Author: D'Nalia

Category: AU

Feedback: dnalia@mad.scientist.com

Archive: yes please, (if it's any good.) R/M archive and my site,
(www.geocities.com/dnalia)

Disclaimer: Any familiar characters aren't mine, if they're new, weird, or
obnoxious they're mine.

Warnings: m/m, violence, Dunkie bashing

Notes: I'm just doing this to get a PWP <vbg>, <<>> indicates thoughts, ::
indicates radio communications, I'm not a cop, this story has absolutely NO
bearing on reality as a police officer knows it. And reporters make my teeth
itch. (( )) indicates memories.

Thanks to Tia for the kick butt, take no prisoners beta. This is the final
version of the story, any remaining mistakes are mine.

**********

Part 1:

Methos sat quietly at the bar, intent on the wet ring his glass was leaving
on the polished surface. It was a sign of just how bad things had gotten
when Joe didn't snipe at him and hand him a coaster to use. Nothing was the
same any more, Joe didn't complain about his tab, MacLeod didn't lecture and
he, well, he didn't really do anything any more.

It was hard to believe just how much *life* Richie had brought into all
their lives. Hard to believe, and unnoticed, until he was gone.

Joe had his Watchers searching every corner of the globe for the first
couple of years after the young immortal had disappeared. <<Be honest with
yourself, Methos, after he was driven away.>> But, there had been no sign of
him.

MacLeod firmly believed Richie was dead, his head taken by some unknown
immortal in some little backwater town. Joe still hoped that someday Richie
would come strolling into the bar like always, making lame jokes and
bragging about his latest conquest. Methos didn't believe either theory.

He *knew* Richie was still alive, he couldn't explain how, but there was no
doubt in his ancient mind that Richie was alive and well. But he *also* knew
that Richie wouldn't come back. At least, not willingly. He was young and
proud, being treated like a child had finally proven to be too much for him
to take day after day. MacLeod constantly berating him, second guessing all
of his decisions, and generally leaving no doubt about his opinion of
Richie's maturity. Or, lack thereof.

Joe hadn't been as bad, not nearly, but Richie still became angry every time
Joe called him 'Kid' and made jokes about some of the situations Richie had
found himself in, usually through no fault of his own.

<<Face it, Methos, you were the final straw. If you'd handled it better, he
might not have left. Stubborn old fool. Did MacLeod's and Joe's opinion
really mean all that much?>>

Methos felt his shoulders take on their, now, characteristic slump, the
guilt he carried around seemed to get heavier every day. And, today his
burden seemed almost overwhelming. Five years today. It had been five long
years since any of them had seen or heard from their young friend.

<<Very lonely years.>> Methos kicked himself every time he thought about the
last time he'd talked to Richie. <<You could have been happy, Old Man, you
know you wanted him, but noooooo, you couldn't take what was being so
generously offered because of what your *friends* might think. Stupid ass.
You deserve to be alone.>>

Methos forced his mind away from the memory of that one kiss he and Richie
had shared before he'd ruined everything. <<Did you *have* to say it, Old
Man? "No Richie, you're too young, you have too much to learn." It's amazing
your own stupidity hasn't gotten you killed before now.>>

His mind's attempt to drive the rest of him insane was, thankfully,
interrupted by the television. <<Ah, yes. Just more proof of just how bloody
stupid mortals are. You'd think they grew on trees, the way they're always
trying to kill each other off.>>

"Again, armed men have taken several people hostage in this office building.
There has been no word yet on the number of hostages, or why they were
taken. The only information we have is that the L.A.P.D. has called in its
Anti-Terrorism Task Force, to deal with the situation.

The A.T.T.F. has only been in existence for a few short months, and, only
the best of the best can hope to be accepted into their ranks. Currently,
twelve officers make up the task force, led by Captain Michael Riley. Of the
five cases they've handled, so far, no hostages have been lost.

Very little is known about the men and women who make up the task force,
only that their training is brutal. Each officer has been trained for no
less than one full year in explosives, hand to hand, weaponry and tactics.
And every one of them is a qualified sniper. Lt. Woodson of S.W.A.T. has
said, on more than one occasion, that he hopes to never get into their
sites. 'They don't miss.'

Here is the team, now. And, as you can see, they are prepared for *any*
eventuality."

Methos and Joe both watched intently, as several figures clothed in black
combat gear spilled out of the back of a large van. Each armed with
handguns, rifles, concussion grenades and knives. There was no talking or
planning. The figures moved swiftly and quietly into position. When the man
who was obviously in charge dropped his hand, they entered the building.

"We're switching now to our 'Eye in the Sky' reporter, Sami Knudsen. Sami,
what can you see?"

"Monica, we have spotted four of the A.T.T.F. officers moving up a stairwell
on the west side of the building. We haven't seen any of the gunmen, as of
yet. No. Wait. Monica, several of the gunmen have opened fire on the
officers. One of them has been hit! I repeat, one of the officers is down!

The task force is now returning fire and the gunmen are retreating into the
building. Two of the officers have followed, leaving the wounded officer and
another behind."

"Can you tell what kind of condition the officer is in, Sami?"

"He appears to be alive. The other officer is on his radio now."

"Ed, see if you can pick up what they're saying."

:Bossman, Gook is down. I repeat, Gook is down. Over.:
:Condition, Sandman? Over.:
:Not good, but I don't think it's fatal. The vest took most
of it. The Kid and Bitch are containing the hostiles.Over.:
:You got a count, Sandman? Over.:
:Seven hostiles spotted, three are down. Over.:
:Confirm, Sandman, four hostiles active in your area. Over.:
:Affirmative. Four active. Over.:
:Sandman, Mic and Slag have located and released the
hostages. Five hostiles down, six active heading your way.
Repeat, six more hostiles heading your way. Sidewinder
and Deuce are approaching your six. ETA three minutes.
They will back up Kid and Bitch. Prepare Gook for
transport. Confirm. Over.:
:Affirmative, prepare for transport. Over.:

"Obviously, the team uses code names. Captain Riley is a
former U.S. Navy SEAL, this may well be a hold over from his days in the
military.

The hostages are now exiting the building, guarded by four officers. Ed, is
there anything else on the radio?"

:Bossman, this is Bitch. Hostiles have been contained. I
repeat. Hostiles have been contained. Over.:
:Location, Bitch? Over.:
:Fifth floor. Corner office, west side. Room 512. Over.:
:Condition of hostiles? Over.:
:Terminated. Over.:
:Confirmed. Report to command. Sweeper team heading in.
Over.:
:Affirmative. Reporting to command. Over:

"It appears that all of the gunmen have been killed by the A.T.T.F. There
have been rumors that the task force 'takes no prisoners'. This reporter
wonders if the gunmen were even offered the chance to surrender. Let's see
what the Captain has to say."

"Captain Riley, it has been rumored that your team doesn't even try to make
arrests. They simply kill everyone suspected of being a 'hostile', what do
you have to say about that?"

"Kid. Bitch. Get over here. This reporter wants to know if you ever even
*try* to make an arrest." Captain Michaels said, with a grin.

Two of the black clad officers casually strolled over to their Captain and
pulled off the black hoods covering their faces. Methos choked on his beer
and Joe staggered back into a chair and sat down heavily.

