be over too fast."
"Do it." Ares rasped, his eyes cold and mocking.
Macleod straightened. All at once he felt as if they had come full circle. He saw Richie at nineteen, a few short weeks into his immortality, being goaded by Annie Devlin. Do it. I would she'd said. But Richie had spared her. Yet fast forward a scant time later and faced with Mako trapped and struggling and in love and fear and anger he had made the kill.
"Oh, I'm going to." Richie vowed, even as he raised his sword.
Duncan watched, his heart in his mouth. Something wasn't right. Ares was too calm. Too accepting. He felt like he ought to know what was amiss. Except, he didn't. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as Richie's sword flashed down and sliced through the chains holding Ares to the wall. The wasted body would have collapsed to the ground, except Richie reached out and held him up by his throat, bringing then eye to eye.
"When you wake up, I'm gonna be right, here, waiting."
Not without a certain satisfactionthe blondpulled the lance on its tortuous journey out, causing Ares to arch inwordless agonybefore surrendering to death. Richie threw the metal pole into a corner and looked down at the corpse in blank disgust.
He had no idea how long he stood there, but he knew that he was shaking, the adrenilian corsing through his body in anger, grief and stark, naked, fear.
"C'mere," Macleod's hand was on his shoulder, shepherding him to the only chair in the room and pressing him down, before digging in his pocket and producing a silver hip flask, twisting the lid off with his teeth, he crouched down beside Richie and put it to his lips. "Drink."
Richie dutifully swallowed, never taking his eyes off Ares corpse. His eyes lingering on the point where his head lolled back, exposing the soft curve of his throat.
"We don't have time for this." Methos protested.
"Shut up, Methos."
"Mac, I think you're missing the point here. Ares is dead. Richie has a nice sharp sword. All we have to do is introduce one to the other before the evil wakes and its Game over. The world will be saved and we'll all have time for a beer before dinner."
"Its that simple?" Macleod scoffed.
"Why not?"
"Because Richie has the right to make his own choices."
"Not this one. Sooner or later he's going to have to square up against Ares. You know that and I for one would rather see him take out the murdering bastard before he kills anyone else. Namely our blue eyed boy here."
"What if its not supposed to be that easy?" Richie's voice asked quietly. "What if, this is one of those choices I'm supposed to make?"
"Oh by all the gods," Methos scowled and strode over to the body, pulling out his Ivanhoe and thrusting it squarely into Ares's heart to avoid any possibility of the Ancient Immortal making an inconvenient return from the dead during what looked like being a long, drawn out discussion. Then he turned back to face Richie. "Alright, what on earth are you talking about?"
"I should have killed Annie Devlin that day and we all know it. Except, I didn't. How many people would be alive today if she hadn't had free reign to kill and main in the name of her cause? Instead, it took me another fifty years to finish what I started."
"Richie, you're not responsible for others actions," Macleod put the hip flash on the ground, so he could tousle his hair. "Just your own."
"And if anyone should have killed Annie Devlin that day, it should have been Macleod." Methos pointed out.
"What about Mako?" Richie shook his head. "I should have let Mako live. The guy was only doing what he thought was right. Laura's death was an accident. Not worth a good man's life. He wasn't even trying to kill me. Just keep me at arms length until he could explain. But I couldn't see it. How many more people died because there was one less straight guy like Mako in the world?"
"Richie, we all agree Ares is a murdering bastard so please, just kill him so we can all go home." Methos implored.
"You wouldn't, would you?" Richie looked at Macleod. "Even after everything he's done for you. You'd still face him in a fair fight."
"That's who I am," Macleod acknowledged. "You've always found your own path, Rich and I'm very proud of you for that. If you'd always done as I'd do, Cortez would have killed Amanda and I, that time in Texas, remember? Whatever you decide to do, I'll stand by you."
"How very touching."
At the sound of the very familiar voice, Macloed's stomach lurched. He turned to look closely at Ares corpse. Which showed the Ivanhoe still firmly in place and showed absolutely no signs of reviving. And as he turned around, Macleod suddenly realised with sickening clarity what it was that he had been missing before as Ares came down the stairs to stand before them.
"Oh shirt," Richie realised in his turn."There's two of him."
"Of course." Methos said to no-one in particular.