Disclaimers:  No, I don't own Duncan, Rich, Methos or anyone else you know from the series.  If I did, we'd have had more fun that last season.  No infringement is intended, and this certainly isn't for profit.  Rysher: Panzer/Davis control them, I know.  Aidan Logan, on the other hand, and any other original characters, are mine.  Please let me know if you want to archive any of these stories.
Rated:  NC-17 for enthusiastic m/f sex and for, um, highly implied m/m sex?  Well, m/m fantasies?  Oh, just read it.  You'll know the good parts when you get there!

Rich breezed into the dojo, shedding his jacket as he came in, and looked around for Mac.  Okay, so he was running early.  He'd expected to be in on the 3rd -- instead, here it was late on the 1st.  The days had just been too damn gorgeous to go slow, the temperature perfect when you were on a motorcycle running 75 mph on a highway with no cops looking.  He'd lost the last race and was out of the season, for this year anyway.  Not a problem, he'd done well enough overall that he'd get in again next year.  But for now all he wanted was to get on into Seacouver and see Mac for a few weeks before one of them headed back out again.  With Tessa gone, neither of them had much family left.

When he felt another immortal, Mac turned around and headed downstairs, sword behind his back.  Rich, meanwhile took the stairs two at a time, hand on the hilt of his sword under the coat, calling, "Mac!  Hey, Mac!"

"Rich!"  Duncan set the sword down and hugged his latest student fiercely.  "You're early, is everything okay?"  He stepped back to study the younger immortal.  Red-blond curls had been cut short again, sensible for someone who spent so much time in a motorcycle helmet.  But the muscle tone was good, the eyes clear; Rich looked like a young man in his prime, all strength and energy.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mac, it's just been a long season. ' I was ready to get back here, see you, drink some of Joe's beer, and listen to people talk about something other than carburetors, wind resistance, and track conditions."  Rich managed to sound jaded and world-weary, but the blue eyes gleamed with merriment and enthusiasm.  "Besides, have you been out there?  The weather's great!"

Duncan grinned even wider.  "Yeah, it is.  Got plans for the afternoon?"

"No, you?"  Rich looked his teacher and friend over.  He looked the same as ever, no surprise for an immortal.  Same dark hair, cut recently maybe.  It was just barely to his shoulders now.  Mac still looked strong enough, controlled enough, to take just about any opponent.  On second thought, though, the clothes were better than usual.

"So, business meeting or hot date?  Should I go catch up with Joe instead?"

"Neither.  Going to a religious festival; so is Joe.  Grab a shower and get changed.  I'll call and tell her I'm bringing one more."  Duncan carefully didn't laugh at the chagrin on Richie's face.  "Rich.  Trust me.  You'll enjoy this.  Besides, are you telling me you're not hungry?"

"Hey, breakfast was a while ago.  Religious festival, huh?  I thought the Greek Orthodox Festival ran earlier in the summer.  Yeah, why not?  I'll go get my stuff off the bike and get cleaned up."  He bounced down the stairs, whistling, and Duncan started laughing.

"Greek, huh?  You're in for a shock, Rich."  He returned his sword to its place by the door and picked up the phone, dialing a number so familiar now that his hands punched it in before his brain thought the digits.

The phone rang four times before the answering machine picked up.  A cheerful female voice spoke, saying, "Well, only you know if you have the right number.  I can't get to the phone right now, and the attack Chihuahuas never can get to it, thank the Gods -- saves on buying new phones.  Anyway--" The same voice layered over itself, and Duncan heard Aidan laugh and say, "Whoever it is, hold on!"

A beep sounded in his ear and the answering machine cut off.  "Logan.  So do you have the right number?"

"You mean this isn't Druids R Us?  Damn, I guess I'll have to try directory assistance."

"Dhonnchaidh, how are you?  You are still coming to eat, aren't you?  Sorry I took so long getting to the phone; I had chopped tomato all over my hands."  The voice sounded both merry and pleased, with a  faint lilt to it.  When she was angry or precise, Duncan remembered, the accent switched to a very clear, biting English tone, but for now she sounded like a woman whose parents had walked the soft green sod of Ireland.

"Oh, I'll be there, but I may be a bit late.  Can you feed one more person who eats like two?"  He leaned against the counter as they talked, seeing Rich come back in.  The younger immortal grinned at the question, completely unabashed, waved, and headed toward the shower.

"Certainly.  It's Lammas, dearheart, you're supposed to cook too much, it's traditional.  I could feed another four beyond your friend with no effort at all.  I'm used to people dropping in on me today."

"Well, give him a chance to get showered and we'll be over.  Call it an hour, including getting there.  Do you need me to bring anything?"

"More beer wouldn't hurt.  That or one of the young white wines -- maybe a nice dry Australian?"

"Will do.  See you then."  Mac hung up the phone, then walked over and stuck his head in the bathroom.

"Rich?  I'm going to go run an errand, back in a minute."

Steam was already filling the room.  Rich called out over the water, "Sure thing, Mac.  I'll make this quick, but I've got some serious road grime to scour off.  Give me fifteen, okay?"

"No rush, I told her you'd need thirty."  He glanced around, noted with approval that Rich had his saber propped against the wall near the shower, as far away from the door as possible. ' "I'm glad you're back, Rich."

"Me too, Mac.  Should I dress up for this?"

"Yeah, do that.  See you in a few."

* * * *

The T-bird pulled behind a four-story brick building that looked like it had once been a warehouse.  It wasn't a bad neighborhood but an inner-city area in one of the older parts of town, full of small businesses, students looking to live cheap while they go to school, and a mix of immigrants and their descendants.  Rich broke off the discussion on what to get for Mary Lindsey's first birthday to ask, "So where's the festival?"

"We're here," came the reply.  "Grab the beer, will you?  Methos cleaned her out when he was in town."

Rich raised an eyebrow at him, exasperated and laughing at the same time.  "Festival, huh?"

"Hey, festival refers to a time of special observances and a feast.  This is both.  Come on, Joe's already here."  MacLeod unlocked the trunk, settled the case of wine onto his shoulder and let Rich grab the beer.

The younger immortal glanced at Joe's familiar car parked next to a recent model Range Rover.  "Okay, and the religious part?"

"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

They walked in the double doors from the parking lot and Rich whistled.  "Damn, Mac, this is really something."  He turned, admiring.  The room had to be twenty feet by fifty, running the full length of the building.  Where he could actually see walls, stucco rose fifteen feet to the ceiling dyed a shade of blue that reminded him of late fall afternoons -- maybe two or three shades deeper than robin's egg blue, but no less intense.  Shelves ran down half the interior wall and wrapped around to one of the exterior walls full of books, curios, art, and more books.  The shelves rose just over half the height of the walls anywhere windows didn't prevent it, an easy eight feet at least, was Rich's guess.