The woman was gorgeous, curly black hair and exotic green eyes, but it was
her partner that sent the two men into shock. Strawberry blond curls, big
blue eyes and an irrepressible grin. Richie Ryan appeared on the TV over the
bar, in full color.

The grin on his face grew wider, as he said to the reporter, "Ma'am. You are
under arrest for obstruction of justice, reckless endangerment, and creating
a public nuisance."

Methos didn't even breathe, as he watched Richie and his partner read the
reporter and her camera man their rights, then cuff their hands behind their
backs. The spots dancing in front of his eyes finally reminded him that
suffocating was a very unpleasant way to die and he pulled in a gasping
breath. "Richie."

"I've got to call Mac, let him know the kid's okay." Joe said in a shaky
voice as he struggled up from his chair.

Methos beat him to the phone and unplugged it from the wall.

"What the hell are you doing, Methos? I need to call Mac."

Methos took Joe by the arm and lead him back to his chair. He pushed the
Watcher into the seat, and said calmly, "No. Not yet. We both know MacLeod.
He'll drive straight to L.A. and confront Richie. If we want Richie to be
our friend again we have to do this right the first time. One misstep and
he'll run, again."

"And, I suppose *you're* planning on handling it?" Joe said snidely. "You've
never cared before, I don't know why you'd start now."

Methos sighed and slumped down into the chair across from his friend, "I
care, Joe. I always did. And, it's partially my fault he left. I need to do
this. I owe Richie an apology."

Joe stared at the oldest immortal with confusion in his eyes, "What did you
do to the kid? You hardly ever spoke to him."

"It's a long story, and it's between Richie and I. If he'd wanted you to
know about it, he'd have told you, himself."

"What'd you do, Old Man? Make a pass at him?" Joe laughingly asked. But, his
laughter soon died at the tormented expression on Methos' face. "You son of
a bitch. You did, didn't you? You made a *pass* at Richie? I ought to..."

Methos buried his head in his hands, "No, Joe. *I* didn't make a pass at
*him*."

Joe was stunned into silence, the images running through his head were too
weird to even think about. "Richie? He made a pass?"

Methos smiled wryly, "And, I turned him down. I told him he was too young
and still had too much to learn. When all I was really worried about was how
you and MacLeod would react when you found out. He was gone the next
morning."

"Oh, shit."

Methos raised a brow, "Not exactly eloquent Joseph, but completely
accurate."
 

Part 2:
 

Methos was on the phone, making arrangements to fly to L.A., when
he felt the buzz of another immortal. <<Bloody Hell, *not
now*!>> Wary hazel eyes watched the door; they closed, momentarily, in
annoyance when MacLeod entered the bar.

"Hello, Methos, Joe. What's going on?"

Joe grabbed the rag he kept under the bar and began polishing
the dark oak surface, "Nothing much, Mac. It's been slow today."

Methos scribbled down his flight information and nonchalantly
headed for the door. "I have to go, business to take care of.
I'll see you later, Joe. MacLeod."

Duncan stared after the other immortal, then turned to face
his Watcher. "What's wrong with him, Joe?"

Joe shrugged and polished harder, "Don't know, Mac. Just said he
had something to take care of out of town. You want a drink?"

MacLeod took and seat at the bar, "That would be good." He
cradled his scotch in his hand for a moment before tossing
it back. "It's been five years, today, Joe."

Dawson slumped for a moment, "Yeah. I know, Mac."

"I never thought the Old Man would take it this hard. It's not
like he and Richie were ever together," MacLeod said quietly.

Joe felt a chill run down his spine, "What are you talking about,
Mac?"

MacLeod kept his eyes on the empty glass in his hand, refusing
to look his friend in the eye. "The night before Richie left, I
saw them together. After Methos left, Richie and I had a talk.
I told him that pursuing Methos was wrong and to stay away from
him. We argued and Richie ran out. I never saw him again."

MacLeod sounded so remorseful that Joe decided to take pity
on him, "Mac. Richie's alive. We just found out today, that's
where Methos is going."

MacLeod finally raised his eyes, "Richie is alive? Where? Where
is he, Joe?"

"Calm down, Mac. He's fine. He's a police officer in L.A. We saw
him on the television earlier. He's part of some elite anti-
terrorist squad. Methos went to try to talk him into coming
back. Or, at least, letting us know how he is once in a while."

"I should go. It's my fault."

"Mac, let Methos handle it. He thinks it's his fault that
Richie left. It's been tearing him up for the last five
years."

"Maybe you're right, Joe."

**********

MacLeod sat alone in his apartment, silently watching televion.
He and Joe had talked for hours, then he'd headed back to
the dojo, alone, as always.

The situation in L.A. was the top story on all the networks.
Not so much for the safe return of the hostages, but for the
fact that a reporter and camera man had been arrested. Then
the 'Eye in the Sky' reporter, camera man and helicopter pilot
had also been arrested.

The hostages, when interviewed, confirmed the fact that the
terrorists had had no idea where the police were, until they had
seen them on the television. The news crew had shown them
exactly where to attack. The press was in an uproar, most of
them shouting "Free Speech" and talking about the Constitution.
Some of the others had shown a little more intelligence and
agreed with the steps the police had taken.

The District Attorney of Los Angeles had been emphatic,
"I *will* pursue this case. The actions of the press in this
situation were unconscionable, leading directly to the wounding
of a police officer and putting the lives of the hostages in greater risk.
They might as well have pulled the trigger themselves. We're hoping that
this case will lead to new laws preventing the news services from releasing
information on active cases that the police are investigating, without
explicit permission from the Commissioner and Chief of Police."

Then they cut to the clip of Richie reading the reporter her
rights. They showed it again and again. Everytime he saw that
grin, MacLeod would feel his rage build.

Five years of wondering and worrying, all for nothing. Richie
was alive and well, and obviously happy. Mac could see no
remorse or concern in that smiling face. And none of the
loneliness he lived with every day.

MacLeod turned off the television, unable to watch any longer. He quietly
got ready for bed and lay staring into the darkness, unable to sleep.

He hadn't told Joe everything. Not nearly. He and Richie had done
more than fight that night. His mind decided to torment him a
little more and replay the events of that night.

**********

(("Richie, what the hell was that?"

Richie tried to look innocent, but it wasn't working, "What was
what, Mac?"

"You and Methos, that's what." he said, irritably.

Richie leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the desk,
"I like the Old Guy, you know?  I figured he'd never make
a move, so I did."

"It didn't seem to go to well. I don't think he feels the same
about you. You should leave him alone."

Richie just grinned, "No way, Mac. He wants me. I *know* he
wants me. He's just being stubborn. I'll wear him down, you'll see."

"Damnit, Richie, he's a cold-blooded killer. He was *Death* for
God's sake! What could you possibly see in him?"

Richie's eyes went cold and he jumped out of his chair, "And
you've never killed anyone Mac? Don't *even* try it. I think I
could name a couple of corpses with your name on them without
even trying. And what about all those people you killed in the
wars you fought in? What was that one place called again? Oh,
yeah, Culloden moor, wasn't it, Mac? What about those people?
They never stood a chance against you. Besides, it's none of
your damned business who I spend my time with. I'm outta here,
see you around, Mac, *not*."

