Connections

Disclaimer and Author's Notes:

Hi, welcome to the seventh installment in the Forever Tomorrow universe. For those of you unfamiliar with this universe, this is the creation of myself and fellow writer Michele Mason Bumbarger. It combines the respective universes of "Highlander" (both the movies and the series) and "The Tomorrow People" as well as adding a few new characters not found in either established universe.

A bit of legalese:

"Highlander": does not belong to me (more's the pity). Neither do the following characters: Conner MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, Methos a.k.a Adam Pierson, Joe Dawson, the Watchers, Alex Johnson MacLeod, John MacLeod, Heather MacLeod, Amanda Dariuex, Brenda J. Wyatt, Tessa Noel, Darius or Hugh Fitzcairn (the last five being mentioned in passing only) They are all the property of Panzer/Davis as well as Gaumont/Rysher Productions.

"The Tomorrow People": Also does not belong to me. Nor do the characters of Adam Newman, Megabyte Damon, Jade Weston, or Ami Jackson. They are the property of Roger Damon Price, Tetra Films, Thames Television, and Nickelodeon.

The characters of Catriona Fraser, Vanya Simonova and Constanza Montoya do belong to me however.

This story draws from the events in Michele Mason Bumbarger's "Perceptions" and its follow-up, "Promises Broken" as well as from my own story, "Reunions." If you haven't read any other the above stories, don't worry--I've tried to fill in enough blank spaces that following the story should be no problem.

Thanks to my beta reader, Michele Mason Bumbarger for her continuing support.

This story gets a PG-13 rating due to language and some dark content (hey, this does involve the Highlander universe).

Once again, thanks for taking the time to read this. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Seacouver, Washington, U.S.A.
1998

Richie Ryan whistled as he swept a mop across the hardwood floor of the dojo. At one time, he'd hated doing chores such as this. Now he relished them; it gave him a chance to just relax and do something normal. No cares, no worries, no Immortals coming at him with swords.

Sarah McLachlan was singing in the background, her sweet throaty voice pouring out of a tiny radio. /'I never would have opened up but you seemed so real to me. After all the bullshit I've heard, it's refreshing not to see. I don't have to pretend. She doesn't expect it from me...'/

He paused in his sweeping. For some reason, those lines made him think of Ami. And with those thoughts of Ami came familiar feelings of longing as well as resolve. Resolve not to get her involved in his life, the life of an Immortal. It was hard to stay away from her but it would be even harder to watch as the endless rounds of the Game wore away at her, extinguishing that light he so loved about her.

Another feeling was traveling through him. An all too familiar and unwelcome singing that ran through his veins. An Immortal was nearby; an old and powerful one at that. He gripped the handle of his broom. Mac was upstairs going over a new sword he'd just purchased at an auction. So it wasn't him; it didn't feel like him anyway. Richie backed up, moving into such a position that he could easily grab his sword out of the duffel bag on the bench beside him if need be.

If need be.

A form passed through the hall, an outline barely visible through the dojo's glazed window panes. He stood still, waiting.

A tall, young woman of about twenty walked through the door. Despite the imminent danger she could represent, Richie couldn't help but take a moment to admire her. Wavy red-gold hair, a great smile, as well as being leggy with a good build.

A moment of admiration was all he spared. It was all he could afford to.

"I'm Richie Ryan," Mac had taught him to greet his opponent in a respectful but firm manner.

Red tilted her head with an amused smile, "Are ye indeed? Weel, I'm pleased ta make yer acquaintance, Richie Ryan. I'm Catriona Fraser."

Her voice reminded him of Sarah McLachlan's only there was an accent to it. One that took him a second to place. Scottish.

He nodded curtly. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I'm lookin' for Duncan MacLeod," she took a few steps nearer.

"Why?" He frowned, realizing that the feeling of another Immortal he was getting was not coming from her. Someone else was here.

And someone else stuck his head around the corner, leaning in the door frame. Dark blond hair cut short around an augular tanned face and a pair of small, oh-so-piercing blue eyes.

The man gave a strange staccato laugh. "Still got your head, I see."

Conner MacLeod.

Richie swallowed. The last time he'd seen Conner was almost seven years ago, the night he'd tried to rip off an antiques store. Duncan MacLeod's antiques store. Duncan had been convinced that he was another Immortal and had his sword ready to remedy the matter. Only Slan Quince had shown up and even more unexpectedly, Conner. How many days had he followed both MacLeods around, fascinated by the sword fighting? If he had only known.

Still, it was Conner who'd initiated him into the secret world that he and Duncan lived in. Conner, by nearly getting his head taken because of a dirty trick played by Quince, who proved to him that there were more things in life to be afraid of than just landing in a police cell. And it had been Conner who had given him an inkling that there were more things worth living for as well. A lesson that his kinsman Duncan had taken further.

He was glad that Conner seemed to have taken a liking to him because there was something about the older Immortal that scared the hell out of Richie. Duncan was steel on the outside but soft at the core. Conner seemed to be almost the opposite. Richie had the feeling that Conner was on some pre-charted course and had no intention of getting off of it. Or letting anyone take him off of it.

The redhead, Catriona, clucked her tongue at the older Immortal, "Now, Uncle, that's no way ta greet someone."

Uncle? He stared at her, jaw dropping.

Conner pushed himself off the frame, strolling over and draping his arm around the tall girl's shoulders. He raised an eyebrow at Richie and said in mischievous, amused voice, "I'll thank you kindly to stop ogling my niece."

Richie blinked, wondering if the whole world had suddenly gone nuts.

***

Chapter Two

Duncan MacLeod frowned as he heard the whirring hum of the lift rising up. Richie had said something about sweeping the dojo then going out for a while. Certainly, Duncan hadn't been expecting to come up although with Richie it was a bit difficult to predict what he would do.

The book he was consulting, "A Metallurgical History of Ancient Sword-Making" by one Brenda J. Wyatt to be exact, lowered as the feel of two distinct presences assailed him. Richie had a friend. He ran through all the Immortals he knew, trying to figure out just who to expect. Amanda? No, she was in--well, he didn't really know where she was at the moment. Methos? No, Methos had accompanied Joe to some sporting event for the day. He smiled as he remembered Joe trying to explain the concept of baseball to the older Immortal who obviously couldn't care less what a home run or the ninth inning was. Who else? he scratched his chin. That was the trouble with knowing so many Immortals and so many of them being so unpredictable.

The lift ground to a halt, with Richie in the forefront, lifting up the covering. To his right was an attractive redhead. And to his left--

"Conner!"

Duncan came forward, catching his kinsman and mentor in a rough embrace. He felt Conner laugh, "Nice to see you again."

"And you. What are you doing in Seacouver?"

Conner shrugged, "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop in. Allow me to introduce someone."

As if on cue, the redhead stepped forward. Conner placed a proprietary arm on her shoulders. Mac hid a smile. So there was a new woman in his mentor's life. She was a little young, but, he shrugged mentally, Conner had always had a thing for red-haired women.

"Catriona Fraser, this is Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, meet my niece, Catriona," the elder MacLeod was positively grinning as he dropped that bombshell.

"Niece?" It took a lot to keep his jaw in place.

"Uncle Duncan," the girl breathed, leaning over and kissing his cheek. Then she threw her arms around him.

"Uncle Duncan?" he repeated blankly.

Conner started laughing. Through his guffaws, he said, "That's Cat's way of simplifying matters. Charming, isn't it?"

The girl--no, young woman pulled back, fixing the other MacLeod with a piercing look. "Conner, behave."

"Yes, princess," he gave her a florid mock-bow.

"Oh dinna start that again," she groaned.

