How Many Times by Joanne Madge (highlander@fan.com or jmadge@fastlane.net) -------------------------------------- This is my very first attempt at a Highlander story and originally appeared in the 'zine "Richie Forever III" which is still available at http://www.agentwithstyle.com/highland.htm. You can check out my other Highlander stories at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dungeon/9847/hl.html. DISCLAIMER: Highlander and its characters belong to Rysher. No infringement intended, no profit being made. -------------------------------------- Sneaking into an Immortal's home is not an easy thing to do, especially if you happen to be Immortal yourself. *Damn rain.* Richie stood outside the dojo and stared up at it in contempt, as if the building itself was to blame for his current problem. Of course, the sensible thing to do at this point would be to go home, let it all blow over, and start off fresh. Come to work in the morning, usual time, and pretend nothing had happened. Maybe Mac would even let the matter drop without a speech, or, God forbid, a LESSON. *Starting to hail, great. Why not? Big ones, too. Beautiful. Under the awning's probably "in range", too. But then, have to get "in range" to get back into the building, right? Or was it about half way in? Before the elevator? Course, it all depends on where Mac is standing upstairs, too, doesn't it?* *Damn! Wonder what it's like to get hit by that lightning. Probably one hell of a Quickening.* He shuddered and moved a few more cautious feet toward his goal. *Okay, so under the awning is safe. Nice to know. Should try to remember that.* He huddled under the sparse shelter and tried to shake some of the wetness out of his drenched clothes. *Just cleaned the floor today. Is it worth it to drip all over and have to mop again?* He took another hesitant step towards the door. *Ah well, probably wouldn't make it home in this stuff anyway. Just a few more steps and I'm in. Don't be in range, Mac. Please don't be...* The "feeling" crawled over his skin like a million ants. "Damn!" *There goes it, plan ruined. Coulda' worked, too. Gone into the office, started working, Let him come down for evening exercises and see me down there. Hadn't really stormed out in a childish huff. Just had work to do, see? Not that it would have explained being soaking wet.* He sighed. *Okay, so bolt now, or go in, tail between legs, and face it.* A sound behind him. *Something's not right.* Too late. An arm like a python hooked in a vise-grip around his waist as something cold pressed against his throat. Sharp. *Don't move. So, you don't hear someone sneaking up on you in a downpour. Good thing to remember. Yeah, right.* Despite the rising feel of panic, he had to suddenly suppress the desire to laugh out loud, or scream. *Can't even reach my sword. Pathetic.* "Ow!" pressing slightly harder, just enough to draw blood. *What are you WAITING for?! Oh, this is perfect. Happy New Year, Mac. Sorry 'bout the argument. No hard feelings or anything. Sorry 'bout the mess.* "Do you have ANY idea how easily I could take your head right now?" Deep voice; middle aged. *Middle aged? Quit thinking like a mortal! Look for a way out.* "Uh, do you mind if I turn around?" The pressure on his throat eased off slightly. "Guess there's one way for you to find out." A low chuckle. The snake-arm pulled away. *Ass hole. Okay, smile big.* "Thanks." He turned around slowly, almost ignoring the way the sword cut a little crevice around his neck as he did so. Then he looked... up. *BIG! But man, what a mess.* "So..." he began cheerfully, "from around here?" *Geez, he stinks, too. Wonder when's the last time this guy took a bath.* The man glared down at him in suspicious silence for a moment, then lowered his sword a few inches. "From around here? This stinkin' posh neighborhood? Nah." The sword came back up, fractionally. "You?" *Total nutcase.* "Me? Heh, no! Just got here. Hate the place. Really ought to be getting, uh, back now." The man grinned hugely at this, revealing many missing teeth and a few others that would have been better-off following their companions. "You're young." He snorted in contempt and let his sword lower all the way. *Run!* "Well, hey, it's been great chatting with you and everything, but..." The man grabbed him by the upper arm, thick fingers digging in hard. "You lookin' for HIM, ain't ya?" Richie managed to suppress a yelp and hold his breath against the stench of the man's close proximity at the same time. "Er, him?" he squeaked. *Leggo! Son of a...