He had Richie pinned against the wall and was kissing him before
Richie had a chance to try to get away. He ignored the struggles
and the hands pushing against his chest, but the forehead smashing into his
nose got his attention.

He yelled in pain and Richie pushed him away, running for the door. He
managed to get a handhold in Richie's T-shirt and pulled him to a stop.
Richie spun around and buried his foot in his balls. He went to his knees
and howled in pain. By the time the tears had cleared from his eyes, Richie
was gone.))
 

**********

MacLeod pushed his pillow into a more comfortable form and tried to relax.
He'd gone to Richie's apartment that night, the buzz letting him know that
the young man was inside.

(("Richie, open the door. I want to talk to you!"

"Fuck you, Mac! I've got nothing to say to you, you sick bastard!"

"Open this door *now*, Richie!"

"NO!"

"I'm sorry, Richie, I didn't mean to hurt you. I love you."

"Yeah, right."

"I do. I've always loved you. I was insane with jealousy when I
saw you kissing Methos."

The solid door muffled the quiet reply, but MacLeod heard it. "You got the
insane part right."

"Richie, please. I just want to talk."

"I've got nothing to say to you, Mac. Go away before I call the
cops."

"I'm leaving now, Richie, but this isn't over yet. Stay away from
Methos. You're *mine*. And if I can't have you, no one will."))

**********

He'd looked for his young lover for months after he'd disappeared, but
hadn't found a trace of him. And now, he knew where he was. It was just a
matter of time before they could be together the way they should be. And if
Methos got in the way? Well, he could always take care of that little
problem.

Part 3:

Methos, finally, made his way through the throngs of people
crowding LAX and managed to get a coveted position next to
the baggage carousel. Luggage of every hue and description
slowly slid past, until, finally, his appeared, as if by magic.

He grabbed his single carry-all, and the wooden case holding his
sword, and *tried* to make his way to the exit. The urge to rip
his sword out of its case and *make* a path through the teeming
mass of gaudily clad tourists was nearly impossible to ignore.
But, finally, he stepped out into the bright Los Angeles sunshine, and
straight into the arms of two policemen.

"Adam Pierson?"

"Yes. What can I do for you, officer?"

"Adam Pierson, you're under arrest for assaulting a police
officer. Please assume the position."

Methos stared at the two officers for a moment, before saying in a hopeful
voice, "This is a joke, right?"

The larger police officer's voice was cold, "I'm afraid not, Mr.
Pierson. These are *very* serious charges. Now, please, put down
the bags and place your hands on the wall. Or, do I need to add
resisting arrest to the charges?"

Methos dropped his bag and gently laid his sword case on the ground. He
turned to face the wall and placed both his hands on its rough surface. His
feet were kicked apart and impersonal hands quickly, but efficiently, ran
over his body.

He tensed when the cold steel cuffs were snapped around his
wrists, but he didn't struggle. He allowed himself to be gently
tucked into the officer's car, all the while thinking obscene
thoughts about their parentage and the doubtful probability of
said parents ever being legally wed.  He wondered, idly, if the
requisite number of chromosomes would be found in either man's DNA.

**********

Richie hung up the phone and grinned at his boss and partner,
"He's here. They just picked him up at the airport."

Casey, not so affectionately known as 'Bitch', asked quietly,
"Which one, Richie?"

"Methos. There hasn't been any sign of MacLeod yet."

Michael Riley returned the grin, he'd been wanting to meet the
'Old Man' for a long time. "Think you can talk him into working
with us?"

"I'll give it my best shot, Bossman. But, either way, he's not
leaving. I don't care if I have to cuff him to the bed."

Casey giggled and settled a little deeper into her perch on
Michael's lap, "Kinky, Richie. But, what if he doesn't want
to stay?"

A momentary flash of worry crossed Richie's face and she cursed
herself for causing him to doubt himself. "If he really wants
to go, I won't stop him." Richie said, very quietly. Then the
grin they all knew and loved returned, "But, I'm going to do
my *best* to convince him to stay."

**********

Methos was more than a little concerned, when he was taken
to what appeared to be an apartment complex, instead of the
police station. The officers led him down a hall and
opened a door. After removing the cuffs, they left him
alone, but not for long.  A man he recognized to be Richie's
Captain entered the room and leaned against the wall. "Well,
Mr. Pierson, we've been after you for a very long time."

"For *what*?" Methos snarled, his patience, obviously, at an end.

"For assaulting a police officer, didn't the arresting officers
inform you of the charges against you?"

"Yes. But, I have *never* assaulted a police officer!" Methos declared,
conveniently forgetting several occasions where he'd done just that.

The buzz of another immortal sang across his nerves and he whipped his head
around to face the door, and one Richie Ryan. "Yes, you did, you hurt my
*feelings*."

Methos stared at the man who'd haunted his dreams for so long, and, for the
first time, in a very long time, found himself speechless. He could only
watch in rapt fascination as Richie came closer and closer, until soft, warm
lips gently settled over his.

The kiss didn't last long, only a moment, but it inflamed his
senses like nothing else had in such a very long time. Richie leaned back
and smiled into dazed eyes. "Hey, Old Man, did ya miss me?"

Methos wrapped both arms around the young immortal's waist and
pulled him close. He kissed Richie slowly, using 5,000 years worth of
experience, to show him just how much he'd been missed, and longed for.

Richie's face was flushed and his lips swollen, when he, finally, let him
come up for air. Methos rested his forehead against Richie's, trying
desperately to bring his body under control. "Gods, yes. I've missed you.
I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to leave, never wanted to hurt you. I'm an
idiot. I was worried about MacLeod's and Joe's reactions, and, I was
afraid."

Richie led the ancient immortal over to the couch Methos hadn't even noticed
was in the room and sat down next to him, "Afraid of what?"

"Afraid once I had you, I'd never be able to let you go. You're so young.
There's so much for you to see, to experience. You didn't need a fossil like
me holding you back. That, and the fact that I really didn't want MacLeod to
take my head. Either one of them." he said, in a self mocking voice.

Richie burst into laughter, "Gods, Methos. We're *both* idiots.
I thought you didn't want to be saddled with an inexperienced
kid, and you thought I wouldn't want to be saddled with an
old fuddy duddy."

"I am *not* an old fuddy duddy." Methos said, indignantly.

Richie sprawled out on the couch, resting his head on the
padded arm, "*I* never thought you were." Richie smirked
widely, "Joe and MacLeod aren't here right now, so, why are
you clear over there?"

Methos stared down at what was, for him, at least, the phyical
embodiment of temptation. Richie had put on weight, all of it
in the form of densely packed muscle. His hair was slightly
longer than it had been the last time Methos had seen him, the
strawberry blond curls just long enough to run his hands
through. But, the biggest change was in his attitude. He was
much more confident, and seemed to be at ease with himself.
All in all, he was even more enticing than he'd been that
night five years ago.