"Private joke," Conner said, by way of explanation to Mac and Richie.

"It 'ad better stay private," Catriona crossed her long arms, the warning in her voice unmistakable.

"Conner," Mac said a trifle desperately, "What is going on here?"

"I'm glad you asked. Why don't we all sit down and I'll tell you about it."

They moved over to Duncan's living room space. Conner and his "niece" sat on the leather sofa while he and Richie took the adjacent armchairs. Catriona brushed a lock of hair out of her face, acting as if things like this happened to her every day. Then again, knowing Conner, maybe they did.

"I'm here because I need a favor from you, " Conner said, serious at last.

"Anything."

"I have some business to attend to--something that requires my immediate attention. I need you to let Cat stay with you for a bit--a month at most."

Mac darted a veiled look at the girl. "Conner, you know what my life is like. I might--" he fumbled for the words.

"It's all right, Duncan. Cat knows about Immortals and the Game," Conner held a hand up to stop him.

"You told her," he hadn't meant for it to sound so accusing. Habit, he supposed. He believed that mortals shouldn't be involved with the Game or Immortals if they could help it. Often it proved hazardous to their health. Tessa. He quickly shoved that box back in its place

Conner frowned. "Yes, I did. She had a right to know."

Mac nodded; he might not have agreed with the decision but it was done now. And he had a sinking feeling that he knew what Conner's business was. More than likely it was the kind involving edged weaponry, the type of business that could prove hazardous to one's health.

In other words, Immortal business.

"Doesn't she need to be in school or something?" Richie interjected. Mac noticed his student giving the girl a frank once over and mentally groaned as he saw the younger man's libido kick in. Not that it took much for that to happen--usually just the presence of something female and with a pulse.

"It's summer, Richie. I took a semester off ta help Conner run his store," Cat explained, seeming oblivious to the young Immortal's attentions.

The Scots rolled so easily off her lips that it made MacLeod's heart constrict. It was the little things like that made him think of Scotland and how much he missed it.

"Store?" Richie sounded incredulous, "You own a store?"

"MacLeod Antiquities," Conner said with a touch of pride, "The best antiques store my side of the Highlands."

Now Duncan had to laugh. "And just where is this store of yours?"

"Glenfinnan."

Again, Mac's heart tightened. Glenfinnan. So Conner had gone home. It was strange that after four centuries he should consider that small Highland village his home. Strange that he should long so for the glens and moors of his homeland.

"All right," he heard himself say, "So Cat knows about us. Doesn't she have someone else she could stay with? Parents?"

Cat's eyes narrowed and Duncan could tell he'd hit a nerve. Her voice was deceptively smooth, "I lost my mother in a car accident a few years ago and my father-- My father and I dinna exactly get along very well at the moment."

Ouch, Duncan thought, now I really have put my foot in it. "I see."

"And under the circumstances, I thought it best to leave Cat with someone I could trust," Conner finished for her.

"Providing ye have no objections," Cat added. It was obvious that she wasn't about to impose on him if he was less than willing to take her on despite Conner. And his mentor must have picked up on that as well for his eyes narrowed at her thoughtfully.

"If you don't mind staying here for a month with me coming in and out at odd hours. Not to mention all the unexpected visitors I get," Duncan spread his hands.

"That's OK, Mac, I can look after her when you're not around," Richie volunteered brightly, eyes once more drifting up and down the young woman.

Duncan raised his brows at that. Somehow he felt less than reassured by that or the motives behind that. Especially the motives behind that. "That's very generous of you, Rich--"

"Pardon me," Cat interrupted, "But I can take care o' myself, if push comes ta shove."

"Of course you can," Richie said placatingly, "But with me and Mac around, you won't have anything to worry about."

She frowned at him, evidently not thinking much of his little speech. Mac happened to be looking Conner's way as Richie spoke. He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of mischief in those blue eyes. The elder Highlander leaned back into the couch, "Richie, you might want to listen to her."

Richie was clearly skeptical.

"You'd better show them, niece or they'll never believe you," Conner said expansively, leaning back into the couch.

"Right."

"Show us what?" Duncan asked mystified by the exchange.

She gave them a mysterious wink, the same mischief that he'd seen in Conner's eyes evident in hers. Then--and had he not seen it with his own eyes he would never had believed it, a field of crackling energy surrounded her. Then she vanished, the light of her departure imprinted in a bright flash on his eye.

He wasn't sure who was more startled: him or Richie.

Then she reappeared behind Richie's chair, hands resting on the young Immortal's shoulders. He jumped out of his seat as if burned.

"Neat trick, isn't it?" Conner said mildly.

"You're a Tomorrow Person!" Richie exclaimed.

A number of things began to fall into place. Richie had told he and Joe of his encounter with a group of extraordinary teenagers in London a few months back. At the time, he'd thought that Richie had been exaggerating. But now, face to face with actual proof, Duncan was more than willing to admit he just might have been mistaken.

***

"Ye ken about the Tomorrow People?" Cat was clearly no less amazed than Richie though for a different reason.

Mac noticed that Conner didn't look nearly as smug as he had a minute ago.

"Yeah, I ran into a group of them in London a few months back."

"Ye ran--" Comprehension dawned on her face, "Ye're that *Richie*? Ami's Richie?"

Richie actually blushed to the roots. Mac cocked an eyebrow in amusement at the sight.

"Have I missed something, Richie?" Mac asked feigning innocence.

If anything, his blush deepened. The young Immortal cast an evil glare at his mentor.

"I guess you could say that," Richie mumbled. Mac couldn't tell if he were addressing Cat or himself.

"I take it this is not quite the surprise I had hoped for," Conner observed dryly.

Duncan shrugged, fairly sure he was now the one with the self- satisfied grin.

"I don't remember you being part of the group or even mentioned," Richie was saying.

She replied rather glibly, "I was on holiday."

"Oh."

"Now do you see what we meant; Cat's not exactly helpless," Conner said to Duncan.

"So I noticed."

"If you don't mind her friends popping in at all hours of the day-- even more unexpectantly than any Immortal, then things should be fine. Though I should warn you she's got a fairly wide stubborn streak as well as a tendency to rush into things without fully thinking things through sometimes," Conner said.

"Uncle!"

"It takes a bit of getting used to but after a while all those little idiosycracies of hers become rather charming," Conner grinned at his niece.

"Idiosycracies, Uncle? And shall I catalogue all yer endearing little habits? We might be 'ere for a few years but I'm sure it would be weel worth effort," She said sweetly.

Conner winced.

"Shall we play again?" she asked demurely.

"You should have more respect for your elders," Conner admonished her, "Where did you pick up that sarcastic streak of yours anyway?"

"Why from ye, Uncle."

Duncan couldn't restrain his laughter. "She has a point."

He could see that Conner was desperately trying to hang onto the stern expression his face had settled into. But with little avail. He began laughing just as Duncan had but there was something else lurking behind that laughter. It took him a moment to recognize it: worry.

The other Highlander ran his hand across the smooth case of a sword resting on the table, a sword Duncan had just bought. A signal of sorts; there was something Conner wanted to talk to him about.

"Richie, why don't you show Cat one of the vacant rooms. She can pick the one she wants to stay in," Duncan said, slowly.

"Sure, Mac." Richie all but bounced out of his chair, clearly enthused by the prospect. Mac took a moment to question the wisdom of sending Cat anywhere alone with Richie but then let it go. If she got tired of his attentions, she could always pull a disappearing trick.

Cat paused to kiss the top of Conner's head, "Willna be too long."

He patted her hand, smiling warmly at her.

As the lift with its two occupants descended, Duncan turned his gaze to Conner who was unsnapping the sword case. He held aloft a Bedouin blade of Damascus steel that Duncan had been just fortunate enough to find, despite the exorbitant price he'd paid for it.

