Richie felt the ground vibrating under his feet, felt himself running, running, running, where to? He didn't know, he just felt himself running, and then, he wasn't. He could feel there was literally nothing under his feet, and he was falling.

Richie opened his eyes before he actually shot up in bed, and in fact he didn't shoot up, but Richelle did. Coincidence? Or that legendary twin bond they'd always heard so much about? What one felt, the other did, what one thought, the other knew. He didn't know, but he listened to Richelle's gasping breaths upon waking and deduced she sounded about like he'd felt in the instant he woke up. Richelle sat up on her side of the bed and bent her knees and tilted her head down as she composed herself.

"You okay, sis?" he asked quietly, wondering what time it was. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it, the only light coming into their room was from the stars shining outside the window.

Richelle sucked in a couple of deep breaths and answered, "I'm fine." Not sounding convincing whatsoever, but Richie knew if she didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't. She was like him that way, though he'd never admit it.

Richelle's body tightened and clenched like she was dry heaving, after a couple times she lay back down on the bed beside him, but she wasn't convincing there either if she thought he would buy she was going back to sleep.

"Hey," he reached over and put his hand on her shoulder, "You alright?"

"Fine," she repeated, but she was still breathing hard.

Richie turned onto his side so he could see her, and he reached over and grabbed her and pulled her over towards him and held her against him and said quietly to her, "Hey, everything's gonna be okay, sis, got it? Everything's gonna be fine."

No response, she was stiff as a board against him. Richie did his best to assure her and get her to calm down, but she was stubborn, resilient, gee, who did that remind him of? He kept one arm around her back holding her against him and he used his other hand to rub against her shoulder, to let her know she wasn't alone in this, if she understood she was doing a damn fine job of playing ignorant.

Richie looked up and managed to find the clock on the dresser, and with a little work he saw that it was a little after 2 o' clock in the morning. If they didn't get back to sleep soon they were going to have a long night ahead of them.

"Hey," he said, thinking of something. He loosened his hold on his sister and lightly pushed her back so she could see him, "Did I ever tell you about the time I tried tracking down my father? …I guess that'd be our father."

Richelle shook her head slowly, "No."

"Oh well," Richie said in an exaggerated 'pull up a seat and let me tell you' tone, "This part probably won't come as any surprise, the dirty rat wasn't my father after all, just a lowlife gambling shark, who wound up ripping off one of the most expensive exhibits we had in the whole damn store."

"Hmmmm," Richelle closed her eyes and rested her head against her brother's shoulder, "No, you never told me about that."

"Oh yeah, and get this, he was able to steal the mask because I invited him to stay the night," Richie told her.

That was the price of family, you do anything for them, even subject yourself to opening old wounds in order to make things easier on them. All the things he'd never told anybody since it happened, he found himself pouring out casually as though he was recalling a date he'd had, knowing that it would help take Richelle's mind off of whatever was eating at her, if only temporarily, and maybe then they'd both be able to go back to sleep. He spent half an hour telling her about Joe Scanlon and Emily Ryan and everything else from that point of his life, and eventually they both fell back asleep.

"MacLeod!"

"MacLeoooooood! Come out! Come out wherever you arrrrreeee!"

"Come out and face us you coward!"

Those taunting yells and screeches had been ongoing for a few hours, for the most part Connor had been oblivious to them because he was in a dead sleep from exhaustion. But eventually he started to come to again and he could hear them, even locked in the chapel in the center of the church away from the walls, away from the windows, he could still hear it, there was simply no escape from that noise. Not only that, he could hear a continuous noise of pounding on the outside walls of the church, as if trying to bust the whole place wide open to get a shot in at him.

If Connor had to guess, he'd say he'd probably been sleeping on this damn rough pew for, maybe 6 hours, maybe more, maybe less, he couldn't tell, he could only estimate. He didn't exactly wake up feeling refreshed, only with the presence of mind to know he'd had a few hours to rest and recuperate, and now, he had to deal with those squabbling maniacs outside. He swore, he was getting too old for this.

He about jumped when he heard the bolt turning in the chapel doors. He turned to see who was entering, and was relieved to see it was a familiar face. The man who entered the room looked like he was in his late 20s or early 30s, tall, medium build, short dark hair, very plain. He was dressed in black with a white collar, not a priest, Connor couldn't remember what he was supposed to be, though for no more of an act than this whole thing was, he may as well have been.

"Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Been a while, hasn't it?"