Methos leaned over him, careful to keep his weight on his hands,
and kissed those smiling lips. One kiss led to another, each one
more intense than the last. He shuddered when Richie's tongue darted out and
brushed across his upper lip. He tried to capture that tantalizing
appendage, but Richie was too fast for him. He never knew where it would
strike next. With a growl of frustration, he wrapped his fingers in Richie's
curls to hold his head still and thrust his tongue into his mouth. He found
his tormentor and stroked against it, before brushing the tip of his tongue
across the roof of Richie's mouth. He swallowed Richie's groan and then the
young immortal returned the favor, as he felt Richie's leg curve up over his
hip and pull them closer together.

Methos struggled to remove his coat, without losing his connection to
Richie's lips, and, finally, managed to shrug it off. Richie's hand slid up
under his sweater and tugged at the T-shirt underneath. He pulled away long
enough to gasp out, "Old Man, you're wearing too damned many clothes."

Methos pulled away and closed his eyes against the sight of
Richie's swollen lips, "We shouldn't be doing this Richie, not
here. Not now. There's too much for us to talk about first."

He grunted when Richie's full weight impacted with his chest. He
looked up into lust filled eyes and moaned. Richie straddled his
lap, and held his face in his graceful hands. "Methos, this is my
apartment. The whole team lives and works out of this building.
No one will bother us in here. As for talking, that's easy. Do
you want me?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. So much it hurts." he said softly.

Richie's smile was like a sunrise after a long night, "And, I
want you. So, what's the problem?"

Methos ran his fingers through those soft curls and sighed, "I
wasn't kidding, Richie. I don't think I'll ever be able to let
you go."

Richie leaned down and kissed him softly. "Old Man, what makes you think I'd
want you to?"

Part 4:

Methos woke with a smile on his face, totally at peace with himself for the
first time in centuries. And, he knew it was all due to the young man
wrapped so tightly around him.

Methos tried to stretch, but Richie grumbled and clung tighter. Methos knew
he had an idiotic grin on his face, but he really didn't care. Last night
had been a revelation, even for him. They had done things for, and to, each
other that he hadn't believed humanly possible, but the most amazing thing
had been the laughter.

Methos had been with more experienced partners, and more skilled partners,
but he'd never had more fun. Richie wasn't afraid of anything; he wanted to
try it all. And he had been more than happy to oblige. The young immortal
had died his first death at the height of his sexual potency, and it showed.
If it weren't for their immortal healing abilities, neither would be walking
today.

Richie mumbled in his sleep, rubbing his early morning erection against
Methos' hip. Methos smirked and bent his head down to kiss his young lover
awake. They'd wasted five years; he had no intention of wasting any more.

He spread gentle kisses along a stubble-roughened jaw, slowly moving up to a
perfectly curved ear.  He loved Richie's ears.  They seemed to have a direct
link to the young man's cock.  A couple of licks, a tug, a nibble, and
Richie was hot and hard.  It was rather fascinating actually. One day he'd
have to see if he could make Richie cum just by nibbling on his ear.  But
not right now, he had other plans for the young immortal.

Unfortunately, or, not, Methos forgot a very important fact. The best laid
plans of men, or immortals, seldom outlast the first engagement with the
enemy.

He found himself flat on his back, legs up and spread wide, while Richie
seemed determined to fuck him into a coma.  Not that he was complaining.
Praying, screaming, begging, yes. Complaining? No.

Richie pulled out completely, then slowly pushed back in, until the head of
his profusely leaking cock rested barely inside the ancient immortals body.
Then he did it again. And again, and again; faster and faster.  Methos began
speaking in tongues, mixing several dead languages into one constant plea
for release.

Richie came to a dead stop and ran his hands from the Old Man's ankles to
the inner curve of his thigh. The smile on his face was the most evil thing
Methos had seen in his extremely long life.  Richie's voice was nothing more
than a purr, "Hey, Old Man, want to see what I can do?"

Methos forgot to breathe, when Richie grabbed his cock and slurped the head
into his mouth, and began to move again. Methos wrapped both hands in the
twisted sheets and heard them rip under the strain.  His hands flailed,
seeking new purchase, but finding none.  His vision started to go black and
he knew he would never hear the end of this.  The whelp had managed to fuck
him unconscious.

**********

Richie heard the strangled gasp and felt a flood of warm fluid erupt from
the cock he held in his mouth.  He drank it all, feeling the spasms of
Methos' body around his cock.  Once he had every thing the Old Man had to
give him, he released the, now, flaccid member and raised his eyes to smirk
at his lover. His mouth fell open in astonishment, Methos was out cold.  He
carefully withdrew his still erect member and moved the other man into a
more comfortable position on the wrecked remains of their bed.  He nestled
close and laid his head on Methos' chest, directly over his heart.

Richie felt the smile on his face turn into a grin of epic proportions.
"Damn, I'm good."

Part 5:

Richie didn't have to wait long for the Old Man to regain consciousness.  He
tried to look innocent. He really did, it just didn't work worth a damn.

Methos looked into laughing blue eyes and sighed, "You're never going to let
me live this down, are you?"

Richie giggled, "Maybe, you can convince me to keep my mouth shut.  I am
susceptible to bribery."

Methos feigned astonishment, "You?  Susceptible to bribery?  And, you an
officer of the law.  You should be ashamed of yourself, Officer Ryan."

Richie's face turned an amazing shade of red. "Uh. Methos. My name isn't
Ryan anymore."

"It's not?  What is it then?"

"Mummbbblee."

"What was that, Richie?  I couldn't understand a word you said."

Richie grabbed his pillow and said, "My name is Richard Pierson."  Then he
slammed the pillow down over his face, so he wouldn't be able to see Methos'
reaction to *that* little piece of information.

Whatever Methos had been prepared to say was lost, when an extremely loud
buzzer went off in the apartment.  Richie sprang out of bed and shot across
the room.

He snatched up the phone with one hand, while trying to pull his jeans on
with the other.  "Pierson.  What's up?"

"Richie, MacLeod was just spotted at LAX. It shouldn't take him long to
figure out where you are."

"Is everything ready?"

"Yep.  Ready and waiting.  You sure you don't want backup on this one?"

"Nah, I've got the Old Man to watch my back. You guys take off.  Trust me,
you don't want to see this.  It's bound to get ugly."

"Okay, Richie, but we're going to keep the comms set open.  We won't be far,
if you need us, yell."

"Thanks Casey, for everything.  I'll see you soon."

"You'd better."

Richie hung up the phone and turned to Methos.  "I never told you why I left
Seacouver.  MacLeod saw us that night.  He went bat shit.  Told me I was his
and tried to do a tonsillectomy with his tongue.  I finally had to bury my
foot in his balls to get him off of me.  Later, he came to my apartment; he
said that if he couldn't have me, no one would.  I was gone before dawn."

Methos sat down on the couch, before his legs had a chance to give out on
him.  "MacLeod?  I never knew, Richie.  I'm sorry, I didn't realize he was
that far gone."

"What are you talking about, Methos?" Richie asked, as he moved to sit next
to his lover.

"Quite a few Immortals tend to get rather. obsessive. about their students.
But it's usually a two way street.  The bond between teacher and student is
one of trust and affection.  Or, at least, it's supposed to be.  Most
Immortals don't even take a lover while they're teaching, everything needs
to be focused on their student."