"So what is going on? Really, I mean?" Mac leaned forward.

"Good workmanship this," Conner commented running a finger along the edge. Blood welled but neither one of them were concerned by it. Especially since Immortal immune systems healed things like that in less than no time.

Duncan waited. If Conner wanted to beat around the bush, he could be patient.

He didn't have to wait long. The elder Highlander lay the sword back in the case. His voice was cool as he said, "Vanya Simonova has resurfaced."

"When?" Mac was fairly certain his voice was just as cold.

Vanya Simonova was an old enemy, someone whom both Highlanders had hoped long since beheaded. Apparently, they hadn't been that lucky.

"About a week ago. He killed a friend. Another one," Conner said tightly.

"Who?" Mac went still.

"Constanza Montoya," he looked at Mac with open sympathy, "I'm sorry, Duncan, I know how fond of her you were."

Fond. What an understatement. He could remember a time when he had been wildly in love with her, infatuated with her vibrant, passionate nature, her exotic beauty. And now she was dead. One more casualty in a never-ending Game.

"Where is he?"

"Sorry, Duncan but this one is mine. I have a much older claim on him than you do. But I'll be sure to send him your regards," Conner's tone belied his light words.

He wanted to protest, wanted to be the one who tracked Simonova down and took his murdering head. However, he had to accede to Conner. His kinsman did have a much older score to settle.

Five years ago, Simonova had breezed through Europe trapping immortals by using loved ones and then killing both. A friend of theirs, Georges Benet, had been slaughtered in just such a fashion and Conner had vowed to put an end to the whole business. He left his family, his adopted son John and wife Alex, in Scotland to attend to the matter. Only Simonova had heard he was coming. The Russian knew that he was no match for the Highlander and had done the only thing he could think of to save his life. He had Conner's family kidnapped, hoping to trade their lives for his. But something had gone wrong, horribly wrong and in the blink of an eye both Alex and John were gone.

And Simonova had disappeared.

For a time, he'd thought his mentor might crack from the strain. However, Conner had one again amazed him, pulling up sources of strength that Duncan envied all the while knowing the terrible price the other paid in doing so. He would go on, he wouldn't allow himself to fall apart not when the stakes were so high. Not with the Game involved.

So he'd drifted out of Duncan's life again, taking up wandering the world. Since then he could count the number of times he'd seen the other Immortal on one hand.

"That's why you want Cat to stay here, isn't it? You're afraid that Simonova--" he broke off seeing the hooded look in the other's eyes.

The wound Simonova had inflicted his mentor and friend had never truly healed, it had scabbed over, and he'd learned to live with it. But it would never be over until Simonova was dead. Typical of that Russian bastard to show up just when Conner had started over again, he thought grimly.

"I need to know that she's safe. You're the only one I trust with that task. I know it's a lot to ask--"

"No," Duncan said and he meant it, "I'll take care of her. I promise."

Conner smiled. "I expected no less from you, my friend. Still, you have my thanks."

"Does she know that?"

"Yes. We pretend that I'm just going off on a business trip but she knows. It's simpler this way. For both of us."

Duncan nodded. This was something he understood quite well though he wondered how well the girl downstairs did.

"She's a headstrong, stubborn," Conner smile took a strange twist to it, "brave, dear girl. I thought after losing ... Well, I didn't think I'd find another family so soon but that's what she is. My family."

"She'll be fine," Duncan reassured him.

Conner straightened. "I know she will. No reason why she shouldn't."

"Are you staying the night?"

"Yes, I leave bright and early tomorrow morning. If things go according to plan I'll be back here in a month whether I find Simonova or not. Just to check on things. If things don't go according to plan..." Conner shrugged.

Duncan understood. There was a lump in his throat; it was difficult to think of Conner not being there. Of the possibility that he would fall by the wayside as so many in the Game had. He didn't think that it would be the case with Conner but then he hadn't thought that would be the case with Darius or Hugh Fitzcairn either.

"Things will work out," Duncan said praying with all his heart that was the truth.

Sagely, Conner nodded. Changing the subject, he reverted to his normal humor, "So tell me, how are things in Seacouver? Are you still seeing that pretty young doctor?"

***

Chapter Three

Duncan awoke to the smell of eggs frying. He sat up, letting the covers spill around him as he rubbed his eyes. Then he pulled them back up, realizing he was not alone as the two people in the kitchen turned his way.

One of them was Cat. The other was a small, blond girl of about fifteen he would guess. She glanced his way and then giggled, whispering something to Cat before she went back to the skillet on the stove.

His "niece" all but skipped over to him. She kissed his cheek. "Good mornin', Uncle."

"Good morning. Don't you think it's a bit early for company?" He asked pointedly, glancing down as his barely dressed state then past her to the kitchen where the blond girl was eyeing him again. He gave her a small wave, she flushed, and her eyes fell back to the food. Cat appeared amused by the whole exhange.

"No, it's late."

"Hmm?" Brows knit, he stared at her questioningly.

"Weel, it's later in Britain than it is o'er here and I'm still on their time." She explained cheerfully.

Duncan shook his head. Sure, right now she was bright and cheerful but when she crashed from the time difference, it was not going to be pretty. Then he frowned, remembering she had teleported over here instead of flying. Do teleporters get jet lag? he wondered.

"Besides," Cat was saying, "Who else could I get ta help make breakfast?"

"You could have done that or I could have," he said.

She shuddered, "I dinna know about yer cooking, Duncan but I do ken about mine. Trust me, I did ye a favor by no' cookin'. Besides, I wanted to surprise ye."

"Well, it worked. So who's your friend?" He slipped a robe around himself while Cat tactfully averted her eyes.

"This is Jade. Jade, say hello ta Uncle Duncan."

Jade waved from her position at the skillet, cheeks still a little pink.

"Hi, Jade. Nice to meet you."

He might have said more but then the presence of another Immortal began to hammer at the base of his skull. Cat noticed this, quietly saying, "Someone's 'ere, aren't they?"

"Probably just Richie but still..."

"But still," Cat agreed. It was apparent that this was not an all together new experience for her. At least it saved him from having to explain.

He slipped his hand around the hilt of the katana. The presence didn't feel like Richie; it was too powerful for that. Conner would have already left, so who--

The lift doors rolled up and Methos came out. "Hey, Duncan. How's tricks?"

Then Methos paused, grocery bag resting in the crook of one arm. "Cat, nice seeing you again."

"Methos," she replied with equal calm.

"You two know each other?" Duncan asked. Trust Methos to be supremely unflappable.

"Oh yeah. I know everyone and everything," Methos smirked.

"I don't know that I'd go that far," Jade said from behind him, her arms crossed.

The other Immortal froze then eased around. He didn't look near as smug as he had a moment earlier. "Oh, it's you. I might have known that you'd turn up."

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you," Jade replied dryly.

Clearly, Methos hadn't bowled all the Tomorrow People over with his rapier wit.

"Haven't you got any traffic to play in?" Methos said pointedly.

The blond girl appeared to consider it. "Nope. I'm all yours."

"Wonderful," Methos rolled his eyes, "Since when did you start a nursery, Mac?"

MacLeod gave him a warning look that Methos, as always, chose to ignore. Why do I feel that I've somehow missed something, Duncan thought as he observed the other three.

"We met Methos when Conner came back to Scotland," Cat explained, catching his look of confusion.

"Oh." Then he frowned, not realizing that Methos and Conner were aquainted.

"Don't mind him, Duncan, people his age tend to be a trifle grumpy," Jade replied tongue-in-cheek.