Connor gave a low laugh and remarked, "Nice to see you too, Father Damien. Just sorry it couldn't be under better circumstances."

"Yes, I noticed that," the man replied, "They've been at it for quite some time."

"Can they get in?" Connor inquired.

"Oh no," Father Damien shook his head, "All the windows have steel shutters locked tight, the siding's all reinforced steel with a vinyl covering over it, they try busting in and they're going to be in for a rude surprise. People like that have been trying to force their way into this building for years, they always fail."

"Small favors," Connor said.

Very small, the continuous pounding noises continued to echo throughout the church.

"How long have they been at it?" Connor asked as he sat up on the pew.

"Oh, long enough," Father Damien answered.

"They won't leave until they get me," Connor said, "You know that."

"And of course you have no intention of letting that happen," Father Damien replied.

"No, but they're persistent, and dangerous," Connor told him.

"Well," Father Damien didn't sound concerned, "Maybe I can buy you some time."

Connor looked up at his friend in puzzlement, "What do you mean?"

Father Damien just smirked and told Connor, "You just stay here, and leave that to me. I'll be right back."

Of course Connor couldn't leave it at that. He watched as his friend left the chapel, waited a few seconds, then got up and left the chapel. He stayed far enough back that he could see where in the church Father Damien went, but that if anybody looked back his way, they wouldn't be able to see him. He followed behind Father Damien, and watched as the mock clergyman headed to the front door of the church. He did not open the door, naturally, instead he opened a small hinged window at eye level and looked out and saw the two Immortals who were trying to force their way in. They were not quite like anything he'd ever seen before, but he didn't let his minor shock show, instead he met them with an air of arrogance and defiance and indifference.

"What do you want here?" he asked.

Connor stayed back and looked to the front. Father Damien largely blocked the view of the two Immortals standing outside, but Connor knew what they looked like, he'd seen them plenty before, and that had already been enough for him.

And ooh, their voices, those horrible screeching voices, that alone should've gotten them killed years ago for being so annoying, it was a wonder that they'd managed to last this long.

"It's MacLeod we want, and it's MacLeod we're going to get, you would do well to get out of our way, father, unless you want to die too."

"What business have you with MacLeod?" Father Damien asked.

"The same business we have with all Immortals, father," one of them cackled and screeched, "Cutting his head off."

"How quaint," Father Damien replied, "Why don't you start by practicing on each other?" He ignored their displeased responses and added, "Even if you could get in here you wouldn't do it in here. That's the purpose of holy ground and even a nimrod like you could figure that out."

"So bring him out to us, father," the other one hissed and cackled, "Bring him to us and we won't be forced to subject you or your precious church to the full extent of the damage we're capable of."

Father Damien remained unnaturally nonchalant and civil and unflappable, all qualities Connor had always admired in the man. He was a less bubbly version of Glinda the Good Witch of the North, and as if Father Damien knew this, he told the two Immortals standing out the door in a self-assured and borderline smug tone, "You have no power here, be gone before somebody drops a house on you."

Connor couldn't figure out what it was, if it was something in what Father Damien had said, or the way he'd said it, but the two Immortals outside suddenly became very somber and quiet and slowly backed away from the church doors.

"This isn't the end, father, we will be back," one of them swore as they took off.

"I look forward to it," Father Damien assured them, "All cockroaches return, and they all eventually lose their heads."

Father Damien closed the window in the door and headed back to the chapel, where Connor had returned, and mournfully said to his friend, "I caused you some trouble."

Father Damien was indifferent to the idea, and he told Connor, "Frick and Frack don't bother me, I've had worse threats made against me, and the church, and we're both still here."

"They won't go far," Connor shook his head grimly, "They're going to stay out there and wait for the first sight of me."

"I know," Father Damien nodded, "That's why I said I'd buy you some time."

"What?"

The fake priest went over to Connor and told him, "You've already had long enough to sleep to rest and recuperate, stay for something to eat, and then I'll let you be on your way, and I can guarantee they won't be able to catch up with you, not for a while anyway."

"How can you be sure of that?" Connor asked.

Father Damien smiled, "That's right, you've never had to use our emergency exit. I'll show you. Follow me."

Connor followed his friend out of the chapel and down through long winding corridors until they reached what he figured had to be the back of the church. They went into a small dank room that probably used to be a shed attached to the church to bring in firewood back when it was still used. Father Damien went over to a set of doors that were built into the floor and opened them up, revealing a stairway leading downward.