* The man indicated the dojo, pointing to one of the lit windows on the uppermost floor. "Him. Yeah, I can tell. Can't say I blame ya. But you'd never lick him, boy. You're still just a pup. Nah, best leave that kind of work to the likes of me." The pain in Richie's arm receded way into the background of his attention. "Leave that kind of work...?" *He's gotta be kidding!* He pointed to the lighted floor with his free hand. "You mean?" The man dug his fingers in harder and shook him roughly. Richie felt his teeth rattle. "Of COURSE that's what I bloody-well mean, and you'd be well advised to stay clear of..." He paused, a strange light coming into his yellowish eyes. "Say, just whadd'ya know about him anyway, boy?" He lifted Richie painfully to almost eye-level with himself. *I could yell. Right, and he could gut me like a pig, too, then take my head.* "Hey, pal! Take it easy, okay? I'm on your side, all right?" *In your DREAMS!* The man gawked at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed loud enough to compete with the surrounding thunder. He also unexpectedly released his grip and Richie fell on his backside with a splash. He was up and running before it had completely registered. He didn't get ten yards. His shirt collar tightened, choking tight around his throat and the ground suddenly refused to reach his feet. The man hauled him backwards and up by the scruff and snarled in his ear. "So, that's your game, is it?" His sword was whipping around, raising... Richie didn't realize his own was drawn until he found himself slashing backwards. *Is this what all the training does? You act without thinking?* *Live with it. Make it part of you.* He felt his sword connect with that sickening sensation you only get when you hit something... alive. A roar of outrage and pain exploded behind him. This time he was ready when gravity returned, but instead of trying to bolt again, he spun, jumped backwards a pace, and struck his favorite en garde pose: Feet wide, sword arced over his head. And he ducked just in time. He should have been able to move fast enough for the man's second blow, too, but for a split second he hesitated between stepping to one side, or parrying. He did half of both. Bad idea. His sword wasn't raised quite high enough. The enraged man's sword sunk deep into the curve between his neck and left shoulder. Richie hissed in pain and slapped up at the offending object with his own sword, only to find nothing there. The pain from the slash across his stomach didn't register until the jab in his right side hit. Against every instinct screaming at him to do otherwise, he couldn't help but double over. He heard a guttural chuckle, like a pig's grunt. *Bastard's laughing at me!* He looked up with clenched teeth to see the sword swinging, slowly, almost casually, to strike his neck from the upper-left side. His own sword intercepted it, as if it had a mind of it's own. The man was momentarily startled. *It might be the only friend you have.* Richie brought his sword back across from left to right, letting it cut across the huge chest in front of him, then he jabbed straight and hard. Blood splurted into his eyes, forcing him to take a few precious steps back to wipe at them. His opponent had taken the opportunity to step back as well. His face was distorted with rage, and blood was flowing disgustingly fast from a hole in his gut. "I'll kill ya! Gad, I'll kill ya!" He stumbled forward. Richie took a step to meet him. His legs wobbled unsteadily. *Whatthehell?* He glanced down. The ground beneath him was swimming in red. He suddenly realized he was bleeding much worse than the man rambling towards him. The world tilted. He didn't recall turning back around, running, but suddenly the dojo door loomed in front of him. He could hear the "slap, slap" of the man's shoes maybe ten feet behind him, and closing fast. He managed to bring his sword up with his right arm as he slammed through the door with his left side. AGONY! His injured shoulder screamed protest, but he was inside. *Didn't I leave the lights on?* It was dim. His feet slid on the clean, wooden floor and he grabbed out for the nearest object, a punching bag, to keep from falling. His sword hit the floor with an unhappy "clang!". *Why'd I do THAT?!* A loud slam behind him. "You're DEAD, pup!" *Get to the elevator... Which WAY is the elevator?* The room was spinning uncooperatively. He really thought he should yell, or something, but he couldn't just at the moment remember how. He slid down the punching bag and sat with a painful thump on the cool floor. *Much better.