Methos glared his way as Duncan snickered. The Highlander held up his hands, "Hey, you were the one who started the age jokes, remember?"

"Turncoat," Methos muttered, "So what are you two doing here?"

"Visitin' my Uncle and Jade's fixin' breakfast," Cat replied.

Brightening, Methos inhaled deeply. "I don't suppose there's room for one more?"

"If you've got something other than beer in that bag, then maybe," Mac said.

"I bought bread," Methos helpfully held up a slightly smooshed loaf. He handed it to Jade, who let it dangle from one hand.

"Just what do you expect me to do with this?" she demanded, looking at the mashed bread with distaste.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," came the muffled reply as Methos burrowed through Mac's refrigerator.

"Are they always like this?" Mac asked Cat.

"Oh yes. Sometimes it's worse," she said dryly.

***

Richie pounded the punching bag over and over. Sweat glistened on his upper torso with each hit. He tried to lose himself in the rhythmic give and take motions of both bag and body. Anything to drown out the half-fearful, half-hopeful feelings settling in his chest.

He should leave. Instinctively, he knew this but something was holding him back. Hope. The hope that he'd see Ami again, that maybe he'd more than just see her... Bringing himself up short, he tried to stop that line of thought. It was, he acknowledged, too little, too late for that really. As soon as Cat had shown up, as soon as he'd found out she was a Tomorrow Person, he should have gotten on his motorcycle and gotten the hell out of Dodge.

He'd already seen Jade this morning. She and Cat had been up bright and early, saying something about cooking breakfast for Mac. Just seeing the blond girl had brought back his time in London with stinging clarity. All the feelings, the desires that he'd associated with Ami had come flooding back, stronger than ever. Even now he kept hoping she'd walk through that door and say--

"Richie?"

That low, musical British voice made him lose his concentration and the punching bag hit him this time. Laughter. He clutched the bag, face pressed against it, eyes closed, praying that if this were a dream that he'd wake up now. Before something happened, before he did something really stupid.

A warm hand pressed against his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to face two dark, very concerned eyes. He wondered if it were possible for him to already be going senile because she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Don't go there, his brain screamed at him, remember what you decided while his heart was exulting because damned if he wasn't falling again.

"Hello, Ami."

***

Chapter Four

"Well, well. I was wondering how long it would take you to show up," Joe Dawson said warmly as he limped his way around the counter of the bar.

Jade threw her arms around him, " It's so good to see you again. How have you been, Joe?" "Same old, same old. Where's Mac? And Cat? She came in yesterday afternoon, didn't she?" he hugged her affectionately.

"Trust you to know that already." Jade replied good-naturedly, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"I *am* a Watcher."

"Then why do you need me to tell you where they are?" she said impishly.

"Humor me."

"Back at the dojo. She was introducing him to Ami when I slipped out. I wanted to see you. Not to mention the fact that Methos has set out to drive me mad," she rolled her eyes.

He chuckled. "So what else is new? Admit it, you think he's all right."

"When he wants to be, I suppose he's tolerable," she sniffed.

"What do you think of Mac?"

"Oh he's so gorgeous!" she blurted out then blushed, "Ah, he's really nice though. Which is why I don't understand why he hangs out with Methos."

"For excitement. So you think he's gorgeous, eh?" Joe said mischievously.

"I-- yes, I do. And I bet I'm not the first girl to think so," she said defensively.

He laughed, hand running over his silver beard. "Can't argue with you there."

"Goody. I adore winning," she smiled cheekily.

"Jade, my dear girl, you are delightful. Positively delightful."

"I know," she said with mock-humility.

"Was Richie around with Ami showed up?" Joe leaned against the bar.

Her grin got even wider. He was fairly sure that his probably mirrored hers. Taking her by the hand, Joe led her to one of the tables, saying, "Tell me all about it. And take your time, I wouldn't want you to leave anything out."

*****

Mac was in his office when he glimpsed, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of light sparkle against the window panes. Getting up, he walked out into the dojo. A dark-haired young man of about twenty was standing in the middle of the dojo, back towards the office, slowly rotating around, taking in the whole room. With crossed arms, Mac waited until he was facing him before saying somewhat ironically, "One of Cat's friends, I take it?"

"Hi, I'm Adam Newman," the boy extended his hand, a smile breaking the seriousness of his face.

"Duncan MacLeod." He had a firm grip, Mac noticed. There was something about his dark eyes that told MacLeod that he was not one to be trifled with, that there was iron underneath velvet gloves.

"Nice to meet you. Conner has spoken of you often."

One eyebrow rose, "I'm almost afraid to ask what he said."

"Only good things," Adam assured him, his Australian accenting the words..

"Cat's upstairs, if you're looking for her."

"I know," he said apparently in no hurry to rush off.

"You know-- oh." Of course, Conner and Richie both had said that the Tomorrow People were telepathic. He probably knew where all his friends were at the moment.

Adam nodded. And for a split second, Mac wondered if *he* wasn't being read. It was an unsettling thought. One that he put aside; he was just going to have to trust that the so-called Tomorrow People would have manners enough not to invade his thoughts, if they could.

"So what can I do for you, Adam?" Mac gestured for him to step inside his office. It was obvious the young man had something on his mind.

Adam sat, stretching his long legs. His face became serious again. "You know why Conner left."

It wasn't precisely a question nor was it a statement. It just was and it hung in the air between them.

"Yes," he replied simply. He had no idea how much this boy knew and if Conner hadn't seen fit to tell him, then Mac wouldn't be the one to do it.

Adam nodded. "I thought so."

There was a lull. Adam appeared to be mulling over something. Mac sat back, waiting patiently, as the young man struggled with something internally.

Abruptly, the Tomorrow Person straightened, looking MacLeod straight in the eye. "I was wondering, Mr. MacLeod, should I be worried about Cat? About some Immortal making her a target in order to hurt Conner, I mean."

So he knew. Not all of it, perhaps, but enough. "There's always that possibility, " he said neutrally, "It's the price one pays for living with us. And it's not Mr. MacLeod. Try Mac or Duncan."

Relaxing somewhat, Adam let his fingers trace designs on the arm of the chair. "All right, *Mac*, fair enough but we take care of our own. And if there's a possibility of trouble, I think I have a right to know."

We, he said. Mac assumed he meant the Tomorrow People. And from the way this one acted, it was obvious that he was their leader, unofficial or not. Being raised to lead his clan as he was, Duncan could respect that even if his words rankled the Highlander. "So do I. As for the possibility, I'm not going to lie to you-- yes, there is. The Immortal Conner's chasing-- we've met before. He killed Conner's family a few years back."

Adam sucked in a breath, stunned, "I had no idea. That explains a lot actually. Why he's so protective of Cat, why he brought her here. It was so--"

"So in case he didn't come back, someone could protect her," Mac finished.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to her," Adam said evenly, "I'm not going to let anything happen to any of us."

"Neither am I," Mac said with equal intensity. As he did, he realized that he had just adopted responsibility for her friends' safety as well as that of Cat's.

Adam nodded again, apparently satisfied.

"Conner was right about you," he spoke up. With that enigmatic remark, the Australian got up and wandered out the door, heading towards the stairs leaving Duncan staring after him, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into.

*****

"Didn't you ever hear that little boys shouldn't play with knives?" Megabyte Damon said acidly.

Richie lowered the practice katana he was wielding. He hadn't heard the redhead show up and was supremely proud of the fact that he didn't give away his surprise. "Nice to see you, too, Megabyte. When did you get here?"

"A moment ago. I was looking for Ami," his tone dared Richie to make something of it.

"Haven't seen her."