Richie rubbed his hands over his eyes. "Yeah, well, MacLeod destroyed any
trust or affection I had for him, a long time ago.  Having someone try to
take your head, while they're supposed to be teaching you how to defend
yourself, kinda ruins the mood, and I've *never* thought of MacLeod that
way.  It's just. eeewwww.  I'd rather be celibate for the rest of my life."

"Richie, MacLeod probably knows where you are, by now.  What are you going
to do?"

"That was Casey on the phone. MacLeod is already on his way here.  I'll try
to make him see reason, but if he goes for my head, or yours, I'll kill
him."

**********

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod walked into the building where Richie
lived and immediately felt the presence of two Immortals.  He pulled his
katana from its sheath and slowly advanced.  He went through a set of double
doors and found himself in a gymnasium.  Richie was standing in the middle
of the room, sword out and ready.  Methos stood beside him, too close beside
him.

"What is the meaning of this, Richie?  Why is *he* here?  I told you to stay
away from him."

Methos hadn't doubted Richie, not at all, but he'd had no idea it was
actually *this* bad.

MacLeod moved closer and waved his sword in Richie's direction. "Move away
from him, Richie.  This will be over soon, and then we can be together.
Forever.  Just like we're supposed to be."

Methos looked into his friend's eyes and saw no hint of sanity.  "MacLeod,
you don't want to do this.  Richie doesn't want to be with you.  He loves me
and I love him.  Please, let this go."

MacLeod rested the tip of his sword against the ancient immortal's chest and
snarled, "I challenge you, Methos.  Defend yourself or die where you stand.
With you gone, Richie will love me."

Methos pulled his sword and took a step back. "I don't want to fight you,
MacLeod, but I will if I have to."

A piercing whistle cut through the air, "Hey, guys.  Remember me?  I'll
decide who I want to be with.  Mac, get lost.  I don't love you. I will
*never* love you.  And, if you kill Methos, you won't live long enough to
regret it."

"You won't interfere, Richie.  The challenge has already been made."

"Well, the thing is, Kilt Boy, I've changed."

A single shot rang out.  MacLeod looked confused for a moment and then
toppled forward, an extremely large hole in his back.  Methos looked up from
the body of the man who had, at one time, been his friend, and saw Richie
with a semi-automatic pistol in his hand.  Richie put the safety on and slid
the gun back into his shoulder holster.  He calmly pulled his cuffs off his
belt and secured MacLeod's hands behind his back.

Methos did an impressive impersonation of a fish for a moment before he
managed to stammer, "You shot him.  You *shot* him in the back!"

"Yeah, it seemed like the best thing to do.  You got a problem with that?"

Methos grabbed Richie and hugged him tightly;  "You shot him in the *back*!
I'm so proud."

Richie started laughing; life with the Old Man was going to be fun.  "Hey,
believe it or not, I did listen to you a couple of times.  Let's go call
Connor and see if he wants to come get Kilt Boy."

"Kilt Boy?"  Methos started laughing so hard tears streamed down his face.
"Kilt Boy.  I like it."

"Much as you like me, Old Man?"  Richie asked, mischievously.

Methos framed that beloved face with his hands and said softly, "Not nearly
as much.  I love you, Richie.  And, just think, you won't even have to
change your name when we get married."

"Married?!  We can't get married." Richie burst out.

"We can in Hawaii. I've heard it's very nice this time of year."

"We still can't get married, Methos," Richie said, decisively.

"Why not?  Don't you love me?"

"Don't be an ass.  Of course I do.  But you haven't asked me yet.  And I
need presents.  'Lots' of presents.  An engagement ring is out, but a new
motorcycle would be nice.  Oh, and we need a bigger bed and more pillows.
You're a bed hog.  And we need to talk about work.  I can't leave the squad.
They need me too much.  And, they'd like you to work with us, too."

Richie interrupted Methos, before he could say anything.  "It's okay,
Methos.  They know what I am and, what you are. You can trust them; they'd
die before they betrayed either one of us.  They don't know *how* old you
are, just that you're a lot older than me.  And they don't want you to work
with the squad; they want you to train us.  Nobody knows more about survival
and beating the odds than you do.  Bossman will talk to you about it,
later."

Methos numbly followed Richie back to his apartment, knowing his life would
never be the same.  But, maybe, just maybe, it'd be better than he'd ever
hoped for.  Now, they just had to hope Connor MacLeod would be able to
handle Duncan.
 

Part 6:

Methos and Richie never made it back to the younger immortal's apartment.
The front doors of the building burst open, allowing the other members of
Richie's squad to spill into the foyer.  Captain Riley and Richie's partner,
Casey, leading the pack.

The Captain looked the two men over and grinned, "Well, the two of you don't
look any the worse for wear.  What about the other guy?"

Richie pointed over his shoulder, "He's in the gym.  MacLeod got a
little...belligerent...so he's on the floor, in cuffs.  We need to get him
moved to a cell before he recovers."

Two of the squad members immediately headed into the gym and returned
promptly, dragging MacLeod's lifeless corpse behind them by the heels.
Methos winced when the Highlander's head bounced off the floor, hard.  The
two men shrugged and continued on their mission.

Captain Riley watched them pass down the hall before turning back to Richie.
"We can lock him up for now, Kid, but we can't keep him there forever."

Richie ran a hand through the strawberry blonde curls gracing his head and
sighed.  "I know, Bossman.  I'm going to try to get a hold of his cousin.
MacLeod will listen to him.  I hope.  I don't want to take his head if I can
avoid it, but I will if I have to."

Methos laid a hand on Richie's shoulder, "I know he was your teacher,
Richie, but he's not the same man as you knew then.  Taking his head may
actually be merciful at this point."

Richie grimaced, "That's not the reason, I just really don't want his
memories.  I really, *really* don't want to go there.  I mean, he's sick.
God only knows what's rattling around in that pointed little head of his.
And I definitely don't want to start acting like him."

Methos had an expression of extreme disgust on his face, "I don't want you
to start acting like him, either.  The man has no concept of *fun*."  The
disgust slid away to be replaced by an expression of lust, "Although, you
would look really cute in a kilt."

Richie smacked the ancient immortal across the side of his head, "Get your
head out of the gutter, Old Man.  There is *no* way you'll ever get me in a
skirt.  Not happening."

Riley managed to keep a straight face at the idea of Richie in a kilt, but,
it wasn't easy.  "Listen, you two get hold of this guy and tell him what's
going on. Take a couple of days, spend some time together.  After MacLeod
has been dealt with, then we'll talk. Okay?"

Methos nodded his agreement, as did Richie.  "Thanks, Bossman.  I appreciate
it.  I'll let you know as soon as I hear something."

The two immortals locked themselves in Richie's apartment.  Methos
immediately linked up to the Watcher's database and began a search for
Connor MacLeod.  The elder Highlander wasn't as blatant about his movements
as Duncan was, but, he was so well known he couldn't really hide for long.
The last reports had him in Rio just the week before.  Methos took a chance
and called the hotel where he'd last been spotted.

He was more than pleasantly surprised when the operator immediately
connected him to Connor's suite.  "Nash."  Said a raspy tenor voice.