One table and four chairs would have fit into any corporate meeting room easily.  In the center of the room, facing either two windows or the desk, a tile-covered end-table sat to the left of a big, overstuffed chair covered in faded, worn red velvet.  A matching footstool huddled in its shadow.  Four books were piled in a disorganized heap on the table.

Farther down, a large oriental rug lay under an 'L' shaped computer desk which was also covered with tomes, bookmarks, pieces of paper, pens and a large, functional letter-opener.  The shelves next to the desk, however, presented their contents in an extremely precise order.  Two computers sat on opposite ends of the desk; a printer and phone were connected to one.  Wadded up paper, stacked file folders, and two battered paper airplanes surrounded the other.  Packing boxes surrounded that one in a badly drawn-up skirmish line.

"Great place your friend has.  I like the contrast between the dark beams in the ceiling and the brighter floor and walls.  Nice, really nice.  So what's her name, and will I get killed if I flirt with her?"  Rich grinned at Mac, trying to get some idea of what was up.  Music poured out of speakers mounted high on the walls, Meat Loaf's classic Bat Out of Hell album, but Rich didn't see the stereo anywhere.

"No, and you'll find out, not necessarily in that order.  Come on, come see the rest of the first floor."  Mac closed the front door behind them; it locked automatically.  Rich followed him past the filing cabinets and took in the next room.  Tools hung on the walls, wooden horses and lumber were neatly arranged, a pallet of bricks sat off to one side.  On one table sat the pieces of a broken sword.  Half of the items in the room held no meaning for him, despite some of the projects he had watched Mac handle or helped on, but Rich had the distinct impression that this was a very orderly place to carry out some very complicated work

As Duncan squatted to pull up the grate on the freight elevator, wine still balanced on one shoulder, Rich shook his head.  "What is it with immortals and wide open rooms and elevators?  I mean, Mac, this is a huge workshop."  Except for a freight elevator, and the half-bath next to it, the room took up the rest of the first floor, sprawling thirty feet across and fifty long.  "She is an immortal, isn't she?"

As they ascended Rich felt immortal presence slide across his skin, a rippling, pulsing sensation carrying a sense of pleasure, contentment, and laughter.  "My God, what is that?  I guess she is an immortal."  The impression felt undeniably female somehow.

Mac pulled up the grate on the second floor and commented mildly, "Yeah, she is."  He sounded -- and felt -- amused.  He had watched the startlement on Richie's face, noticed his friend's quick observations and appraisal.  It should be very interesting to see what he and Aidan made of each other.  No worry that they would have any trouble or start a fight at least.  She held strictly to the old codes of guest law, hospitality, and insult prices.  As an invited visitor at her table, Rich was completely safe whether he knew it or not.

Rich stepped out and turned around, receiving an impression of plants and solid, comfortable furniture, of wide, clear spaces, polished wood and open windows everywhere.  Then Joe and a woman he'd never met before turned to face him from where they had been talking by a kitchen table, and his attention focused in on her.  Every immortal had this instinctive reaction to another, this focusing down until the fight began or your subconscious decided he/she was safe.

She stood there, one eyebrow slightly raised, grey eyes wide and alert.  Deep brown hair had been pulled smoothly back from her face and the ends fell down around her neck and ears.  Silver loop earrings shifted as she tilted her head minutely to one side, hands on her hips.  Charcoal grey cotton pants ran up long legs to a crimson silk vest.  Wide shoulders and strong arms, powerful forearms -- Rich had no doubt she had a blacksmith's grip.  And him with a case of beer balanced on one shoulder and his sword in his jacket. ' Then she smiled widely and he really looked at her face.

Not pretty, certainly not beautiful.  Her nose was too long, her chin too sharp, but creamy pale skin, dark, well-shaped eyebrows, thick lashes and that smiling mouth gave her a striking attractiveness that quite a few women would have happily settled for.  Her grey eyes radiated a pleasure that included Rich without thinking twice about it as she called out, "Fifty-seven minutes, Duncan.  Nicely done.  The last bread is just cool enough to cut and Joe has only made his second threat to start without you."

She stepped over to Rich and took the case from him, hefting it smoothly and setting it down on the floor under some shelves she seemed to be using as a pantry.  Rich grinned back at her, surprised to see that her hair wasn't short after all.  She had it coiled up and pinned with two slender, jeweled rods or stilettos.

Duncan set the wine on the island and began loading bottles into the built-in wine rack.  "Aidan, this is my latest student, Richard Ryan.  Rich, this is a good friend of mine, Aidan Logan.  Ramirez trained her, so we're all line-kin."

Aidan cheerfully replied, "As if I wouldn't guess when you walked in with a handsome young redheaded immortal.  You'll get yours, Duncan MacLeod.  One of these days, I'll introduce you to all of my students -- including the ones you already know.  Rich, I'm glad to finally meet you.  Be welcome in my house and at my table."

"Thanks.  Nice to meet you, too.  Did Mac say you studied with Ramirez?"  Rich reached to help with the food but she laughed and waved him toward the table.

"Yes, I did, but sit down, please.  Questions later, for now we eat."

Joe had waited just long enough to be sure there wouldn't be a problem.  "Rich, good to see you.  Grab a seat, take a load off."  A bartender to the end, the greying man passed the youngest immortal a cold Coke and settled into a chair to talk to his friend while Aidan and Mac finished moving food to the table.

Rich studied the variety and amount of food and asked, "So who's still coming?"

Aidan set two wooden cutting boards loaded with warm loaves of bread and bread knives on the table, then commented, "No one that I know of, but I traditionally hold an open house today and by now probably two dozen of my immortal friends know I'm here.  Some of Joe's employees are coming by tonight when they get off shift, and a couple of the regulars may be by for dinner."  She chuckled as she turned to bring the cold salads out of the refrigerator. "Who knows, anyone could show up.  I don't worry about it today."

Duncan counted five different kinds of breads; olives; tabouleh; marinated vegetables; a salad with tuna and mixed greens; a large terra cotta bowl full of fresh plums, kiwis, star fruit, apples, cherries, and apricots; a plate of sliced ham and roast beef; cold shrimp and cocktail sauce; a platter of cheeses; and all the appropriate condiments.  The table had been set for five, he saw.  Large water glasses sat at every place, as did wine goblets.

Aidan moved around filling the glasses with ice, then water or tea depending on preferences. ' Rich poured the Coke into his as she asked, "By the way, Duncan, I certainly appreciate it, but why did you bring me a case each of the wine and beer?"

"You keep inviting me over to dinner, so I bought something to drink with it."  He opened some of the wine and tilted it questioningly toward her glass.

 Aidan nodded.  "Please.  But the blue goblet first, if you would.  Rich, wine, beer, or stick with Coke?"

"Some beer would be great.  Umm, who's the extra place setting for?"  He waved a hand toward the blue goblet and plate which sat at the end of the table.  Aidan had placed her glass next to the empty spot and was calmly putting food out onto the plate, apparently for an expected guest.