That wasn't exactly true. He heard her going with Adam and Cat to see Joe. However, Megabyte was telepathic; if he wanted to know where she was so badly then he could find out for himself in his typical, less than conventional way.

And if he wasn't here to look for Ami... Richie gave a mental shrug. He never could figure out what Megabyte's problem was anyway. The red-haired boy didn't like him for reasons he never could figure out. Even when he went out of his way to be nice to the kid, Megabyte seemed to derive some sort of pleasure from throwing it back in his face. This time Richie wasn't going to give him the pleasure.

"So this is where you live," Megabyte drawled, making it clear he didn't think much of the decor.

"No, this is where I practice. Mac lives upstairs and I have my own place in town."

He began moving again, willing his chi to the tip of the katana, shutting out everything as Mac had instructed him, becoming one with the blade. Gradually, he slipped into the steady rhythms of the Kata, the Oriental practice Duncan had introduced him to. He was far from a master but given time he could prove to be more than just competent.

Given time.

"Is that supposed to be impressive?" Megabyte apparently had decided that he had nothing better to do than pick a fight.

Richie paused, "No, this is supposed to keep me alive."

He had the pleasure of seeing Megabyte at a total loss. Nevertheless, the boy made a valiant effort to gather his wits, "That doesn't look so hard. I bet anyone could do it."

"That's all right, Megabyte, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," Richie said, enjoying the look of fury flooding on the other boy's face as he struggled to find a rejoinder that would utterly crush the Immortal. When he didn't find it, he teleported away in obvious frustration.

Richie chuckled, "Richie Ryan 2, Megabyte Damon 0."

***

Chapter Five

"You're a masochist, MacLeod," Methos sipped his beer, watching the Highlander reproachfully as he lay sprawled across the couch.

"What? I'm lost here. I'm a masochist? How did you come to this sparkling revelation?" Mac replied from the kitchen, glancing up from the vegetables he was chopping.

"Richie's left the nest, you finally have time for yourself and what do you do? Take up baby-sitting a group of teleporting teenagers," Methos rolled his eyes, "Don't you have enough to worry about? If you're bored, go out and challenge a few Immortals."

"Your concern for my well-being is overwhelming," Mac said caustically.

"We all need a hobby. Yours is picking up strays and mine is to keep that loosely attached head on your shoulders," Methos frowned, "I'm not sure which one of us got the better end of that deal."

"I'm sure Jade would be fascinated by that little observation of yours," Mac said blandly, continuing slicing the tomato that lay half-decimated on his counter.

"Hey, the truth hurts," Methos dismissed airily.

The sound of the lift rising and the presence of another Immortal hit them at the same time. Mac paused with his cutting as Methos straightened out of his slouch, eyes narrowing warily.

"Just Richie," Mac assured him, picking up his knife again.

"Certain about that, are you" The older Immortal snapped. His actions, however, relaxed despite the harshness of his words.

The grating lifted up and Richie sauntered into the room. "Heya, Mac. Methos."

Methos shook his head in disgust at the solemn way Richie said his name. He had the sinking feeling that Richie was never going to let him forget that business with that other false Methos. I knew I shouldn't have let Mac talk me into telling the kid who I really was, he thought, now every time I see him I feel like I have to live up to some kind of legend. He wanted to roll his eyes again; it was like he told Joe, he was just a guy. Five thousand years had made him smart enough to stay six steps ahead of everyone else which was just the way he liked it--it did not, however, make him Buddha.

The young Immortal wandered over to the counter, pulling up a stool and helping himself to one of Mac's tomato slices. "Feel free, " Mac said dryly.

"I hope your hands are clean. That's my dinner you're munching," Methos said indignantly.

Mac fixed him with a glare. "Your dinner?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? How forgetful of me. I thought since you'd be cooking extra anyway I might stay for dinner," he explained breezily, "You don't mind, do you?"

"Will you leave if I say yes?"

Methos considered it. "Nope."

"Sure, I don't mind at all," Mac said with more than a touch of sarcasm.

"You're a prince, Duncan, an absolute prince."

"Something on your mind, Richie?" Mac turned his attention to the young Immortal who was playing with one of his spoons. He had that look, the one that MacLeod alternatively dreaded and encouraged, one that said 'I want to ask you something.'

"Yeah. I was wondering what you think of her," Richie's blue eyes bored into Mac's dark ones as he set aside the spoon, hands coming to rest on the counter.

Confused, Mac queried, "Her? Her who?"

"Ami."

Methos rolled his eyes, "Can either of you actually make it through a week without falling for some pretty face? Honestly, you're like two eternal high school kids."

"Ami's not just some pretty face, Methos. She's brilliant and sweet and not like the other girls I've met," Richie said heatedly.

"No, most of the girls you date can't disappear with a thought when you make her angry. Which, knowing you, shouldn't take very long," Methos smirked.

"That's enough," Mac said sternly. Trust the Highlander to try to cut in on his fun. Boy scout, Methos thought.

"I was just giving it to the kid straight."

"Really? It looked like you were trying to start something to me." Mac was giving him that look of parental disdain that might have worked on Ryan but didn't impress him in the slightest.

Methos sighed dramatically, "It's so unfair. I always have the purest of intentions but everyone is always so suspicious of me for some reason."

"I wonder why," Richie glared at him.

"Bad taste?" Methos suggested then stood up, "I think I'll go talk to Joe for a bit."

"You do that."

"I'll be back before dinner. Maybe you'll have the kid sorted out by that time. Try using short, simple sentences so he doesn't get confused," Methos called as the lift descended. *****

"Uncle Duncan, when were ye born?" Cat asked from her space on the floor.

Dinner was long since over. Richie had wandered off before Methos had come back, which, on the whole relieved, Mac. He really wasn't in the mood to referee a fight. And he was fairly certain that had Richie stayed, an argument would have been inevitable. He'd already had enough of Methos' clever mouth over dinner. He might have told the Immortal to shut up but first of all, he knew it wouldn't do any good. Secondly, for some unknown, unfathomable reason, his niece found the older Immortal entertaining. Methos, of course, was playing that up for all he was worth. No matter that he was about to drive Duncan out of his head--he was *charming*

He put his book down, "Winter Solstice, 1592. Why?"

"Oh I am workin' on my genealogy, it was somethin' my Grandmother and I started on," A shadow fell across her face, "She didna get ta live to see the work finished and well, I thought I should try to finish what was started. I already have Conner's branch of the MacLeods down so I thought I do yers," she explained.

"Ah," he said approvingly.

The pen scratched as she wrote down the date in a leather bound book. Then she looked up, "An interesting time ta be born, Duncan. I would imagine that it caused a fair bit of fuss."

"Huh? I don't get it. Someone want to clue me in on what we're talking about here," Megabyte groused.

The other Tomorrow Person had come in after dinner, face stormy as he plopped himself down in a corner. He hadn't said much until now although Mac had the funny feeling that he and Cat were talking with each other mentally. Every so often he'd glance her way or nod though his mood hadn't improved noticeably. It was all well and good that the Tomorrow People were telepathic but he felt it was a trifle rude of them to engage in a conversation that the rest of them couldn't be a part of.

"Superstitious nonsense," Mac said, "When I was born, Winter Solstice was held to be an evil time of year, a time of death. It was felt to be an ill omen to be born that time of the year."

"Oh." Megabyte appeared nonplused.

"May I have a glance at that, Cat?" Duncan asked.

She passed him the volume. It was a fairly comprehensive work, though all the lines and subdivisions were somewhat difficult to keep track of. By chance, he glanced down at the bottom of the chart, towards the more recent members of the family.

"Samhain? You were born on Samhain?" a corner of his mouth twitched.