"There's a tunnel running under the church and it goes out for five miles due north," Father Damien told Connor, "When you reach the end you'll be above ground again. The tunnel's deep enough underground that they won't be able to sense you leaving."

"That would be very handy," Connor replied.

"Once you get to the end, you'll be on your own, but you'll have a head start over them, and their leader," Father Damien said.

"Thank you, Damien."

"That's the whole reason I had this church built," he told the highlander, "To help out the people I'm dumb enough to care about."

Connor chuckled.

"Come on," Father Damien nodded his head towards the corridor, "We'll get something to eat before you leave. You're going to need something to run on. I can already tell you have a long journey ahead of you."

"You have no idea," Connor told his friend as they headed towards the church's kitchen.

"So where are you heading?" the fake priest asked.

"I really have no idea," Connor confessed, "I'm just trying to make sure I'm far enough away from my cousin and his family so that they don't become collateral damage in this fight."

Father Damien took a bottle of scotch out of a cupboard and poured them each a glass, "Do you think that's doable, Connor?"

"I'm hoping," Connor said as they sat down at the table, "I gotta tell you though, with Heckle and Jeckle here, and that other thing God knows where…I don't know. It's just going to come down I suppose to who wants to kill me more, and who that honor is reserved for."

"If there was more that I could do…" Father Damien started to say.

"You've helped me immensely already," Connor told him, "You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

"Still, I'd prefer knowing for a fact that I wasn't about to lose another one of my friends," Father Damien replied, "Even with the sanctuary, it's been a very rough time."

"Believe me, I know," Connor said.

"So, exactly what have you been up to since we last saw each other?" Father Damien asked.

Connor laughed and told the other man, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you…in the last year I've found myself responsible for another human being."

"That's not unusual."

"A teenager."

"That's out of the ordinary for you," Father Damien said.

"No, it gets better," Connor told him, "My cousin has her twin brother with him."

The fake priest about fell over laughing and he said to the Scot, "Damn, Connor, leave it to you to do everything the complicated way."

"Don't I know it?" Connor asked, "Ah, it's been worth it though."

"You always were a social creature."

Connor laughed in remembrance and remarked, "Of all the people I could find to get attached to, I pick an 18 year old pickpocket, what're the odds?"

"After 475 years, it was bound to happen," Father Damien replied.

Connor smiled in spite of himself. "I should've known when I took her in that it would happen, like an idiot I really believed after a few months, she'd be out of my life and everything would get back to normal."

"What's normal?" Father Damien interjected.

"And what happened?" Connor asked.

"What?" Father Damien parroted to goad him on.

Connor sighed, and told his friend, "She was a mess…she needed help, and a lot of it."

"And you?"

Connor shot a look to the other man that said how much he didn't want to answer it, but he did, "Brenda had already left long before, Rachel lives in another part of the city, nobody else stuck around long, I know what you're hinting at, Damien."

"So tell me, am I wrong?"

Connor shook his head, not in disagreement, just in confusion and agitation, "No matter how many times you try and get used to being alone, it just never works."

"Hence why Adam came up short a rib," Damien said, "God made man, that includes Immortals, if mortals weren't meant to be alone, why should we be? This…concept, of the Game, the Prize…maybe nobody knows where it started or who decided it, but we know who didn't make that call."

"You know," Connor said, "Sometimes you actually manage to be halfway convincing as a clergyman."

"It was bound to happen after all the time I've spent here," Father Damien pointed out, "Even if the dumbest moron can pick up German if they live in the country long enough."

Connor paused for a moment to take another drink before he replied, "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Damien watched the man sitting across from the table, and even for his current situation he seemed notably troubled. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Connor answered preparedly.

"Something I think," Damien replied.

"So what're you, the ghost of Christmas past?" Connor asked.

"Well?"

"I was just remembering something," Connor said, "This kid Richelle, I taught her to drive, figured she could ride a motorcycle, got her a motorcycle, she learned how to ride it, been doing fine with it, but as was bound to happen sooner or later, some little slip and she wipes out."

It wasn't the first time he'd ever seen Richelle fall off a motorcycle but usually she made a joke of it, pretending to be Goose from 'Mad Max' and claiming in regards to what happened, 'I don't know, I just got here myself' before getting up and trying to get the bike on its wheels again. This time she just pushed back on her hands and scooted away from the mess. She was almost home and crashed at the last second before she hit the turn in the street. He'd come running to see what was the matter, right away he didn't note any blood but her jeans were covered in black muck so he wouldn't know for sure until she got her clothes off.