Aidan glanced at him, then smiled again.  "For the Gods.  Only fair to give some back."

While he was still digesting that, she passed him a cold beer from the fridge and brought Joe some lemon for his tea.  "May the Gods bless us all.  Joe, would you please cut me some of the orange-cranberry bread?"

Duncan dug into the tabouleh, looking forward to it.  Aidan had a particularly good recipe for the parsley and cracked bulghur salad.  Since he had settled down in front of the cold meats, Rich started filling plates that were passed to him.  Joe sliced breads, asking about ingredients as he went.

"Well, let's see, that's the orange and cranberry; it's also got walnuts.  It's really more of a breakfast dish, but why not?  The yellowish one next to it is sweet potato and jalapeño.  The round loaf is honey and whole wheat.  The braided loaf has eggs and poppy seeds.  The herb bread has basil, garlic, rosemary, thyme, parmesan, and beer.  That's most of it, I think.  Don't even ask about the three rising on the counter.  I'd have to look at the dough to be sure.  I had trouble deciding which ones to cook this year."

Rich grinned and said, "Joe, half a slice of everything and then I'll sort out seconds."

Duncan and Aidan looked at each other and laughed.  All she said was "I like the way he thinks.  By all means, try all of it.  It's meant to be enjoyed."

"So, which Gods?  I mean, I take it this is a holy day for you?"  Rich heaped the salad into her bowl, then passed it back.  His own plate came back loaded with slices of meat, slices of bread, and both tabouleh and some marinated vegetables.  Aidan sat and pared a kiwi with a tiny knife pulled from a pocket.

"Oh, today is Lugh Long Arm's day, the festival of Lughnasa or Lammas or Loaf-Mass depending on who you talk to.  It's the first of the harvest festivals, of which there are three.  Basically this is a day to say 'To the Hells with it, I'm not weeding.  It's too hot to work.'  Time to make fresh bread with the first harvest of the grains, taste-test the year's first beer or wine, and sit and gossip with friends in the shade."

Joe slathered hot mustard over the sweet potato bread, piled ham on top and bit down.  When he could speak again, he commented, "Isn't this traditionally one of the days of sacrifice, too?"

Aidan shrugged.  "Sacrifice or execution, yes.  Time's coming to rend and plow the Lady's Consort.  John Barleycorn's days are numbered from henceforth but he'll be back in the spring."  She sliced the kiwi, and looked up to see who wanted some.

Rich shook his head, amazed.  "So who's Lugh?"

Aidan rolled her eyes.  "Such a glorious name, Risteard, and no idea...."  She caught his eye.  "Sorry, I shouldn't pick on you so.  You've not had time to pick up that many languages yet.  Dianecht, the healer of the Tuatha de Danaan, had a grandson who became a hero, a man of great wisdom and sight.  Lugh of the Strong Arm, Lugh Samildanach, the artisan who had mastered all crafts.  Sometime --  this afternoon if you like, or one rainy day this winter -- I will tell you some of his stories."

Rich propped his chin on one fist.  "If one of my teachers in school had wanted me to read it I'd have run screaming, but you make it sound interesting.  What are the too awful day what?  Sounds like the French!"

Duncan snorted, looking scandalized; Aidan accidentally inhaled wine when she tried to laugh while drinking; but Joe chuckled and answered, "Tuatha de Danaan, Rich, the people of Dana.  One of the early races in Ireland, according to legend.  The fey folk, Rich, the people Underhill."

Aidan got her breathing straightened out and said, "They are the Daoine Sidhe, Rich, the elves Tolkien wrote of, the fairy court of Midsummer's Night Dream.  The glorious and awe-full people of whom Tam Lin fell foul, the Queen of Air and Darkness who led him for nine and forty days through rivers of blood and across the stony wastes."

She spoke the name as 'thee-nuh she' and Rich repeated it softly, hearing it echo against something inside of him and settle into place.  "Yeah, I'd like to hear the stories sometime."

Aidan smiled at him across the table.  "Whenever you like and we can spare time.  Traditionally they're for winter nights, but why stay stuck in a rut?"

"Says the woman who still swears in Homeric Greek?"  Duncan grinned at her.

"This from the man who's used one name and two sword types in four centuries?"

"Hey!  Five, and I used spear there for a while, too.  At least I've gotten a hair cut in the last twenty years."

Aidan gave him an indignant look.  "I will have you know I made a great flapper, bob haircut and all.  And besides -- unlike certain Scots, I go to movies that post-date Nixon's presidency and don't have subtitles."  Joe choked on that one and Rich acquired a sudden interest in his beer.

"Aidan, flappers were seventy years ago, not twenty.  And I've taken a student in the last fifty years."

"Do you know how long it takes to grow hair past your waist?  And Rich, what kind of sword do you use?"

Rich hastily swallowed a bite of the herb bread and replied, "Saber.  Why?"

Aidan's eyebrows went up in surprise, then her eyes narrowed and she turned to Duncan.  "You haven't been teaching him katana drills with a saber, have you?"

"Well, some.  I--"

"Duncan!  What were you thinking?!  Katanas and sabers are two different weapons, not least for hilt and hand grips."

"I don't tell you how to fight saber--"

"You can't, I was fighting saber and winning before Connor was born," she interrupted tartly.

"Aidan, give me a second here!"  Duncan grinned at her and they were off again, arguing saber technique versus katana.  She maintained that the body positioning and balance point for the weapons were different; he argued arm and shoulder movement technicalities and cutting technique.  Rather than keep choking on their drinks,  Joe and Rich promptly started discussing local music prospects.  Somewhere in there, just as Rich had agreed to go listen to a concert with Joe in a couple weeks, he heard his name mentioned by Aidan.

"Oh, why not?  Rich, do you want some training?"

The youngest immortal looked up immediately, face already lighting up.  "What kind?"

"Oh, saber, dagger, general viciousness.  Interested?"

Rich cut his eyes toward Duncan to see what his sometime teacher thought and realized Duncan was all in favor of  the idea.

"Go for it, Rich.  It would be good for you to practice with someone else, and Aidan's rough enough with saber and dagger that we generally trade matches."

Rich blinked.  "She beats you that often?"

Joe laughed.  "Oh, yeah.  They spar for whose turn it is to cook dinner half the time, Rich.  I've seen Aidan beat Connor two bouts out of three when he was in town."

Aidan listened, amused to hear herself discussed her in the third person.  "Of course I beat Connor, but only when he's in a good mood.  Neither of us has gone to quite the scale of viciousness that I was trained in, although he's rougher than Duncan -- at least with me.

"Rich, take your time on the decision.  I won't be offended by a 'no'.  But you're my youngest brother and studying my weapon of choice.  If you want to spar or train, let me know."

"I get a sister out of this?  I always wanted one.  Aidan, you have a deal."  He reached out a hand, only to see her shake her head.