"Aye, I was," she said defensively. It was obvious she saw where his mind was going.

"Samhain?" Megabyte echoed.

"Halloween as you know it. An even worse time of the year to be born on than the Winter Solstice. It was a dreary time for the ancient Celts, summer was over and with it the ascension of the gods of light, too. The Celts began their year with the festival of Samhain, a time to read omens for the future, omens that could be uncovered from the dark powers through the practice of fantastic rites. Samhain was the holiday of the dead, a time for all the evil supernatural beings to walk the earth. A child born on that night was thought to be supernatural origin, more than likely an evil spirit born into flesh," Mac said melodramatically, throwing in a few gestures for good effort.

"Hmm, that explains a lot," Methos remarked with a smug glance in the Scottish girl's direction.

"Ye just had ta say that, did ye no'?" Cat replied in exasperation, gray eyes rolling in resignation.

"Whoa. You're for real about this?" Megabyte said at the same time.

Mac nodded, replying theatrically, "'Tis a night that witches make spells, fairies dance with ghosts and the old gods of earth walk. 'Ware to the man who comes across them."

"I should 'ave warned ye, Megabyte, Highlanders love stories, especially ghost stories. Give us a chance and we'll go on all night," Cat said by way of an apology.

"Good thing you weren't born before the sixteenth century, Cat. With a birthday like that you'd have been exposed on a mountain top as soon as you were born," Mac teased.

"Good thing she wasn't born in ancient Egypt," Methos said, lounging indolently on the couch.

"Eh?" everyone said.

"Her hair. The Egyptians thought red hair was an evil omen. Used to sacrifice any child born with it. Come to think of it, it's probably just as well you weren't there either, Megabyte."

Mac mimicked Cat's earlier action and cast his eyes heavenward, wishing that Methos didn't always have to start trouble. However, Megabyte seemed to have other things on his mind besides replying to that remark. "What's so important about genealogies anyway?" Megabyte leaned over Mac's shoulder to view the book.

"It's a Scottish thing," Methos said by way of explanation.

That earned the Immortal two looks of frank disapproval.

"'Tis no' just a Scottish thing," MacLeod said indignantly, "It's important to know where you come from."

"Whatever," Methos sank back into the folds of the couch.

"It's verra important, Megabyte. I can trace my family back ta before William the Conqueror-- on the Fraser side at least. Through it I know that I'm related to the MacLeods, the MacKenzies, the Sinclairs, the MacDonalds, the Camerons, and so on," Cat explained, "I know who my family was, the ties that bind us to the other clans and to Scotland. I know who and what shaped my family, and by extension--myself."

"I didn't know you were related to Heather," Mac said, looking from the book to her carefully.

She nodded. "Through my mother's side o' the family. Rather distantly but related we are."

"Who's Heather?" Megabyte asked curiously.

"Conner's first wife," Mac explained, "Heather was a MacDonald before they married."

"When was that?"

"1539."

"Holy guacamole," the boy's eyes were as wide as saucers then voice puzzled, remarked, "I still don't get why it's so important."

"It's a matter of pride and honor and useless stuff like that, " Methos spoke up once more, "So that they can sit around and talk about how far their lineage goes at Gatherings and how grand they are because of it. Scots."

That last word was punctuated with a note of asperity.

*****

Nearly two weeks had passed and in that amount of time, Mac was hard pressed to remember a time when teleporting youngsters hadn't been a part of his life. He could already count on two hands the number of pants he'd spilled coffee on because of their unexpected comings and goings. And in that amount of time he'd come to see why Richie had spoken so highly of them. They were a special group of individuals, worthy of the chance they had to change the world.

Still, it weighed heavily on his mind. If more of his kind knew of their existence, they could be perceived as a threat, a threat large enough to make the Immortals temporarily put aside the Game and take up a new sport. Namely hunting the Tomorrow People down and exterminating them. Not all of the Immortals would; but there were enough that *might* to merit the worry.

He began to feel his promise to Conner and to Adam in ways he hadn't dreamt.

Then there was the matter of Conner. The older Immortal hadn't contacted him in a week as he said he would during their last phone call. That worried him; Conner never missed appointments if he could help it. Cat had noticed the matter, too and he found himself frequently gazing at her, seeing the lines of worry become evident on her face. At times he found himself agreeing with Richie; the Immortals and the Tomorrow People should be kept separate. Their light shouldn't be dimmed because of the Game. God knew that the Game already had that effect on its participants, why should others pay the price?

But he did not want to send his niece away. In a short time, she managed to worm her way into his heart. He now understood why Conner was so fond of her, why he looked on her as a daughter. Duncan had never adopted children as Conner had. He couldn't have children and he accepted that. It was one of the few points of contention he had with his mentor. He felt that he had no right to raise a child, not with the life he led. Not with the chance he might walk out one day and not come back. The closest he'd ever come to being a father had been with Anne and fate had seen fit to throw a wrench in that. He could not deny he wanted children of him own but there were a lot of things he'd wanted in his life. As with those other things, he'd learned to live without them.

And here was this Scottish girl with her brogue and forthright ways that reminded him of home so sharply that he was sure his heart ached. She made him think of Scotland, of home and clan as he hadn't thought in years. Suddenly, he found himself questioning if Conner wasn't right after all. As always he would carry on but that didn't mean that he couldn't wish, couldn't hope for something more.

Maybe one day.

***

Chapter Six

"Black Queen to White King in five moves," a voice intruded on Mac's contemplative musings over the chessboard.

"Hmm?" He looked up at Adam who was staring down at him and the board with interest. A quick glance at the board confirmed what the young Australian had said. He was impressed; the set of maneveurs unfolding on the board before him wasn't exactly at a beginner's level. In fact, he had only come across the move once before--from Darius during one of his last games with the Immortal priest, before Horton had ended their games permanently.

"You play chess?" Duncan asked, an eager undertone creeping into his voice. Without Darius, the only other player who presented a real challenge was Methos and Methos was too smug for his own good most of the time. Especially when he won, which was often. While MacLeod played for fun, Methos was ruthless--he played to win and that was it. He missed the friendly games he'd had with Darius, the way they had talked during their hours together.

"Who doesn't?" almost exactly the same tone was present in Adam's voice. It gave Mac some small measure of hope.

"Would you like to play a game?" Duncan slowly began rearranging the pieces on the board.

"Sure," Adam sat down on the opposite side of the table, helping him arrange the pieces.

A few minutes later, the side door to the apartment opened to admit Ami, Richie, and Cat.

"Adam," Ami called, "Are you ready to go?"

"Hmm, in a minute," Adam waved vaguely.

Cat stopped dead at the sight of them. She and Ami exchanged a long, pointed look. "Oh no," she groaned.

"What?" Richie demanded alarmed.

"Chess," Ami sighed tragically.

"Give me a clue," Richie prodded, his face a study in confusion as he pushed his curly locks out of his face.

"Chess and Adam dinna mix. Or rather they do--all too well. We'll ne'er get him away from that board, not now that he's already gotten started," Cat said mournfully, "Ye two had better go on ta the movie. There's nae reason why all of us should miss it."

*****

"Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around?" an exasperated English-inflected voice demanded.

"Not really. So did you really meet Helen of Troy?" Another English voice, female this time.

Mac and Cat looked up from the punching bag she was pounding away at just in time to see Methos and Jade come through the dojo doors. The 5,000 year old Immortal appeared harried to say the least while the young Tomorrow Person looked like she was highly entertained. The two Scots exchanged amused glances; Jade had been after Methos for days. Every time he made a snide comment, she was there more than ready to pay him back. Methos had mentioned flight several times in the last few days and Mac was surprised that he hadn't disappeared yet.