Richie, who had been watching and listening the whole time, snatched the
phone from Methos' hand and put it on the speaker, "Connor?  It's Richie.  I
need your help.  Mac has gone whacko, again."

The Highlander sounded incredibly weary, "So much for a vacation.  What's he
done now, Richie?"

"Well he, uh, it's kinda hard...  Oh, dammit.  He thinks he's in love with
me, that I'm in love with him and he tried to kill the person I *am* in love
with.  I had to shoot him and lock him up.  I don't want to kill him,
Connor.  Really, I don't.  But he's not listening to me and I'm not taking
any chances."

Connor groaned, "Trust Duncan to do something so *bloody* stupid.  Okay,
Richie, tell where you are and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"We're in L.A.  Call me back at this number and we'll pick you up at the
airport."

"Is Duncan going to be a problem until I get there?"

"No.  He's safe and he can't get out.  Don't worry, nothing will happen to
him."

"Good.  Hopefully I can get him to see reason.  So, Abaisd, who's this
person you're in *llluuuvvv* with?  Anyone I know?"

Methos spoke for the first time since the conversation had begun.  "Yes,
actually, you randy bastard."

There was complete silence on the phone line for a moment, then a loud burst
of laughter.  "I should have known it was you, Old Man.  You never could
stay out of trouble, Methos."

Methos sniffed indigently and folded his arms across his chest, "I resent
your implications, Connor.  I'll have you know that I haven't been in
trouble for *days*."

Richie snickered, "Uh huh, pull the other one, Methos.  Hey, Connor, did you
know you could make the Old Man pass out if you mumhffhhmmnff."

"What was that, Richie?  I couldn't understand what you said."

Methos clamped his hand a little tighter over Richie's mouth and averted his
eyes from the killing glare being shot at him from dark blue eyes.  "Richie
is busy at the moment, Connor.  We'll talk when you get here.  It will be
good to see you again, my old friend.  It has been too long."

"That it has.  Take good care of Richie, I'll be there as soon as I can."
The line went dead without Connor saying 'goodbye', but, then again, Connor
never said goodbye.

Methos pulled his hand away from Richie's mouth and prepared himself for the
furious words he was sure he was about to receive.

Richie didn't say a word, he just looked at Methos with an extremely serious
expression on his young face.

Methos began to get worried, their...relationship...for lack of a better
word, was much too new and fragile to withstand too many shocks.  "Richie,
I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

Richie shook his head slowly, "No. You shouldn't have.  That was a mistake,
Methos.  A very *big* mistake.  Do you have any idea how much you're going
to pay for that?  I wasn't actually going to tell Connor anything, but
now..."  Richie sighed, sadly. "Methos, you are going to have to kiss my
ass, lick my feet and generally wait on me hand and foot for *days* to get
me to keep my mouth shut, now."

Methos stared at the devious expression on Richie's face, the young immortal
looked positively wicked.

Richie slowly advanced, forcing Methos to retreat.  Richie finally backed
him into a corner.  The younger of the pair leaned into the elder's body
while bracing his hands against the wall.  He stared directly into
apprehensive hazel eyes and spoke quietly, "There's no where left to run,
Methos.  Are you going to take your punishment like a man?"

Methos gulped, a slight shiver running down his lanky frame at the heat in
those words, "I think I'll take it anyway I can get it."

A loud pounding came at the door before Richie had a chance to utter a word.
A woman's husky voice rang out in strident tones, "Richard, get your *ass*
down to the gym and clean up the mess you made! I am *not* going to do it
for you!" The voice got fainter as it moved away from the door, "Couldn't
you have just hit him over the head? There's blood all over the damn floor,
down the hall, it's *Fucking* everywhere!"

Richie groaned and buried his head in the curve of Methos' shoulder, "We
better go, Stutz on a rip is *not* a pretty sight."

"Stutz?" Methos queried.

Richie pushed himself away from his lover and headed for the door, "Yeah,
Stutz. As in, Stutz Bear Cat. Low to the ground, can go through anything and
is damned near impossible to stop once it gets going. You don't want her mad
at you. You really, really don't."

"What would she do?"

Richie turned horror filled eyes to Methos, "She'll shake up all the beer,
replace all the good food with Tofu and turn off the hot water heaters. The
woman is vicious."

Methos turned pale at the fate awaiting his beverage of choice and hurried
through the front door, "Well, come on, then. There's no time to lose."

Richie stood stock still for a moment, incredulous at the speed with which
the Old Man moved, then he laughed quietly and went to join his lover in
scrubbing floors.

Part 7:

Methos preceded Richie into the apartment and collapsed, face first, on
the sofa.  Richie shut the door and turned the dead bolt with a
trembling hand.  He almost smiled when he heard the decisive 'snick' of
the lock engaging, but he was too tired, even for that.  The continued
screeching and increasingly hysterical screams, from the hallway, did
force a weak chuckle from him.

He'd told Stutz that pushing the Old Man was a bad idea.  She didn't
listen. After their short cleaning job turned into an eight-hour
marathon, Methos had had more than enough.  The ancient immortal got
quieter and quieter.  When Stutz went off about the streaks on the
floor, Methos snapped.  Richie giggled faintly; the look on her face
when Methos dumped the bucket of cold, scummy water over her head, had
been priceless.

He slowly turned and leaned back against the solid door.  His thigh
muscles were shaking so much, he gave in and slowly sank to the floor.
Looking down at himself, he found it hard to believe that he'd gotten
so filthy, just cleaning.

After several failed attempts to stand, he finally rolled onto his
knees and crawled over to the sofa.  Tugging on Methos' hand he said,
"Come on, Old Timer.  Get up.  Shower, then bed."

 Methos opened one eye to glare at him.  "I'm not moving.  You can't
make me."

A sudden pounding on the door, followed by Stutz's strident voice
promising retribution, got the Old Man moving.  He was off the couch
and snatching the door open before Richie had even managed to clamber
to his feet.

Staring down at his personal nemesis, Methos snarled, "Woman.  Desist,
immediately.  Or, I shall fetch those buckets and scrub brushes you are
so damnably fond of and shove them up your bloody arse!"

Methos slammed the door in her face and locked it.  Stutz kicked the
door and Methos screamed, "Sod off!"

Methos let his head fall forward, with a dull thud, against their
barrier from the outside world.  His voice quavering he said, "Richie,
I hate that bloody female. I really do.  She reminds me of one of my
wives.  I hated her, too."

Richie joined his ancient lover at the door.  Wrapping his arms around
his waist he said quietly, "Come on.  We'll take a shower and get some
sleep.  It'll all be better later, I promise."

++++++++++

The two immortals sighed with bliss, as the hot water poured over their
aching bodies.  They huddled together, too exhausted to even think
about becoming amorous.  When the water began to cool, they exited the
shower and made a half-hearted attempt to dry themselves.

Methos followed Richie into the bedroom and whimpered, as he caught
sight of the massive bed.  They literally crawled under the covers and
curled around each other for warmth and comfort.  They slid into sleep,
peacefully, allowing their immortal healing take care of the strains of
the day.