"No, you already have one.  Ramirez trained me and Connor; that makes Connor my brother.  Connor trained Duncan, Duncan trained you.  Both of you are my brothers, too.  Sparring and/or training is just part of the fringe benefits as it were, if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great.  When do we start?"  He waited to see if she would shake and found he'd been right; she had one hell of a grip.

"Tomorrow if you like.  Sorry, today's my day to goof off." ' Aidan sprawled back in her chair, nibbling at some fruit and cheese.  As usual after cooking most of the day, her appetite had vanished.  She sipped at the wine Duncan had brought and decided she liked it, even if it was a bit dry.

"Sounds good.  So what's this salad, anyway?  It tastes great."  Rich pointed at the tabouleh he had tried and the conversation switched to food then places visited and taller tales of those places as Aidan's stereo poured randomly through ten very different albums.  Rich heard classic rock, Irish hammer dulcimer, Arabic, trance, and a hellacious percussion group he'd never heard before.

After they had all eaten until they were stuffed, Duncan ordered Aidan to go sit down, saying that the guys would clean up and put away the food.  "Yes, oh, my master, I live to serve and obey," was the sarcastic reply as she filled a plastic gallon jug and moved around the house, watering plants.

Rich laughed at that and helped the other men put up the food.  "Hey, Mac, how is it you know where everything in here goes, anyway?"

Joe looked up from where he was rinsing dishes.  "Same way I do.  Aidan hates cooking for one."

Aidan moved behind Joe, warning him with a gentle hand on one shoulder, and stole the faucet to refill the water jug.  "Call it a character flaw.  Besides, it lets me try out different recipes."

"Hell of a flaw.  I like the sweet potato bread, too.  That's a wild one."

Aidan laughed cheerfully as she checked the herbs over the sink.  "You should see what I cook around Samhain.  Pumpkin and chocolate chip muffins."

"Huh.  Well, hey, I tried the sweet potato and jalapeño, why not?"  The kitchen being clean, Rich settled down to investigate the CD library.  "Are you the one who sent M-- Adam the Sarah McLachlan music?"

She turned and studied him for a second, then threw Duncan a scolding look. ' The only emotion she allowed to escape her voice was casual interest as she asked, "Oh, the tape with 'Possession' and 'Ice Cream?'  Yes, that was me.  Why?"

"Just wondering.  Good music, I was kind of surprised he liked it."

Aidan snickered.  "Oh, Adam will listen to damn near anything once, although he maintains country music is a bastardized abomination of perfectly good folk music.  But he'll listen to more rap than I will."

"Hmm.  What about Green Day?  And Nine Inch Nails?"

"Harsher than I like, and NIN strikes me as suicide on vinyl, but I do like most techno.  Great for dancing and fighting.  What did you think of Mortal Kombat?"  Aidan settled onto the floor next to him, reaching for the CD.

"Come on, don't tell me you went to a movie that cheesy?"

"Went to it?  I own a copy of it.  The plot needed some work, but Ghostbusters II had worse stupidity, and the martial artists in it are flatly excellent.  Ever seen a leopard style fighter?"  She pulled the video out, dropping it onto the VCR and laughed.  "Besides, it's a great way to harass Connor."

Duncan immediately turned and asked, "How?"

Aidan smiled wickedly and replied, "Wait until you see Lord Raydon.  The actor even laughs like Connor. ' I've been accusing him of working in Hollywood ever since I saw this."

Joe agreed, chuckling.  "Yeah, he does look like Connor, doesn't he?  Even sounds like him, same smart-ass tough guy attitude.  Fun movie.  Put it in, would you?  I don't have to head out for a few hours yet."

"Joe, you can't be serious,"  Duncan protested.  "I mean, Mortal Kombat?  Come on."

"Duncan, sit down and watch.  You'll enjoy it, I promise."  Aidan switched the stereo over to run the movie sound through it and started the tape.  "Besides, consider this ammunition for the next time Adam complains about your movie-going habits!"

* * * *

Duncan stretched and laughed.  "God, Raydon does look and sound like Connor.  No wonder he told me it was terrible movie!"

Rich grabbed another handful of popcorn and asked, "So now what?"

Joe shrugged.  "Well, I've got to go tend bar.  Aidan, lunch was great.  I suspect Mike and Renee will be over later for dinner.  Do I need to warn people to ring the bell?"

"Of course; the door locks automatically, remember. '  Come on, Duncan, the food's settled.  Come spar.  You, too, Rich, I want to see what I'm going to be dealing with."  Aidan stretched long and lazy, then headed toward the dressers in the corner.  Without a second thought she stripped off the vest, revealing a shortsword strapped to her back and no bra.  Richie's mouth went dry as she pulled off the sword harness and yanked a leather halter over her head.

Duncan grinned watching Rich's jaw drop farther when Aidan peeled the pants off as well and pulled out some shorts.  He and Joe knew about Aidan's casual attitude towards nudity; it hadn't occurred to the Scot to warn his student.  "I'd ask what happened to your 'day off,' but why bother?  Your idea of a vacation is goofing off for two hours.  Come on, Rich, there are extra sweats and shorts upstairs; both of us will want to change.  She plays a little rough."

Aidan turned around, still fastening the button on her cut-off jeans.  "Hah.  You're just used to more polite methods of training.  I notice you don't leave your low left open anymore."  Swift, practiced movements laced the front of the leather halter snugly into place and then tucked the cord ends in.

"No, I don't!.  Even I get things through my 'thick, Scottish head' sometimes!" he mimicked.

"That was the whole idea.  I see it worked, too."  And she stuck her tongue out at him.

Rich looked back and forth.  "Uh, guys, some of us missed Act One on this play?"

"He wasn't guarding his leg enough, so I stabbed him to make a point.  I did warn him twice first.  What's the saying, three strikes and you're out?"  Aidan hung the sheathed shortsword next to the bed, on the side away from the freight elevator.

Joe picked up his cane.  "I think I'm gonna go tend bar.  Much safer.  Thanks for inviting me, Aidan.  Rich, glad you're home."

"You stabbed Mac?"

Aidan shrugged.  "Yes, but he left himself open.  After four centuries, he should know better.  I need to see you fight before I know what standards to hold you to.  Don't worry," and she chuckled.  "I don't usually stab new students."  She retrieved her saber and dagger from the coat hung by the elevator as she walked Joe to it.

Rich shook his head, grinning.  "Yeah, usually she says.  Damn, Mac, couldn't you have warned me before I said yes?"

* * * *

One week later

Aidan and Rich sprawled on the warm, sun-lit floor, panting and soaked in sweat.  Aidan had blood on her as well, although the nicks had healed.  The third floor had been deliberately left open for workouts, broken only by the freight elevator and the full bath built onto it, and Rich had been glad for the available space more than once in the past week.  Running a marathon could seem less strenuous than a training session with his new mentor and sister.