"Yes, I met Helen of Troy as well Hector, Cassandra, Paris, Menelaus, Agamemnon and Odysseus. And no, she wasn't as beautiful as myths say," Methos was gazing at the heavens as if in supplication.

"In what ways?" Jade persisted.

"Let me put it this way: that pop singer, Jewel, you've seen her teeth, right?"

Jade nodded, brows knit.

"Helen's were ten times worse," Methos shuddered at the memory.

Jade winced at the very thought as did Duncan and Cat.

"Menelaus should have let Paris have her because ten years of war didn't improve her any," Methos said, eyes clouded with memory.

"Which side were you on?" Jade asked intently, studying him.

"The side I'm always on. Mine."

Typical, Duncan thought, just typical of Methos to say something like that.

Jade evidently thought so as well. Rolling her eyes, "Why am I not surprised?"

Methos shrugged then looked to Duncan and Cat, "What's up, guys?"

"Just exercising," Cat started peeling the tape binding her hands as Duncan held the punching bag, "What have ye two been up ta?"

"An exercise in madness," Methos muttered under his breath, then gasped as Jade drove a sharp elbow in his side.

"Not too much of anything. Methos was being a dear and telling me about some of his travels. Weren't you?" the blond girl asked the dark-haired Immortal sweetly.

"You bet," Methos wheezed, trying to recover his composure.

Mac didn't bother to hide his smirk. It was nice to finally see someone give Methos his just desserts. The other Immortal glared at him, snapping, "Let it be, MacLeod."

"Not on your life," Mac replied glibly. He took Jade's hand and kissed it, "Congratulations. You've done what all of us have only dreamed of: gotten to Methos. You'll have to tell us your secret."

"Not on *your* life, Highlander," Methos said darkly.

More might have been said but all conversation ceased as Joe Dawson appeared. It wasn't so much his appearance as his entire demeanor that set off warning bells in MacLeod's head. The older man was leaning heavily on his cane, face grieved but set with a resolve that was near frightening.

Alarmed, Duncan stepped forward, "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

Numbly it seemed, Joe nodded. His eyes rested on Cat who was watching the proceedings with the same alarm as her Uncle. Seeing that, Duncan suddenly knew. Knew what had happened, knew what Joe was going to say. He gripped the punching bag for support, striving to deny what he knew was coming, "Joe, no."

Some part of him noted that Methos was studying the scene as well . There was actual concern in his voice as he said, "Cat, perhaps you should sit down."

He saw Jade glance sharply at Methos, Cat, him, then Joe and back to Cat. Her blue eyes widened in horror as she realized what was going on, fist flying to her mouth as she strove to contain a cry of surprise. She didn't quite succeed, a tiny squeak escaping her lips.

"Sit? Why?" Cat appeared confused, eyes flittering nervously over the group.

Joe took her hands. "I'm very, very sorry."

"Joe, what? I--," her eyes bespoke the fact that she'd finally comprehended, "No, *no*. No' Conner."

"It happened two days ago," Joe spoke, voice heavy, "He finally tracked down Simonova. It was in Milan, in a section of the city that had been condemned. There was a battle and a Quickening."

"You dinna know for sure that it was Conner's then?" Cat seized upon that.

"My people couldn't get close enough to get a good view of the fight. The place was too unstable. They were damn lucky because the Quickening tore the area apart. But they got pictures of Conner's katana being carried out by Simonova's thugs. Conner MacLeod went in but he didn't come out," Joe replied with finality.

"But no body?"

"No, none as yet. My people are still searching. More than half a block collapsed in the course of the Quickening. We may not find anything for months."

"Then he's no' dead," Cat said with surety.

"I'd like to believe that as much as you would, Cat. You don't know how badly I want to. But there's been no sign of Conner MacLeod and Simonova's gang are carrying on as usual. His katana is in the hands of one of Simonova's lieutenants. Don't you think he'd reclaim it if he were alive?"

"He might not be able ta," she countered stubbornly.

"He's dead, Cat."

"No," she yelled, "Quit sayin' that. He's no' dead!"

She flushed with anger, gray eyes deadly slits. Jaw clenched, hands flexing, her Highland blood was telling now. Duncan put aside his own grief for a second, "Cat, when one Immortal goes out to face another... one of them doesn't come back."

"No' Conner. No' like this," She shook her head in denial.

"It's the way we live, the way we die," Methos said quietly.

"Conner wouldna lose ta some third-rate gangster like Simonova," she spat out. Duncan was startled; she knew more than he'd given her credit. But then Conner had said she understood more than she was letting on.

Oh God. Conner.

"Sometimes it happens," Methos said gently.

"All yer people has is the knowledge that Conner doesna have his katana. Ye have no body, no eyewitness account o' his beheading," Cat glared at Joe as if it were his fault.

"Cat, I know this is a shock--" Joe began placatingly.

She advanced on him then, causing Duncan to fear that she might strike the Watcher. Instead, she stopped just in front of him, visibly bristling with rage. So intent on the scene was he, that he scarcely noticed the three light signatures appearing.

"What's happened?" Ami and Megabyte demanded in one breath.

"Cat?" Adam sounded worried. Hell, he *was* worried, Duncan thought, what about the rest of us?"

"D'ye know what is happening in a two weeks, old man? O' course ye do, yer a bloody Watcher," she snarled, "Ye've probably got it highlighted in those damned Chronicles o' yours."

Joe looked away. "Heather's birthday."

"Aye, Heather's birthday. Conner never misses the anniversary of it, no' in more than five centuries. He told me that himself--he's always managed to find his way ta a church, ta light a candle for her, no matter what part o' the world he's in. Just like he promised her."

"That's no guarantee--" Duncan started to say.

"'Tis good enough for me. Conner promised ta return. Promised me, promised her. Conner keeps his promises. I willna believe what ye say, no' now, no' ever. Unless... Ye want ta prove it ta me? Then find his body. And maybe then I'll believe what ye're telling me. Until then... stay out o' my way," she said savagely, eyes narrowed at Dawson.

She stalked past all of them, heading out the door. Adam made a move to go after her but Ami stopped him. A wise move on her part, Duncan thought. Thinking about trivial things like that helped slow the true import of what had happened. Only temporarily.

Conner was dead.

Conner was dead as Darius was dead as Hugh Fitzcairn was dead as Tessa was dead ... As so many countless others that he cared about were dead. Conner, whom he'd always felt to be the one true Immortal, the one who had the best shot of being the one at the end.

*And Conner was dead*.

"Where is he? Simonova?" Mac heard himself say through the rage and pain. He had to put it aside just long enough to accomplish what must be done. To avenge his kinsman, his mentor, his friend...his brother.

Joe shook his head, unable, unwilling to tell him.

"Where is he?" Mac demanded implacably, taking a step toward the Watcher.

Methos stepped in front of Dawson, barring his advance. His dark eyes gazed with uncharacteristic kindness at MacLeod, "MacLeod, don't."

"I have to."

"Do you? What will running off after Simonova in this state accomplish? Right now, Richie could take your head if he wanted to," Methos said.

"Listen to him, Mac," Jade touched his arm.

His eyes fell on her and she let his arm go, taking a step back. Methos put a comforting hand on her shoulder causing her to glanced up in open surprise.

"What of Cat? Will you leave her alone now when she needs you the most?" Methos pressed.

"I--"

"Will you orphan her in one blow?" Methos asked quietly.

That I should live to see Methos actually acting like a human being, Mac thought with a touch of hysterical shock. And more than that, the elder Immortal was making perfect sense.

Turning, he threw a blow at the punching bag that was only topped by the keening growl of rage and anguish he heard coming from his own throat.