* The smooth wood felt sticky under his hands. *Thought I'd mopped that today. Oh well.* There was a wild-looking man limping towards him with a sword upraised. That was important for some reason. He'd figure it out later. Something hit his head. *Oh, it's the floor... that's nice. 'S really late. Good time for a nap.* He was jerked half-awake by an unpleasant, queasy/vibrating sensation. The man looming a million miles over him seemed disturbed by it, too. He pulled back out of Richie's immediate line of vision. *Oh, good. Good riddance...* *Good night.* ### *Breathe!* Pain... so much pain. *Need to breathe.* "Richie..." *Go AWAY!* Lungs expanding... He felt himself shoot up into a sitting position, gasping in air, and immediately regretted it. Something 'popped' in his left shoulder and heat trickled down his arm. *Gonna be sick. God, make it STOP, already!* Pressure against his other shoulder. "Hold still. It'll only take longer, otherwise." Deep voice, very calm, very flat. *He's mad. Great.* "Mac, I..." "Hold STILL." *Damn.* A million things to say, all designed to somehow get him a tad less-in-trouble, ricocheted around inside Richie's head, but another quick glance at Mac kept them there. He eased himself back against the leather couch with a groan. The light grip remained on his 'good' shoulder for a moment, tightened briefly, then let go, seeming to take the worst of the pain with it. The couch was cool and soft. Seemingly moments later, Richie's eyes fluttered open. *Daylight?* He really hadn't intended to fall asleep. He sat forward, pushing the comforter that had materialized over him away with annoyance. *Blood on it. Another argument in the making, no doubt.* He glanced around the loft. Empty. There was a note taped to the elevator grill. He stood up, stretched, and stumbled over to read it: "Going out. Stay put!" Fine with him. He glanced down at himself with a cringe. Shirt was a loss. Jeans too, what with all the blood that had soaked down into them. He felt an after-effect of embarrassment at Mac seeing him in such a state; and running from another Immortal no less. *The other Immortal!* He hadn't told Mac about the guy. Okay, so it wasn't likely that Duncan MacLeod couldn't handle a nut case like that. Was it? *He should at least KNOW.* *But first, a change of clothes.* ### The "feeling" struck before the elevator was half way down to the bottom floor. He fought for what he hoped was his most appealing facial expression. "I told you to stay put!" "Mac!" Richie slammed the gate open and jumped out. "I'm glad I caught you. there's this total maniac running around out there, and..." "No kidding?" Duncan looked up from where he was kneeling down, scrubbing dried, brown stuff off the floor. "Oh." Richie felt humiliation flush over his face. He looked away. "Yeah, well this guy is after you in a big way, Mac. Knew where you lived, and everything. Just thought you should know." Duncan stood up, marched over to him, and frowned down. *Hate it when he does that.* "Since you're here..." Duncan grabbed Richie's arm and slapped the scrub brush against his palm. Richie stared down at it in disgust. "Ah, the fun part of being Immortal." Duncan just crossed his arms and scowled. "Mac, he started it, I swear!" "Where." "Uhhhh..." Richie glanced around at the door. "Outside. I was working. Just needed a breath of fresh air, and..." Duncan smiled unpleasantly. "In the middle of a rain storm?" "Well... yeah! Rain's good for the soul, you know. Anyway, I had just stepped outside, for a second , mind you, and..." "The TRUTH, Richie!" Duncan's voice vibrated off the walls around them. *Ah, hell.* A matter of minutes later, and Duncan's earlier shout was a gentle memory. "He snuck up on you? You LET him SNEAK UP on you? Richie, have you lost all of your common sense?! Does anything I try to teach you get into that curly head of yours?" He punctuated this by thumping unpleasantly on Richie's cranium with his index finger. Richie had really intended to stand quietly and take whatever chewing-out he had coming, but getting poked in the head was too much for his poor, abused temper to take. He swatted the offending hand away. "Well, obviously, I'm just too stupid to learn from someone as brilliant as you, Mac! Guess I should have broken into the antique store of an Immortal a little less perfect. My mistake!" "Your mistake, YOUR mistake..." Duncan grabbed a handful of Richie's shirt and shook him slightly. *Why does he always DO that?" "Damn right your mistake! How many times do I have to..." "Look, Mac," Richie