Finally she sat up, then stood.  Walking over to Rich, Aidan reached a hand down to the young redhead.  "Come on, up before your muscles stiffen.  You know the routine, Rich.  Go climb in the shower, I'm going to go start lunch."

Rich groaned as he stood up, one hand rubbing still-healing bruises.  "You'd think after a week I'd be getting used to this.  Does this ever get better?"

Aidan gave him a rueful smile.  "Yes, in about a month.  Surely you knew this already from training with Duncan.  He strikes me as one who will get the best out of a student."

"Yeah, he is."  He saw the spots of blood on her and frowned. "Damn, you'd think I could pull the blows better than that.  Sorry."

"You're young.  At the speeds I'm pressing you to, control is as much a matter of muscle memory as skill and you've not had the time to drill in the memories."  She shrugged.  "I expected it.  It's the price you pay for training one of the newer immortals."

"You make this sound normal."

"That's because it is.  I've trained several students in my day, Rich.  For being four years into the Game, you're much farther along than most.  You and Duncan have done very well, don't lose sight of that."  Aidan studied him narrow-eyed, then nodded.  "Get showered, sit in the sauna for a little while if you need to, then come down.  I'm going to start some lunch and clean up myself."

"Right, give me about twenty and I'll be down and help."  Rich headed for the shower gratefully, stripping off his t-shirt as he went.  Aidan meanwhile went down the stairs and into her living quarters on the second floor.  A couple of paper towels wiped off the worst of the blood and sweat; once she'd washed her hands, Aidan set to work on lunch, taking Rich's legendary appetite into account.

True to his word, he was there in twenty minutes.  Aidan nodded to him and commented, "If you'll finish washing and cutting the radishes for the salad, then start putting together those sandwiches, I'll get a quick shower myself.  Salad dressing is there, fruit there, plates there."

The younger immortal shooed her toward the shower.  "Hey, after a week, I think I can manage this.  Go on, you look like you'd love the hot water and I left you plenty."  Rich moved toward her stereo, calling, "What haven't I heard that I'll like?"

Over her shoulder, Aidan replied, "The new Rusted Root isn't bad at all, or you might try Stan Freburg's Greatest Hits, if you're in a mood for comedy."

When she got out of the shower, wearing a short robe for the sake of Rich's modesty and toweling her hair dry, he had lunch ready and on the table.  To her surprise, what was playing was Clannad's Magical Ring and Rich was reading The Isle of the Mighty. ' He glanced up and grinned at her when she walked past, then returned his attention to the book while she got dressed.

Aidan poured both of them large glasses of iced tea and sat down to dig into the salad.  "So, how do you like the Mabinogion so far?"

"Man, this is great.  It reads like a good sci-fi movie, you know?  How old is this?"

Aidan chuckled as Richie dug in.  As usual he'd made her about half as much food as he did for himself.  "Oh, the books were written earlier this century; the Mabinogion on which they were based was first written down in the fourteenth century.  The stories go back much farther than that.  I heard some of them around the third century AD, in one form or another, and they probably go back farther still.  Hmm, after you finish Evangeline Walton's books, do you want to continue in the tales of the Celts or shall I point you at some other things?"

Rich thought about that, and took another bite of his sandwich.  After he finished that and washed it down with the tea, he nodded.  "These are great.  If you think I'll like it, point me at it."

"Ah, the joys of relatively painless education.  Well, at this stage, anyway.  This is where I lure you in, you see," and she twirled an imaginary mustache as he laughed, "and then later it gets bad.  That's when you start reading the different translations and asking me or Methos which one is right, and we shrug and tell you that in English either one works, but you might want to learn Gaelic if you're really interested."

Rich blinked.  "Wait.  You know about Methos?"

Aidan sipped her tea, then commented, "Oh, yes.  I should.  Before Ramirez trained me, he did."

That tidbit brought a dumbfounded stare.  "You're kidding! ' Wait, I thought you were out of the line of Ramirez."

Aidan took pity on him.  "Rich, easy, I'm still your sister -- I'm considered to be out of both lines.  I spent twenty years, give or take, studying with Methos, then another fifteen and some studying with him and Ramirez both, mostly Ramirez.  By that point, Methos had gotten restless; he went wandering a fair bit, always circling back to see us.  But who did you think trained Ramirez?"

"I didn't...."  Rich trailed off, thinking hard.  Neither Connor or Duncan had ever mentioned it, and he hadn't thought to ask.  I mean, Ramirez would have been a couple centuries older than Aidan if he still lived.  You just don't ask when the mountain range showed up, do you?  Damn, that was dumb.  Huh, wonder if Mac knows this?

"I assure you, he didn't spring forth from a rock, full-grown, fully-trained, and overdressed."

That got a laugh out of Rich.  "Yeah, Connor always calls him the Spanish peacock."

"Well, he was actually Egyptian, but he did like to dress well.  However, back to our original topic -- a lot of the older immortals draw many of their attitudes and opinions from Roman and Hellenic thought.  I'd like to start you on some of Mary Renault's fiction for the Greek thought, then turn you loose later on a good translation of Marcus Aurellius for some of the Roman attitudes."

"If it's this interesting, sure.  But why are you handing me some of this?  I mean, I know you like the Celtic stories, and it's great stuff, but what's the point?"

Aidan passed him the tea pitcher absently as she tried to frame the concepts.  Finally she said, "Did you ever wonder why Duncan, Methos and I read so much and so many different things?"

"I just thought you all liked to read.  I mean, I like all kinds of movies.  I take it that's not it, huh?"

"Oh, in part.  I could happily spend days browsing a good library, and Methos is nearly addicted to learning and knowledge.  And Duncan was raised to be what these days they would call an over-achiever.  But no, that's not it.

"We study other cultures, other languages, to have some idea what our opponents may try.  We also do it because we find it interesting, at least the three of us do, but honestly, my first incentive was to survive the Game.  For example, one of the fights I got into on this continent in the late 1690s -- the Indian involved didn't mind fighting a woman....  But had I shown fear or fought in a coward's way and he'd won, I would have been tortured for days, maybe weeks, before he took my head.  And he'd have mutilated the body when he was done."

Rich flinched and Aidan said quietly, "That's the way it was, Rich.  For him, at least.  But it helps to know what you're up against, to have some idea what they may or may not do.  I know immortals who will give you an option if they win and you fought well -- their bed or your head.

"I've known immortals who took the option, too.  These are things you need to think about ahead of time.  There's no shame in it so far as I'm concerned.  But it's not a choice I can make for you, and it's not one to be made on the spur of the moment either."

Rich thought about that for awhile, while Aidan sipped her tea and waited, giving him the time to consider, to decide what he needed to ask.  Eventually he commented, "Well, you don't believe in shielding students from reality, do you?"

"No, I don't.  You're getting topics that I would normally give immortals in their tenth or fifteenth year of training, not the fifth, but I think you're ready for it."

"Huh.  Okay, thanks, I think.  Can I ask...?"