++++++++++

Richie woke up, when the pleasure coursing through his body became too
much for his subconscious to ignore any longer.  He shivered as a warm,
wet tongue fluttered across the nape of his neck and two urgent hands
caressed his sensitive skin.

He moaned quietly, when a husky voice curled into his ear.  "I love
you, want you, going to take you."  The young immortal eagerly rolled
onto his stomach, but those wandering hands pulled him back onto his
side.  "Stay."  Methos murmured.

Soon a slick finger breached his body; causing Richie to moan in
anticipation.  The questing digit quickly multiplied, making him hunger
for more.  "Methos."  He pleaded.

"Ssshhh.  Don't talk."  Whispered the husky voice he loved so much.

Richie complied, biting his lip to keep silent, when Methos finally
slid his engorged shaft deep into his body.

Slow, deep thrusts had Richie arching back in encouragement.  A sinewy
arm wrapped around his chest as a long leg curled up over his hip,
effectively pining him in place.  Preventing even the smallest of
movements.

The maddening thrusts never altered, promising so much, but leaving the
young man desperate for more.  Richie's struggle to remain silent grew
increasingly difficult, his hands clenched strongly in the sheets,
trying to find some kind of leverage, that would allow him the extra
push he needed to quench the fire in his veins.

The only sign Methos gave of his own increasing urgency was the harsh
breaths, Richie could feel pushing against the back of his neck.

It, finally, all became too much.  Richie could see spots dancing in
front of his eyes, as he wailed, "Methos!"

That was the trigger the eldest immortal was waiting for.  In a
movement Richie could only hope to emulate one day, he found himself on
his belly, Methos' long legs forcing his to spread apart, to the point
of pain.  Strong hands grasped his hips fiercely, the thrusts into his
body speeding up, until he was being blissfully pounded into the
mattress.

Richie choked back a strangled sound, unsure if it was a laugh or a
cry.  Heat raced through his nerves as pure, unadulterated pleasure
overwhelmed him.  He gasped once, feeling the hot fluid burst from his
body.  Then his over-stimulated brain shut down, unable to handle to
the orgasm crashing through his body.

He never heard his lover find his own release, or the quiet words
whispered into his ear, as Methos gave in to his own need for sleep.
"I love you, Richie.but I still hate that bloody female."
 

Part 8:

Richie paced restlessly in the cramped gate area. Connor's plane had
been delayed, again, and the people waiting for friends and loved ones
were getting restless. One woman's children were taking turns lobbing
spit balls at unsuspecting travelers walking down the causeway. For a
moment Richie considered joining them, but a police officer getting
arrested at LAX for being a brat would cause more trouble than it was
worth. Although, the idea of Methos 'punishing' him for being naughty
brought a quick smile to his face.

'Flight 1410 from Argentina has been delayed until 5 p.m. We are very
sorry for any inconvenience.'

Richie checked his watch, 4:15. Groaning, he hoped Methos' day was
going better than his.

*****

Methos accepted the cup of coffee from Captain Riley and cautiously
sipped the steaming brew. Engaging in idle small talk the two men felt
each other out, without really saying anything important.

Methos finally smiled at Richie's boss and said, "Are we going to
chit-chat all day, or did you actually want to speak to me about
something, Captain Riley?"

"Please, call me Mike. Captain Riley is only for people I'd rather
shoot," the other man said with a grin.

Methos returned the smirk. "Very well...Mike...what do you want from
me? And, please, don't tell me that you just wanted to get to know me,
we both know better."

Mike Riley put down his coffee and leaned his elbows on his desk. "All
right, I know Richie was going to talk to you about this, but I decided
I should give it a shot first. We'd like you to work with the squad."
Mike held up his hand, before Methos could automatically refuse.
"Please, hear me out. We don't want, or expect, you to become a squad
member. You aren't exactly cop material. What we *would* like, is for
you to act as a...consultant...if you will."

Methos raised one brow in surprise, he hadn't been expecting this.
"What kind of consultant are we talking about?"

Mike leaned back in his chair, relaxing once he realized that Methos
was at least willing to hear him out. "Richie hasn't exactly given me
any details, but he's spoken about you enough over the last five years
for me to know that you're exactly what we need. The incidents of
terrorism in the United States are increasing daily. Many of these
people are from different countries, and their ideology is completely
foreign to us. We don't understand their language, their customs, or
the reasoning behind their actions. The more intel we have, the greater
the odds of us being able to contain a situation without bloodshed."

Methos wouldn't admit it, but he was intrigued. "So, you basically want
to be able to pick my brain."

Now, Mike looked a little uncomfortable. "I wouldn't put it quite that
way, but that's basically what we're looking for. There is one other
thing..."

"Which would be what exactly?" Methos asked, knowing the other boot was
about to fall.

"I'd like your help training the squad. They're all expert marksmen and
I couldn't ask for better officers, but they need more than that. I
want them to learn every dirty, under-handed, sneaky trick there is to
winning a fight. We haven't lost anyone, yet, but it's just a matter of
time. I firmly believe in hedging my bets, and I want the odds to be
stacked in my favor. I've tried, but what they need is more a state of
mind, than a set of rules."

Methos shook his head. "That's all well and good, but I'm a firm
believer in living to fight another day, these people don't have the
option of running away."

"That's true, but I'm sure you've been in situations where running was
not an option. That's what they need to learn, how to come out alive,
when their back is to the wall."

Methos was quiet for a moment before nodding his head. "I'll think
about it, but that's all I can promise, right now. I want to talk to
Richie, before I make any decisions."

Mike grinned. "I can live with that. I wasn't sure I could even get you
to consider it."

"I'm not that bloody pigheaded, no matter what Richie may have told
you." Methos said, laughingly. "Now, I'd love to hear just how you, and
Richie met, in the first place. I would have thought that MacLeod
taught him to avoid the police, whenever possible."

Mike grew very serious, at that point, "Well I'm glad the lessons
didn't take. If it weren't for Richie, Casey and I would have died five
years ago."

*****

//Mike looked across the alley, to where Casey sat huddled behind a
dumpster, her right arm dangling loosely at her side. "Case! How bad is
it?" He called, as he slapped another clip into his 9mm.

Casey glanced down at her shoulder and then raised her head to give him
a wicked grin, "It's just a scratch. No big deal. How are you doing?
Anything I should be worried about?"

Mike popped off a couple of rounds before answering her, "I'm not the
one who's got a hole in my shoulder." He ducked when a round glanced
off the bricks over his head. "Remind me, the next time we get into a
shoot out, to make sure that the bad guys are the ones trapped at the
wrong end of a deadend alley. Would you?"

Casey returned fire, over the top of the dumpster, "Now you tell me.
Why can't you think of these things, before we get in these
situations?"

Mike glanced around the edge of the derelict car he was crouched behind
and cursed. "Fuck. Looks like the bad guys' friends decided to join the
party. How are you doing for ammo?"

Casey shook her head. "I'm on my last clip now. Where the fuck is
backup?"

Mike felt his heart skip a beat, he knew they were screwed. Backup, if
it was coming, would be too late. "Casey..."

"Don't even, Mike. I don't want to hear it. We are not going to die
here, today, do you hear me?" Casey said viciously.