squirmed out of Mac's grip. "I'm just trying to tell you about this guy who just HAPPENS to be planning to take your HEAD, if you'd..." "Richie, I think I can handle my own problems with other Immortals, so just..." In unison: "LISTEN TO ME!" They both broke off and exchanged dark glowers. Richie slammed the scrub brush down and started backing away towards the door. "Fine." "Richie..." "Fine! Hey, you don't want to know about this guy, it's fine with me. I'll just be getting home, then." "Richie, it's not a good idea to be..." Richie threw a hand up. "Hey, look! This guy's after you, not me. If I didn't just happen to be around you last night, I never would have run into the guy!" Duncan cringed, just perceptibly enough for someone who knew him well to see it. *Touche'. Feel better, now, dumb ass?* Richie slapped a hand to his forehead. "Mac, that's not what I..." "You wanna go?" Duncan walked up to him and bent over so they were almost nose to nose. "Then go." Richie felt anger flushing through his body again. "Sure! I'll go. If you..." "Good-bye." Dead flat. Duncan spun on his heel and marched into the office at the back of the room without looking back. *That's it!* "Yeah, fine! Great! Good-bye! Have a nice LIFE!!" Richie spun and stomped out, slamming the dojo door behind him. He only glanced back once, as he was putting his helmet on, before roaring off into the disgustingly cheery, morning sunshine. ### "What can I do for you, Richie?" Richie leaned against the bar, lowering his voice. "Well, Joe, I could use a little advice." Joe smiled warmly. "Girl trouble?" Richie ducked his head. "Noooo, not this time. It's more of a 'guy thing'." "Oh." Joe leaned back a bit. "Fight with MacLeod again, eh?" *That often, huh?* "Uh, yeah. Okay, well let's say you screwed-up. Kind of. And then you kind of screwed-up even bigger, and then you kind-of... Well..." Joe raised his eyebrows. "Screwed-up?" Richie shook his head. "Not exactly. I mean, not in so many..." He struggled for his last scrap of dignity, and failed. "Yeah." Joe shrugged. "You could try something along the lines of, "I screwed-up. Sorry." Richie just looked at him. "Just a suggestion, of course." "Yeah, well..." Richie started playing with a stray pretzel. "I wish it was that simple, Joe. I mean, if it was a girl, then I could just buy her flowers, or something, and make-up some little speech. Just B.S., but she'd eat it up and in no time... yeah." He grinned. "But Mac's not that easy to fool!" Joe braced both hands on the bar top and leaned in. "Then don't. If you expect him to be fair with you, then just be fair with him. Admit where you went wrong, and..." Richie slammed a hand down on the bar. "But it's ALWAYS me who's going wrong! Why can't he just cut me a little slack once in awhile?" Joe smirked. "Not his style." Richie sighed. "Tell me about it." "All right, so you 'fess-up, he yells at you until he feels better, then you're square again. I mean, let's face it, it could be a lot worse when you think about it." Despite himself, Richie found himself smiling back, if a little lopsidedly. "Yeah, that's true. I guess. Doesn't sound all that terrible when you put it that way." He got up. "So I guess it's off to the gallows, then. Thanks, Joe." "Anytime." ### In spite of the confidence he felt when he left Joe's Bar, Riche was feeling a tad shaky by the time he reached the dojo. It was late afternoon. The building was locked. He glanced at his watch. *Should be open for at least another two hours. What gives?* He dug out his keys and let himself in. The lights were still on, but all the equipment was put away. The stain was only half-gone. He stuck his head into the office. Empty. He then wandered around to the back hall where the pay phones were. Silent. Then it struck him. He hadn't sensed any Immortals around. He ran to the elevator and slammed the gate up. Upstairs, it was as if he'd only left minutes ago instead of almost a full day. The comforter was still lying in an un-tidy heap on the floor, his ruined clothes still in the garbage. The note was still stuck to the elevator grill. "What's going on?" He demanded of the empty room. The room declined comment. ### "Joe's." "Joe! Have you found anything, yet, on..." "Richie. Look, I've checked just about everything I have. I simply have to have more to go on than, 'big, ugly, and stinks like hell'!" Richie kicked the underside of the desk. The sound reverberated dully off the glass windows separating the office from the exercise area. He glanced at his watch: 10:25 p.m. He fought for a