"Ask.  I said I'd tutor in general viciousness, this is part of it."

"Have you ever been tortured?"

Aidan closed her eyes, both hands wrapped around her glass, then she looked back up at the younger immortal.  "Yes.  More than once.  I also spent twelve years as a slave in a Roman brothel.  And before you wonder, yes, I've been raped.  Usually by mortals, but once by another immortal and one of these days I may be so lucky as to cross paths with him again.  I think I can take him."

Rich said quietly, "Yeah, you really want to kill them for it, but you don't think you'll ever feel clean again.  Or safe."

Aidan reached out for his hand.  "I'm sorry, I didn't know.  When was this?  Can you talk about it?"

"Yeah, it was a while ago."  He shrugged, a bit surprised himself that he had mentioned it, but he held on to her hand while he talked.  "I was in another new foster home, I was fifteen and cocky, and apparently he liked his beer a bit too much.  Once he'd had a few beers he liked me too much.  I ran away, never looked back.  Never ended up in a foster home again until I was seventeen and Mac and Tessa took me in.  It's a good thing Mac's such a straight-arrow or I'd have been scared outta my wits."

Aidan studied him narrowly.  "Rich, is it going to be a problem in the future if Mac decides he can enjoy male lovers?  Most immortals are bisexual, you know.  Well, by the time they hit, say, five centuries or so."

Rich blinked.  "Really?  Huh.  I can't see Mac doing it."

"Is it going to be a problem if he does?"

"You think he's going to sometime soon?  I gotta see this."

"Your color's back.  You're feeling better.  And yes, I think it's very likely, although not you.  He's starting to think of you more as a friend than a student, but the teacher-student bond is still there.  He's not going to make a pass at you, Rich.  And I can't see him not taking 'no' for an answer anyway."

"Nah, it won't be a problem, but I don't think it's gonna come up anyway.  Wait a second -- who?  The only guys Mac hangs around with are Joe and Methos.  I can't see Joe with another guy."

Aidan laughed merrily.  "Neither can I.  Joe doesn't have any objection to it, simply no interest."

"Hey, wait, after five centuries--  You mean you like both?" Rich adjusted himself in his seat, his jeans feeling a bit too snug at the thought of Aidan and, say, Amanda.

"Oh, I prefer men, no question, but yes, I've had female lovers."

"But how...?"  He trailed off, trying to decide how to word it.

Aidan muttered, "Be glad I'm not Methos, he'd make you figure it out yourself."  More loudly she replied, "Think about it, Rich.  You meet a good-looking woman, you ask her out.  Suppose you're lucky enough to get her in bed.  Granted, it may well have been mile-long legs that got your attention, but if she can't hold a coherent conversation on anything that interests you, are you going to call her the next morning to see if she can meet you for lunch or a movie?"

He thought about that one, too, while they cleared the plates away and sat down to finish their tea.  "Honestly, Aidan, it might take more than a couple nights, but I did learn my lesson with Kristen.  Yeah, I'd end up dumping her.  She'd drive me crazy.  I've gotten used to you, and Amanda, and my friend Maria is nobody's fool, either.  She's a damn good fashion model, and she's not stupid."

"Really?  I'd like to meet her sometime.  All right, then, think about this.  What do you do when the person whose company you enjoy, whose opinion and approval you crave, doesn't have the plumbing you think you should be interested in?  The best definition of love I've ever heard was from a twentieth century science fiction author.  'Love is that condition in which the welfare and happiness of another are essential to your own.'  What happens when the person you love is the wrong gender?"

Rich thought about that one, sprawled out on Aidan's couch, listening idly to the classical music that had been next on the CD stack.  After a long time, long enough that Aidan glanced over from tending her sword to see if he had fallen asleep, Rich commented, "Well, whatever I do, I'm going to try not to hurt him.  If it happens.  You sound pretty sure it will."

"If you live long enough?  Almost certainly," came Aidan's quiet comment.

"Well, I hope I'm not so narrow-minded I won't at least try if I love him.  Okay, Mac and who?  Inquiring minds wanna know."  Rich settled back to hear this one.

"Oh, why not.  Don't bring this up with Duncan, by the way.  He's still thinking about it, I suspect.  Methos."

Rich blinked from sheer surprise then said, "You mean Methos is in love with Mac.  Well, that would explain a few things.  I wondered why the 5K immortal would spend so much time with somebody who's only made it to 400."

Aidan snickered.  "5K immortal?  I like it.  He'll resent that immensely.  Oh, that's wonderful.  But actually, it's mutual and I think Duncan is still trying to decide what to do."

"So are you going to give him a kick in the pants too?" Rich grinned.

"I may have this same talk with him, actually.  I'll think of something. ' But something needs to be done, they're going to make themselves miserable at this rate.  That's stupid.  Love is too damn rare to do this.  Duncan helped beat that into my head, only fair I should return the favor."  Aidan stood up and stretched.  "Well, I promised to take the afternoon aikido class since Duncan had a departmental party to attend.  Can I talk you into giving me a ride?  I'll get him to drop me back off so I can scold him?"

Rich snorted at the idea.  "Oh, yeah.  But you don't really think Mac's going to go to bed with Methos, do you?"

Aidan rolled her eyes.  "What would you care to bet?"

"Huh.  How 'bout the loser buys the winner dinner?  How soon?"

"Oh, say, the next five years, although I don't think it will take nearly so long."

"Five?! Yeah, I guess we've got time.  Okay.  Done.  You think Methos will make a move that soon?"  Rich gathered up his jacket and the bag with his workout clothes.

"Methos?  Duncan's going to have to make the first move.  Methos won't.  And yes, that soon."

"Whoa, you think Mac's going to start this?  Uh-uh, I can't see it."

Aidan activated the alarm before walking out into the still, humid air then sighed, "Storm coming.  And yes, Duncan will have to.  Methos won't jeopardize friendship over something as simple as patience.  But I'll bet you another dinner that if they do, Mac initiates it."

"You're on.  I like good seafood and since you'll be buying...."

* * * *

The last child from the aikido class bounced out, talking excitedly with her parents about the neat hold she had learned, and could they go to the zoo tomorrow?  Aidan traded a sympathetic look with the frazzled father; he had enrolled his daughter in martial arts partly in hope of diverting some of her non-stop energy.  Still chuckling, Aidan made a few notes for Duncan on some things she'd seen that he might or might not want to work with the children on.  His class, his choice.

That done, she ran the push broom around the gym floor, trying to clean up a bit before the next wave of students hit.  When the wave of immortal presence poured over her, Aidan stepped into a shadow in the dojo before she ever thought about it, quickly pulling a katana off the wall. ' Whoever this was, she didn't know him.