"Casey...what the fuck? Casey, look."

They watched in stunned disbelief as a guy on a motorcycle came tearing
into the alley. He laid the bike down, tires squealing in protest. Two
of the bad guys went down with the bike, and it didn't look like they'd
be getting up, anytime soon.

Casey grinned evilly. "Don't just stand there, lover. Let's go get us
some bad guys."

The next few minutes were a blur, the images flashing by too quickly to
really register. He and Casey took any decent shot they could find,
while their savior laid men out right and left with a length of pipe.
They were almost clear of the alley, when the stranger shouted, "Look
out!"

Mike had a second to be surprised, at how young that voice sounded,
before the other man barrelled into him. Mike heard two distinct 'pops'
and the stranger slid weakly down his body, to land in a crumpled heap
on the dirty ground. Casey screamed and took out the shooter with a
single shot to the head.

Mike dropped to the ground and carefully removed the wounded man's
helmet. There was a brief impression of curly blonde hair and wide blue
eyes, before the boy went slack and the last breath left his body.

Casey knelt down across from him and quickly checked for a pulse.
Shaking her head she said, "Shit. He's just a kid. Those fuckers, where
the Hell is the backup?"

Casey kept cursing, detailing exactly what she was going to do to the
cops that left them hanging in the breeze. Mike was still staring at
the body in front of him. He became a cop to save people, and, now,
someone much too young had died saving him.

If he hadn't been staring so intently, he never would have seen it. A
faint blue flash and a shallow movement in the chest. "Casey," he
whispered. "Look."

They watched as the 'dead man', painfully, came back to life. Confused
blue eyes stared up at them and then closed in a grimace. "When I fuck
up, I do it good."//
 
 
 

Part 9:

                *****

                Connor MacLeod shuffled through customs, waiting patiently as his
                paperwork was inspected and his luggage searched. He understood the
                precautions, but that didn't mean he particularly cared for them.
                Especially when strangers were ruffling through his underwear. Once the
                obnoxious little man stamped his passport, he grabbed his bags moved
                through the crowd with the ease of long practice, heading unerringly
                towards the immortal presence he could feel tingling across his skin.

                He dodged around a young mother and her two children, past a pillar and
                there he was. Richie Ryan, Duncan MacLeod's young apprentice. Young
                Ryan quirked a lopsided smile at Connor and took one of the bags Connor
                was lugging over his shoulder. "My car's out front. We can talk there."
 

                Connor nodded, failing to hide a smirk when he saw the police decal
                sitting on the dash of Ryan's car. Richie just grinned, "Hey, it has
                its uses."

                "I'm sure it does," Connor replied in his raspy voice. The two men had
                the luggage stowed and were on their way with a minimum of fuss. Connor
                waited until they had cleared most of the traffic around the airport
                before he said anything, not wanting to distract Ryan from his driving.
                "You've changed, Ryan. I'm impressed. I was expecting you to be a
                little more on edge, considering the circumstances."

                Richie shrugged, "I grew up, it happens to everybody if they live long
                enough. Besides, I've been a cop for almost five years now. Letting
                your emotions get the in the way gets people killed."

                Connor couldn't say anything to that, so he just made a sound of
                acknowledgment. "How is Methos doing?"

                Richie threw Connor a quick grin, more of a smirk actually, "He's
                good." Connor raised a brow and chuckled when Richie turned red. "I
                meant that he's doing okay. My captain wanted to talk to him so he
                stayed at command."

                "I'm surprised the old fart didn't run for the hills, he really hates
                it when strangers find out he's immortal."

                Richie shrugged, "He was kinda annoyed, but nothing drastic. Besides,
                when Duncan showed up it put everything else on the back burner."

                "Yes. I've been thinking about that. From what you and Methos told me
                and from what I know about Duncan, I think this situation is more about
                obsession than any real kind of emotional involvement."

                "Oh, that makes me feel so much better, Connor. Thanks," Richie said,
                snidely.

                "It should. If he were actually in love with you, he'd never give up.
                But an obsession...I can break him of that. It won't be easy, but it
                can be done. We just have to make him see the emotional attachment
                between you and Methos."

                "What if he won't, see how much Methos means to me, I mean."

                Connor sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face, "Then I'll take
                him away and keep him locked up until he sees reason. Either that, or I
                take his head. I'm sure you don't want him roaming around your
                subconscious."

                Richie shuddered, "You got that right, but I don't want him dead
                either. Well, not permanently, anyway."

                Richie pulled up to a guarded gate and showed the man on duty his pass.
                They were waved through and Richie parked his car in his assigned
                space. Connor put his hand on Richie's shoulder, stopping the young man
                before he could get out of the car. "Richie, you know Duncan, what
                would he want?"

                Richie nodded, "Yeah, I know. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."
 

                *****

                Methos laughed when the Captain told him about Richie's reaction to
                being found out. "That sounds like Richie. So what happened then? I
                know it wasn't a case of happily ever after."

                Mike chuckled, "You got that right. Backup finally arrived, we could
                hear the sirens coming down the alley. Cat grabbed Richie and shoved
                him into a dumpster and I hid his bike under a pile of trash. None of
                the shooters had survived, so there weren't any witnesses."

                Mike got up from his desk and refilled his coffee cup, he held up the
                pot but Methos shook his head. "Well," Mike continued, "it took a
                couple of hours to get everything straightened out and for the coroner
                to take the bodies away. Once everyone else had cleared out, we pulled
                Richie out of the dumpster."

                Mike shook his head, "You should have seen him, he was a mess. And God,
                did he reek. We decided the bike would okay where it was for a couple
                of hours and took Richie home with us. After we'd all had a shower and
                something to eat, we started asking questions. He tried to lie, but he
                doesn't do it very well. He finally broke down and told us the truth. I
                think he was actually surprised when Cat and I took it so well."

                Methos nodded, "Most people, mortals, either hate us or fear us. It's
                rare to find a mortal that actually wants to be friends with an
                immortal. Except for the groupies of course. It's almost impossible to
                convince people that we're born this way. They keep thinking there's
                something they can do to become immortal, it just doesn't work that
                way. But I still don't understand, why did you hide him in the first
                place?"

                Mike shrugged, "Cat and I had been suspicious for a while, we knew
                several of our fellow officers were dirty. We just couldn't prove it.
                There was no doubt in our minds that Richie saved us that day. And that
                was just the first time. In fact, there isn't a member of this squad
                that doesn't owe Richie their lives. He's good, he's very damn good.
                And not because he's immortal either. He wears a vest just like
                everyone else and if he pulls a bonehead stunt, he gets reamed just
                like everyone else. That kid was meant for this job. He has a way of
                seeing past the bullshit and getting to the heart of the matter."
 

                Methos wouldn't admit it, but he was surprised by the Captain's
                revelations. Since he and Richie had found each other again, very
                little of their time had been spent talking. Methos would take the
                blame for that misstep in their relationship. The Richie he'd known
                before had been incredibly naive in a lot of ways. Not that he'd really
                known him that well, but he was going to change that. And he had a
                feeling that the grownup version of Richie Ryan was going to be very
                interesting indeed.

tbc
 
 

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