modicum of calm, absently reaching down to rub his foot. "Okay, what else can I tell you? He had... a face." "Uh-huh." "Well, yeah, but I mean it was really..." he struggled for a suitable description. "Ugly!" "Richie." "All right, all right! Let me think. It was dark. Raining." He heard a barely audible sigh on the other end "Geez, Joe, I dunno, but you HAVE to find out who this guy is!" "Richie..." The sigh was much louder this time. "Look, I hate to have to ask this, but did Mac ever tell you what to do if... I mean, did he have some kind of plan for the event..." "What?!" Joe's voice became firm. "That something happened to him? Look, I'm way out of line even asking, but if you need help getting somewhere..." Richie whipped the phone away from his hear and glared at it in speechless fury. *How could he even ASK that? How can he sit there so calm, damn him, and even suggest...* "Richie?" He managed to find his voice again. "Thanks anyway, Joe. I'll find him on my own." "Richie!" He gently hung the phone up and sat staring at it in silence for a long time, thinking furiously. ### *Why is Amanda never in town when you need her?* Richie wheeled his bike through yet another alleyway he'd found in the vicinity of the dojo. "Come on, you smelly S.O.B., I know you're hiding around here somewhere." Amanda was good at this sort of thing. She'd found Mac once before when some crazy Immortal had managed to lock him up somewhere. Or was it Joe that had actually found him? The whole thing had happened when Richie was out of town and Mac seemed too embarrassed to rehash many of the details. It was starting to get dark. Cursing under his breath, Richie steered his way back to the dojo. He couldn't quite suppress the stab of disappointment when it was as he'd left it earlier. Despite himself, he found himself going upstairs, yet again, to check Mac's answering machine. There were no calls. He grabbed a piece of fruit out of the kitchen, absently wiping a few errant crumbs off the countertop by the sink. The silence was deafening. "Hell with this." He found himself back downstairs, and realized he had no idea where to go next. The thought of going back home now was unthinkable. Someone was going to show up here, or call. They had to. Back in the office. He sat down, he stood up; walked rapidly in a circle. *Really ought to finish cleaning that stain.* He took a bite of the fruit in his hand, glared at it accusingly, and tossed it in the trash. *Have to DO something!* He paced. Maybe he should go on out and start looking around for big-ugly-stinky again. But he couldn't think of anyplace in a five mile radius he hadn't already looked at least twice! He paced to the middle of the workout area, then just stood. *"This must be pretty tough on you, too."* Ann. He hadn't thought about her in awhile, he realized with a twinge of guilt. For a fleeting moment, he thought of calling her, but dismissed it instantly. She was a doctor, not a detective, and with a new baby to look after... *Forget it.* He could still picture her, standing in the exact same spot he was currently occupying. She's looked so hurt. So lost. *"I... I just wish that I could tell him. Because I was so angry the last time I saw him."* *But he's NOT dead!* he'd wanted to scream at her. But he hadn't. He let her leave thinking the worst. Later, he was really glad that Mac had told her the truth. Even though things hadn't worked out between them, they were still good friends, and Richie was sure she'd still be very broken up if... "Damn it... DAMN it!" He spun toward the punching bag and landed a forceful side-kick into it. "Where the hell are you, you stinking, putrid, excuse for a..." *Where are you, Mac?* His stomach lurched, his skin vibrating furiously. *An Immortal!* He'd already plunged out the front door before it occurred to him to draw his sword. *Way to go, idiot. Where..?* He looked around rapidly, lurching to the left and right, then spinning around full circle. No one was in sight. He brought his sword up in a defensive posture. *You're not going to get the jump on me TWICE in one lifetime, you sack of... So where the hell is the guy, already?