The man striding through the doors stopped short, looking around, then continued forward, tulwar out.  "I know you're here.  Come out, come out, wherever you are."  She appraised him quickly as he drew his sword.  Short, maybe a couple inches shorter than she was, but he had shoulders like a linebacker and probably forty pounds of muscle she didn't have.  No great surprise on someone using a blade as heavy as a tulwar, which was basically a scimitar with a wider blade.  The other immortal also had green, spiked hair, a beer belly, a pierced nose, and could have posed as an advertisement for a bad Mad Max rip-off.

"I'm right here," Aidan replied, stepping out behind him as he moved forward, heavy boots noisy on the wooden floors.  He turned to face her, not nearly as quickly as she would have spun under the circumstances, Aidan noted, and there were holes all around his defensive stance.

"Well, well.  A Scottish groupie.  I'm not here for you, slut.  I want Ramirez' student."

Aidan smiled at him, a carefully pleasant expression, as she replied, "Congratulations.  You found me."

"I want MacLeod, not some little bitch who thinks posing with a blade should win the fight."

"You should have been more specific.  Your challenge is for the line of Ramirez.  I accept.  When and where shall we fight?"

"Like I said, I'm here for MacLeod, bitch. Go home and play with your dolls before I take your sword away and teach you manners."

"Your challenge was issued and has been accepted.  MacLeod isn't here, you'll have to settle for me. ' Ask nicely and I'll have him come along to wait for the next bout.  But turn your back without agreeing to the challenge and I take your head." ' Aidan hadn't moved an inch although her smile had gone feral.  From behind her she felt another immortal approach and realized it was Duncan.

"I only came for one head, but I'll...." he trailed off, as the Highlander came into range.  "Well, well, the gang's all here."

Duncan stepped into the dojo, katana drawn and at guard.  "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"I'm Ned White, and I'm here for your head, not your girlfriend's."  The green-haired immortal moved toward Duncan and Aidan's katana whistled as it cut air in front of him, blocking his way.

"Ah, ah, idiot.  Challenge is issued and accepted.  You fight me first.  From the smell you don't bathe in anything else, so I'll wash you in your own blood."

"He challenged you?"  Duncan's growl caught Aidan's attention.

"He challenged the line of Ramirez.  Last I looked that included me.  I was here, you weren't, I accepted."  She shrugged, body language implying she considered this perfectly normal.

"He came for me, Aidan, not you."

"MacLeod, I'm not fighting you, I'm fighting him."  Aidan continued to watch White, part of her mind distracted with the question of what the hell Duncan's problem was.

"Shut up, bitch, I'm here for the fighter, not the fuckpiece."

Aidan and Duncan both snarled, "Shut up!"  She continued, "One of us will fight you, never fear.  After that comment, definitely me.  Look, Duncan, either age before beauty, or ladies first.  Either way, I get him."

Duncan glared at her.  "You are not fighting my battles for me."

"Gods, no.  The bastard stinks; he's insulting, offensive and repetitive; and his sartorial style hurts the eyes.  I'm killing him as a community service.  Come along, and if I lose, have at him."

Duncan drew a deep breath, exasperated and outraged, then switched to Gaelic.  "I'm not Rich. I don't need to be protected.  He came here for my head, damn it!"

"So he did.  But Duncan, he came in with sword drawn looking for my teacher's line.  Fine, so he found us.  What's the problem?  Shall I let you have my next fight in recompense?"

White cut in.  "Age before beauty?  You mean you're older 'n him?"

Aidan tilted her head to one side, teeth bared in something that was not a smile.  "Yes."

"Fine.  Wait a sec.  He said Duncan MacLeod."

Aidan couldn't help it. ' She started snickering.  "Oh, Gods, this is beautiful.  Don't tell me you thought you were challenging Connor MacLeod."

"Word is, the Highlander runs a martial arts school in Seacouver.  Who the fuck is he?"  Frustration did not look well on his face, but under a nose broken that many times, nothing did.

In chorus, Aidan and Duncan replied, "Same clan, different vintage."

"Aidan, I've known Connor longer."

"True, very true."  Aidan watched the challenger get increasingly upset and she grew more amused by the second.  This is thoroughly ridiculous....  "On the other hand, he's looking for a student of Ramirez; that's me."

"I'm here for MacLeod, damn it."  White looked back and forth between the two immortals, having finally realized they were between him and the only door.

"Oh, shut up.  Sweet Gods, you can tell immortality isn't distributed along with brains!  Look, moron, who do you think you are?  The Kurgan lost to Connor!  I'm almost tempted to give you his address and go along to watch the slaughter."  Aidan snarled the words, trying to impart wisdom through sheer intensity, as logic obviously wasn't working.

Duncan finally found his sense of humor and started chuckling.  "Y'know, this does look incredibly silly.  All right, White, or Green, or whatever your name is--"

"Ned White, Highlander."

"Right, whatever.  Eight o'clock tonight at the old lighthouse.  One of us will be there to fight you, as soon as we sort out who gets the pleasure or the duty.  Now get out of my dojo."  Duncan waved White out with his free hand and Aidan backed cautiously away to give him room.

"Where is it?"

Exasperated, Duncan growled, "Buy a map.  You can read, can't you?"

"Oh.  Yeah."  White left still muttering, barely remembering to tuck his sword away on the way out.  Aidan and Duncan somehow controlled themselves until they heard the all too predictable motorcycle start up.  Once he caught her eye, though, they both gave in to gales of laughter.  They finally ended up on the floor, swords at their sides and still grinning.

Aidan asked, "Feeling better?  You were in something of a temper when you got in."

Duncan rolled his eyes, irritated again. "You mean I don't have lipstick all over me and paw marks on my shoulders?"

"Not on the jacket lapels, anyway."  Aidan leaned over, brushed at his collar, and smiled.  "Not here, either.  So what happened, dearheart?  And do you want a backrub before or after we continue this discussion?"

"After.  No, one of the other faculty members got divorced this winter; apparently she is completely recovered and very interested.  She won't take 'no' for an answer, and I'm getting tired of being polite.  And then I came in and you were taking a challenge in my dojo, and--"

"And you felt like I was trying to protect you?  I don't think of you as a child, Dhonnchaidh, have I been treating you as one?  If so, I apologize profoundly."

Duncan drew a deep breath, then another.  "No.  I was in a bad mood and took it out on you.  Sorry.  If anything, I think I may be jealous that you and Rich are doing so well."

Aidan stood up and resheathed the katana.  "I'm glad you keep these here.  No need to apologize.  I should thank you, you know.  Yes, Rich and I are getting along well, but he's taking so nicely to what I'm teaching because you did an excellent job.  Have I stolen too much of his time from you?'

Duncan stood up.  "No, just... I never could get him to read or study."

"I'm six times your age, Dhonnchaidh, and I've trained more than twenty students.  You learn a few tricks over the years.  Practice does pay off."  Aidan held out a hand to pull him off the floor.  "Come along, if we're going to discuss who gets to kill Hygiene Boy, let's go do it someplace neutral like a booth at Joe's over iced tea."