"How bad's the damage?" he asked as he came up to her.

She just shook her head and murmured, "I don't know."

The instant he touched her legs to assess the damage, she made a bunch of incoherent sounds and started beating on him with her fists. He grabbed her hands tight to stop her. On a second try he found that everything was still in one piece as it was supposed to be, and helped Richelle up. The short trip back to the house seemed to be the longest couple minutes in her life. From there, he got her up to her room, laid her down on the bed, and endured her trying to reach him to kill him as he got her jeans off to find her legs black and blue all over, especially from the knees down.

"You could've broken both your legs, Richelle," he told her, "You got very lucky."

"Not from my perspective," she replied.

It was the first major accident she'd been in since he knew her. He decided it would be a good idea to keep her in bed for a few days while she recuperated, so he alternated keeping her on ice, and on painkillers, that were so strong they'd knock her out for hours on end and she slept for most of the first three days. After that however, the pills not only stopped putting her to sleep, but instead they kept her wired so she didn't sleep. One night after the next, Connor could hear her flopping around in her bed like a fish out of water, trying in vain to get comfortable enough to fall asleep, and it never happened. Finally about the third night, he decided if Richelle was going to be up all night, she was going to have some company. He helped her down the stairs and got her settled on the couch and propped her head up so she could see the TV.

"I took the liberty of renting the new 'Batman' movie," Connor said as he took the tape out of its store jacket and put it in the VCR, "Figure we'll never get a better chance to watch it."

Richelle was tired and miserable, but she managed half a smile, coupled with half a laugh and remarked, "Thanks."

During the slow parts of the film, Connor couldn't resist commenting on the older screen depictions of the Caped Crusaders that he'd seen, going back to the 2 movie serials that had been released in the 40s, which somehow in spite of how goofily concocted they seemed to be to him at the time, still were more serious than the TV series that was released in the 60s. Richelle didn't have much to say in the way of responses, except once during the film she asked Connor, referring to the character of Knox, "Is that Newbomb Turk?"

"I think so," he replied.

"Huh," she commented, "Still goofy looking."

Two hours later when the end credits were rolling, Connor shut off the tape and saw that Richelle had finally fallen asleep and seemed to be in a contentedly dead sleep. All the same, Connor wouldn't trust for her to remain asleep if he tried moving her, so he grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over her, then leaned down and kissed her on her forehead.

"Goodnight, kid," he said quietly.

A sound caught in Richelle's throat, implying a hint of consciousness. Connor saw her eyes open, not very wide, but enough to know she was awake and aware.

"Thanks, Connor," she said, a few seconds later her eyes rolled back in her head and she was out like a light again.

"It took a while for her to warm up, but she finally turned," Connor explained to Damien, "If anything happens to her now…if anything happens to any of them…"

"Connor, do you really think that Crunch and Brunch could possibly do any harm to them?"

"They could, but they're not the ones I'm worried about."

"I understand, but do you really think running is the answer?" Damien asked.

"If it were just me, I'd meet this threat head on, but I won't risk anyone else's lives," Connor said, "That's why I've got to get as far from here as possible."

Damien slowly nodded his head and said to his friend, "It sounds to me then like you've got it all figured out. Godspeed, friend, and keep your head."

"Thanks," Connor got up from the table, "I appreciate your help, Damien."

"Don't mention it, my boy," the phony priest replied as they left the kitchen.

"Like I said," Damien told Connor as they headed back to the storm doors, "You'll have five miles to run from here, once you surface at the end you'll be on your own, it should buy you enough time for a head start if you really want to lure them as far away as possible, I'll hold the Buzzard Brothers off as much as I can in the meantime until they figure it out."

Connor threw the doors opened and saw the stairs leading down into the darkness. He turned towards his friend and said to him, "Thanks for everything, friend."

"Just come back here in one piece, alright?" Father Damien asked.

Connor laughed and told him, "You got it."

Connor sucked in a couple of breaths as if he was about to dive into the river, and he charged down the stairs, plunging in next to complete darkness, and he was off and running. Running as fast as his centuries old legs would carry him, determined to put as much distance between himself and the last of his friends as soon as possible. He wasn't willing for there to be any loose ends left to be tied up where these people hunting for him were concerned. He couldn't see where he was going but on an instinct he carried on through the underground tunnel, an unseen force driving him on to that final goal of reaching the end and seeing the light of day once again; even if for the last time.