* The feeling began to fade. "No!" He tried to pinpoint the direction. Why hadn't he practiced that more, like Mac was always drilling him to? Then he saw it. Blue Volkswagen, old, dirty, just disappearing around the corner at the end of the street. He wasn't sure how he knew, but that was it. He took off at a dead run after it. By the time he'd rounded the corner it was nowhere in sight. Cursing his own continued stupidity, he scrambled desperately back to the dojo and mounted his bike. ### "Richie, is that you? Look, about yesterday..." "Blue Volkswagen!" Pause. "Come again?" "Blue Volkswagen, Joe!" Richie realized he was pummeling the desktop with he palm of his hand. He forced himself to stop. "Richie, calm down! I'm not follow..." "The guy. The big smelly guy..." "Right?" "Was here." "You mean again?" Joe's voice tightened perceptibly. "Last night. He was driving a Blue V.W. Bug. A wreck by the look of it. Couldn't see the plate number. I tried to follow him. Looked most of the night for him, but he gave me the slip." He could hear Joe taking a deep breath. "Richie, do you think you really should..." "Joe he has Mac! I know he does! He's just trying to catch me off guard again so he can do us both! I know people. He's that kind of guy! Greedy!" "All right, look. I'll see what I can find in the 'Blue Volkswagen' department, but we need to sit down and..." "Joe, there's no TIME! Who knows how long he's gonna wait before he gets tired of..." "Richie." Something about Joe's tone drew him up short. "What?" "If this guy has gone after Mac, and is still alive, then we both know what most likely has happened." Richie felt something catch in his throat. *Get a grip. There's no way.* "Didn't you say that to Amanda once?" "Yes, but..." "And weren't you WRONG?" "Richie! The chances of the same thing happening again are astronomical! You are in way over your head with this guy. If he comes around again, get away from him! "Not a chance." "Richie... look. I'll be in touch. Wait there for my call. Don't do anything stupid, just for awhile, all right?" For the second time, Richie hung up on Joe without saying good-bye. ### Richie leaned forward on his bike and peeked out from his hiding place in the hole of a condemned building. He squinted in the failing light towards the corner the V.W. had come around earlier in the day. Would come around again, he re-assured himself for the umpteenth time. This guy was after him, no doubt about it. *Well, fine with me, pal, 'cause I'm after your ass, too!* Almost dark, now. This time he was not going to go back inside. *The creep wants to play at night? Okay, so let's play.* He leaned back and loosened his helmet just a bit. He was close enough to the road that he wouldn't need to depend on his eyes alone to know the guy was back. *Hadn't expected it to get so cold.* He toyed with the idea of running back for a warmer jacket and rejected it. He zipped-up the light one he had on as high as it would go and huddled down to wait. His head jerked up, his mind babbling in confusion. Had he dozed off? *Immortal nearby.* He clutched the accelerator, then took a deep breath and eased forward, ever-so slowly. *Easy now...* *There he is!* The Blue Bug passed so close in front of him he could have touched it. He caught just a glimpse of the driver. It was definitely that guy. The car slowed slightly in front of the dojo, the man's head poking out the window to peer at the darkened upper floor. The guy stared for a moment, then pulled his head back inside and floored it. Richie was right behind. He managed to drop a few vehicles back in the traffic, pulling out of "range", but not out of sight. If he was lucky, Ugly wouldn't even know he was being followed. "Okay, buddy, take me to your leader!" *Just lead me to where you've got... The Bug shot onto the freeway; several miles, then off again. They wound on and off several lesser roads for some time. Traffic thinned out as they left the city behind. Following was becoming more difficult now. With only a few cars on the road this far out, Richie had to keep well back and pray that the sound of his own motor wouldn't tip the guy off. He glanced down at his gas gauge. One quarter tank left. It was full when he'd started the chase. *If I run out of gas, get stranded out here, AND lose this guy again...* Suddenly, the Bug veered off onto a dirt road and disappeared amongst the trees. *Damn! Wait up, you.* Richie accelerated and wheeled around the turn... and had to deliberately wipe out to one side of the road with a gravely "shoosh" to get out of sight quick enough. The Bug was only a matter of 20 yards or so ahead of him, and had stopped. Richie let out a huge gasp of relief to realize he was still out of Immortal "range". He quickly dragged the bike the rest of the way off the road, then cautiously peered out between a couple of close-together trees. The man was out of the car. The driver's side seat was pulled forward, and he was scrabbling around for something in the back. He withdrew with a jerk and hoisted something large onto his back with a loud grunt. Richie's eyes grew wide. A garbage bag! One of those industrial-sized ones, all taped up neatly to contain whatever was stuffed inside. Something heavy. Man sized. The man crouched down, retrieved something else from the back seat, and slammed the door. *A shovel.