Ochone, the Celtic wail for the death of a loved one.

Ochone, Conner MacLeod.

Ochone.

***

Chapter Seven

Life went on.

That was the most painful aspect of all, Mac had decided long ago. The anguish didn't lessen any, the pain was still just as fresh but life did go on. With a tenacity that was disturbing.

Tomorrow was Heather's birthday.

For awhile, Duncan had tried to indulge in the fantasy that maybe Cat was right, maybe Conner was alive. But there's been no word, no sightings, and as Heather's birthday drew near, he'd slowly begun to accept that there would be none. That Conner was gone, buried under a mountain of rubble in Italy.

Cat, however, refused to accept any of it. She clung to her belief that Conner was out there somewhere, that he would come back. Crisply refusing any offer to talk about it, she stubbornly continued on. The other Tomorrow People had despaired of doing anything with her.

/"We have to give her room," Ami had said soberly, "I think, deep down, she knows he's gone but she can't handle it. One day she'll be able to but not now. And pushing it will only make things worse."/

That was the most difficult thing of all. He knew she was inflicting more pain on herself by this charade but he could do nothing. Except wait.

Simonova had gone underground again. Joe said the Watchers had found no trace. Though there was some kind of ruckus in his organization; several of his key people had turned up dead recently. The deaths were being attributed to internal problems within the business.

Run, Duncan thought grimly, run as fast as you can for as long as you can, you bastard, because I'm coming for you. And I'm going to find you if it takes me another thousand years to do it.

*****

"Tonight's Heather's birthday," Cat began neutrally. She was staring out the window of his loft, playing with the cord for the blinds, dark eyes mediative.

"I know," Duncan said from his armchair, trying to shut out the sadness that those words engendered.

"I was thinkin' I might step down ta the local kirk and light a candle for her," she continued casually.

"That sounds nice. Do you want company?" he asked.

She nodded, sunlight bouncing off her ruddy hair. Then, as though it were difficult to speak, "I thought I might light one for Conner as well."

He paused, studying her sharply, her statement surprising him with its suddenness. Her lips were clenched so tightly they were white. So were her knuckles. In fact, the only bit of color to her was the hair on her head. Even her eyes seemed to have lost their luster.

She had finally given up. And that defeat was more than she could bear at the moment.

He got up and touched her arm. Without a word, she put her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder, body racked with anguished sobs. He stroked her hair, feeling tears prick his own eyes as he held her.

"I'm such an idiot. I tried ta tell myself that Joe was wrong, despite what ye told me, what Conner told me about the Game. I--," she sputtered.

"You loved him very much. We all did. There's no shame in that but there's a time to hold on and a time to let go," Mac said his voice husky, tears blurring his vision.

"I dinna know if I can do tha'," she said.

Duncan brushed away the tear that trickled down her high, Viking cheekbones. Then he nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He felt much the same way. She let her head rest against him.

"At least," she said unsteadily, "At least we 'ave each other."

"Aye," the Scots took his words, "We do. We're family."

*****

The night was clear, a full moon smiling in benediction down on the ebony enshrouded earth. There were a million stars glittering like unshed tears, pricking the fabric of darkness. Like some charming medieval illumination, St. Matthew's Catholic Church glowed warmly. There was a sense of peace to the place as they stepped inside as if the Blessed Virgin had taken pity on their grief, offering a moment of respite. The choir filled the confines of the nave, pure high voices lifted in song. One young boy was lighting two white candles as people drifted in and out, the pews half-full.

There were small tables of candles to the right of them, in between the alcove openings. It was towards these that Cat moved. Mac watched her, straight-backed and clad in a simple black dress. She faltered. He understood why; when she lit those candles she was giving up the last illusions she possessed. Coming around he took her arm, whispering, "You don't have to do this. Not if you don't want to."

"Nae, I dinna want ta but I need ta," she said resolutely. She started walking again, he with her, his hand finding hers. She flashed him a look of grateful acknowledgment.

There were over a dozen white candles at the alter she chose. Some of them were almost gone while others burnt fresh and new. Together they knelt, crossing themselves in front of the image of the Blessed Virgin. Duncan felt Cat squeeze his hand then hers slipped out of his hold to pick up a candle. Holding over another burning one, she let the wick slowly catch fire. Then she let it rest on the red alter cloth.

"For Heather. Happy Birthday," she whispered.

There was a long pause as she stared at the radiant glow of the flame. A ring of light shone in her slate eyes. She wasn't going to be able to do this, he thought.

But she did, hand a trifle unsteady as she picked up another perfect ivory candle. It sparked to life immediately.

"For Conner to see him safe," She bowed her head, a tear splashing down to dampen the red alter cloth.

"Amen," he whispered.

Time seemed to still as they knelt there. Staring at the flames, Duncan wasn't aware of the ache in his knees, the sound of people moving behind him, all that was to him was a feeling of overwhelming peace. Like Darius' church, this place had that aura, that feeling of warm welcome, of simple encompassing comfort.

Someone knelt beside him but he scarcely noticed. Another candle was flared to life.

"And for you, Juan Ramirez, you Spanish peacock. I hope you're taking good care of my Heather," said a familiar voice.

His eyes popped open. Conner gave him a wide grin. He gasped, fairly certain that for the first time in his Immortal life he was having a heart attack. The other Immortal took his arm in alarm, "A bit melodramatic, I'll grant you but I wasn't expecting this kind of reaction."

He was real. A bit scruffy, hair longer, dressed in the cable knits of a sailor but he was real.

"Conner," Cat was positively gray then two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. She let one tentative hand rise to touch his face, "Ye're real."

"Aye, my bonny," Conner sounded a bit choked.

"Oh my God, ye're real," she all but knocked Duncan aside trying to get to the other Immortal. Strangely enough, Mac found he didn't mind. He sort of felt the same way at the moment.

His kinsman held onto the girl tightly. Conner had never been one to be overly emotional in public but even Duncan could see the tears glinting off his lashes.

"How?" Duncan finally found his voice, "Joe said you were dead."

Conner appeared briefly diverted. "I was. For a while."

"Och, ye clootie. Where 'ave ye been? What game 'ave ye been playin'?" Cat lightly scolded him but she didn't let go.

"A game of life and death. I apologize for letting you think I was dead. It was the only was I could ensure your safety, you see," Conner explained.

"So it was Simonova who died in Milan?" Mac asked.

"Aye. Unfortunately, half of a building fell on me. I lost my sword in the chaos."

"Simonova's men got it." Duncan replied.

"I know. I was watching from a crawlspace when they took it. And as I watched I realized what an opportunity I'd been given. Simonova had given instructions to hurt anyone close to me if I won the fight. But since it appeared as if we both had died, I had time to work things out. Let's just say that Simonova's people are out of business permanently," Conner said with grim satisfaction.

Realization dawned on Mac, "So that little internal matter the news is reporting--"

"That was me. A lot more people are going to be able to sleep safer at night. I got my sword back, my life," he smiled at Cat, "my best girl and it's Heather's birthday. I can't think of a nicer homecoming."

They all embraced, buoyed by kinship, by ties that went beyond blood.

"There is just one thing left for me to do," Conner said at last.

"If it requires ye leavin' again, I'll no' hear of it," Cat declared, clasping him tighter.

He gently disengaged from her hold. "It doesn't require me going anywhere."

The fair-haired Highlander knelt again in front of the alter. He lit one then two candles. Then he watched them drip white tears.

"Alex, John. 'Tis over. You can finally rest."

They knelt beside him as one, supporting each other as a family should.

***
end

The song "Good Enough" is off the "Fumbling Towards Esctasy" album. Written and performed by Sarah McLachlan.