* Suddenly, everything took on the hazy hue of a dream. The man lugged his burden down an embankment. Richie followed silently, his brain refusing to function, to grasp. It was so dark down there, he could barely see, but the sound that drifted up to him as he peered down was unmistakable: The un-even "chop-shop" of digging. *No. Oh, no...* Something inside his mind snapped. Richie reached for the hilt of his sword and yanked it free. He lunged forward, "sense" of Immortal washing over him. The huge, grizzled head spun around, eyes un-earthly white, as a flame-haired demon came crashing down, out of the night. "WHAT in bloody hell..?!" "Yaaaaaarrrrgh!" Richie swung at the larger man, and swung again. The man stumbled backwards, babbling obscenities. Caught so completely off-guard, at first he could only backtrack, barely avoiding the slashing blade whistling back and forth in front of him. They quickly moved past the hole he'd been digging. Past the thing stuffed, so undignified, in a garbage bag. The trees grew thicker overhead, blocking out most of what little light there was. A shape. Just a black blob tripping backwards, but Richie kept swinging at it. Somehow it managed to stay one inch, maybe two out of harm's reach. Now it was ducking one way, then another, as if anticipating. Richie rapidly blinked tears of rage and frustration away, straining to see. His arms were starting to tire. The feeling of his sword connecting with something was almost as startling as the resounding "clang" that went with it. Richie froze for an instant. "So..." the man's tone was lightly mocking through his heavy breathing. "Thought ya could sneak up on me, eh?" A sound... A blur of movement to his right. Richie felt his arms respond automatically, his sword colliding, shrieking, with one he could barely see. Sparks spat and died instantly. An angry snort. "Ya must be pretty new to come chopping down on someone who's recently had a bloody great Quickening, now, ain't ya? I'm all charged-up, like!" The burning in his wearying shoulders was nothing compared with the heat that exploded in Richie's chest. Some, isolated part of his mind asked reasonably, *If this guy could beat Mac, what chance do I have?* But the rest just froze onto one thought: *Kill him, kill him, killhimkillhimkillhim!* He struck out with his sword once more, throwing his whole body into it. Somewhere he could here a grunt as the man slammed his own weapon up to parry. The force of it nearly sent his own flying from his hands. He stepped back, his sword-hand temporarily numb, and he suddenly realized that his eyes were growing a little more accustomed to the dark. The featureless shape moved to one side. He followed silently, slashing out. A sharp bellow of pain. *Back!* He more heard then saw the man's answering blow pass harmlessly by where he'd been standing a moment before, but Richie was already circling, brain on automatic now. *Find an opening. There!* He slashed upward and across, intending to cripple the biceps of the man's fighting arm, only his opponent evidently sensed it coming and ducked... IN THE WRONG DIRECTION. Richie's mind whirled in confusion as his arm swept around, only a slight yank of resistance marring it's perfect arc. There was a light, leafy thud. The man-shaped blob in front of him vanished suddenly followed by another thud, louder than the first. Richie stood there, sword at the ready, blinking in bafflement. A soft glow rose up from the ground in front of him, accompanied by an eerie, directionless wind. *No... Fight me, you bastard, FIGHT...* Boiling, searing, white-hot pain. His back arched, sword held high like a lightning rod. The trees overhead were illuminated in flashbulb bursts of blinding light. Richie spasmed in agony, his ears ringing with the sound of his own scream. *All the knowledge and power the defeated Immortal possesses becomes yours.* *No, please. Don't want it.* *As well as the accumulated Quickenings he's taken before...* "NO!" ### The ground spun beneath him, somehow even more nauseating in total darkness. Richie tried to pull himself back to his feet. Right leg half way there, left one lost at sea underneath him somewhere. He scrabbled for a hand-hold in the leafy debris. His mind fumbled around to put together where he was; what had just happened, but for some reason he found he just didn't want to know, yet. *Not know... what? Can't know. Something BAD.* He wanted some beef stroganoff in the worst way. With French bread. *Thirsty, too.* Light struck him violently. He yelped and threw his arm over his eyes. "Richie!" *What the..?* "Joe?!" He lowered his arm fractionally. Headlights. There was a car parked at the top of the embankment in front of him. Joe Dawson was making his way down from it, partially silhouetted by the iridescent glare. "You okay?" Richie struggled for a suitable answer. "Uh... gimmie a minute." Joe turned and limped a few feet away from the light. He leaned on his cane heavily and bent over, pulling at something with his free hand. His face was taut, but determined. A tearing sound... Richie froze. It all came crashing back at once. Joe pulled a large, plastic flap loose and angled it toward the light. He frowned in concentration. *God, what are you doing? Stop it!* Joe peered into the bag. Even in the un-even light, his left eyebrow could plainly be seen arching up. He glanced over at Richie, then back in the bag. He seemed to come to a decision and plunged a hand inside. *No... How could you? DON'T!* And pulled out a severed head by it's short, blonde hair. The rest of the body stayed, thankfully, out of sight within the plastic shroud. Richie gawked. Joe smirked, then set the head back within the bag with a grimace. "Nasty business." He noticed Richie's dazed expression and shrugged. "Followed you. Piece of cake for a Watcher." The universe flipped one way, then another, all the little pieces trying their best to find their proper places. Richie realized his mouth was hanging open. He shut it. Made one more effort to untangle his legs from each other, gave up on it, and looked back at Joe again. Their gaze fell together to the bag at Joe's feet. "Um... Who's that?" ### The sun was already up when Richie arrived back at the dojo. He spared a glance down at his torn, soiled clothing as he approached the entrance. *Back to square one, I guess.* He cringed to realize he'd left the door unlocked. *But I was sure I had locked it.* A warm blast of central-heated air stuck him as he pushed it open, along with the strong "sense" of another Immortal nearby. Duncan MacLeod looked up from where he'd just scrubbed the last of the stain off the floor. For a moment, they both just stared at each other. Then Duncan's eyes darkened like an impending storm as he took in Richie's appearance. "Not again?!" He slam-dunked the brush in its bucket, then took a deep breath, gazing up at the ceiling, sucking in his temper with obvious effort. After a moment, he leveled a serene, frozen smile at Richie. "Okay, let's do this differently. We'll sit. We'll TALK." He got to his feet and walked up to Richie, stiffly. "Agreed?" Richie just stood there, trying very hard not to fall over, drinking in the sight of him and grinning like an idiot. Duncan stared back at him strangely. "What?" "Where..." Richie gulped to cover the shakiness in his voice, took a moment to effect a casual stance, then tried again. "Where've you been?" Duncan's frown drained into a quizzical look. "The island. I needed some time to cool off and think. I left you a note." "You left... a note?" Duncan threw out his hands in exasperation. "Where I always leave notes. On the elevator gate upstairs." Richie's face went blank. "On the gate. Upstairs." "Right! Didn't you look?" "Lemmie get this straight. You left a note. Another note." "Another?" "Going out, stay put?" Duncan shook his head. "Well, you'd already read that one, all the difference it made. I threw it away..." "...And put the new one up in it's place. Right." "You didn't read it?" Suddenly Duncan seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh. "No." "Ah." They stood in awkward silence, both glancing here and there with sudden fascination at different aspects of the dojo's interior. "So..." A wicked gleam came into Duncan's eye. "Did you miss me, then?" He smirked sweetly at Richie... and half choked from the pressure of a pair of arms that flew in a strangle hold around his neck. Before he could react, it was gone and Richie was stomping across the floor towards the office. Richie paused in the doorway and snarled over his shoulder, "Don't you ever, EVER do that to me again, Mac!" He vanished inside and the door slammed hard enough to shake the building. Duncan stared after him in bafflement. "Do WHAT?" END