"Fine, let me go ask Rich if he'd mind running the dojo for a while.  Is he upstairs?  You realize it's going to rain tonight?"  Duncan stood, heading to the phone.

"That will be the only thing that makes the fight interesting, most like.  Yes, he's upstairs, he said something about catching up on laundry.  I'll go change back into my street clothes and we can go."

* * * *

Joe smiled and waved to two of his favorite patrons as they came in, although Aidan was also technically his part-time employee.  "Damn, how are you two doing?  Haven't seen you both in one place since Lammas."

Aidan shrugged.  "Been busy, Joe.  I may go hiking next Sunday, though."

He shook his head admiringly.  "You swore you'd get two-thirds of that translation work done by mid-August and go hit the trails.  Congratulations, Aidan.  Gonna make deadline, then?"

"Gods, yes.  I have to, if I ever want another job from them, and better I do it than some of these idiots who can't believe the Romans had a sense of humor!"  Aidan rolled her eyes, then dramatically put the back of one hand to her forehead, adopting  a pompous tone and gloomy face.  "Morals and ethics only, you do realize, my dear man!  Only the most lofty of subjects need be discussed."

She laughed abruptly, dropping back to her usual tone and merry smile.  "Remind me to read you some of the Satyricon, sometime, or perhaps some of Martial's works.  Oh, hells, that little gossipmonger Suetonius!  Sweet Lady defend us from guardians of the common good.  Anyway, two iced teas if you would."  A quick motion of Aidan's chin told Joe who she meant as she said, "He and I need to hold a minor disagreement, then we'll come be social."

Joe shook his head, a gusty sigh escaping as he did.  "Okay, try to keep the collateral damage down.  Tea's on the house, you two."  The only other patrons were at the other side of the bar, playing darts by the jukebox they kept feeding.

Duncan sighed.  "Thanks, Joe.  This shouldn't be too bad."

"Yell if you need a referee."  Joe passed them the iced teas and reached for the phone which had just started ringing.  "Joe's, Joe speaking."

Aidan had turned toward the table, but she froze at Joe's next comment.  "Okay, Detective Knight, how can I help you?"

Duncan turned back to see what was keeping her and raised an eyebrow at the worried look on her face.  "What is it?"

She raised a hand, to cut off his words, and kept listening to Joe's side of the conversation.  "An arson and probable murder?  Detective, you do realize I'm on the other side of the continent from you?  ...  Uh-huh.  No, I don't have any regulars by that name.  What did he look like? ...  No, he doesn't strike a chord.  ...  Really?  Damn.  Well, hold on a second, I have my calendar under the bar, let's see--  No, bartender on duty that morning was Renee.  She went home an hour ago.  ...  I agree, if the call was only twenty seconds, I doubt she'd remember much.  ...  Right.  Look, if you have any other questions feel free to call.  For that matter, if you're ever in Seacouver stop by.  ...  Yeah, good luck, Detective."

Joe hung up, glanced at Aidan and saw the tension in her shoulders.  "That was Detective Knight of the Toronto Police.  Someone named Hans Clausewitz, living outside Toronto, is missing and presumed dead in Seacouver.  His house burned down a couple weeks ago, too.  Apparently, he made a call here one day in May before he vanished, one of several calls to Seacouver but this was the only privately-owned establishment."

Aidan sighed in relief and stepped back to the bar, pitching her voice not to carry.  "Oh.  I was afraid of something like this.  You did say Knight?  Nicholas Knight, I hope?  Slight French accent, pleasant tenor?"

"Yeah, that's him.  One of you?"

A soft chuckle, then, "No, but he knows exactly what happened and why.  He'll make damned sure this doesn't get solved."

"Aidan, wasn't burning the house a bit extreme?" Joe asked levelly, wondering what had gone wrong.  Having a Toronto cop call about immortal business had spooked even him a little bit.

"Not even close, Joe.  Leaving it intact would have been worse.  He had your name and address over his computer, Connor's current identity and business, also with addresses, two of my names....  That man had enough information and evidence in his files to start a witch hunt if any police had found it.  I couldn't be sure Nick would get the case, so I torched the place down to the foundations.  What's the line from Aliens?  'We pull back and nuke it from orbit.  Only way to be sure.'  I had to, Joe."

Duncan had come with her to listen; now he wrapped an arm around her waist.  "That bad?"

She shivered.  "Worse.  I'm serious, Duncan, he had information on at least three dozen of us that would have resulted in a witch-hunt or 'recruitment' by a government agency.  It was... bad."

"All right, you two.  Go have your argument, then come back and talk to me about something pleasant.  Get."  Joe waved them away in motions reminiscent of a farmwife shooing chickens off the porch.

Once they settled into the booth, Duncan saluted her with his glass.  "All right, ladies first.  Why should you get him?"

"Several reasons.  One, I'm the one who caught all the insults.  I should have been grateful for slut and bitch, I suppose, compared to fuckpiece, but I still want his head.  Two, he wanted Ramirez' student.  You never studied with him; I did.  Three, I'm the one who was there; I accepted the challenge.  So, rebuttal, counter-argument?"

Studying the relaxed, lounging figure in front of him, Duncan wrenched his mind away from more sensual considerations and back to the argument.  "Okay.  You were the one absorbing the insults, no argument.  But he came looking for a male opponent, one of the MacLeod's.  No, I didn't study with Ramirez, but I did study with Connor and you -- close enough.  You're older, trickier, and have less mass to absorb that weapon.  He's bigger, heavier, and I don't want you sliding in mud and taking a strike from that damn tulwar.  He wants 'the Highlander,' " and Duncan did a very good mimicry of White's accent.  "Fine.  Let him fight one of us.  I'm with you, it would be tempting to give him Connor's address, but why bother?  I'll deal with him here and we tell Connor about it later.  Counter-rebuttal?"

Aidan sipped her tea and quietly said, "Now who's protecting who?"

"Aidan!"  Duncan sat bolt upright.

"I'm smaller and weaker, so you want to take the fight.  What else do you call it?"

"I want you to live, damn it."  Duncan flushed under the calm regard from across the table.

"As I said you're trying to protect me.  Duncan, putting aside the fact that I look younger than you do, I'm six times your age.  I was past my second millennia before your great-great-grandparents were conceived.  Why would you think I'll lose a fight at this late date to a biker thug with delusions of skill?"

"I don't, I just--  Aidan, he challenged a MacLeod in my dojo.  It feels like he's my problem."

She sighed and traced circles on the table with one finger.  "There's one other thing, you know.  You, Methos, and Connor are among the strongest of the immortals.  Connor took the Kurgan; you took Caspian and Kronos; Methos took Silas, and he is who he is.  I have a goodly amount of power in the Game myself, but I'm not in your league.  If one of us is to lose, it needs to be me."

"Damn it, woman--"  Duncan fell silent as Aidan leaned over and placed her hand over his mouth.

"My challenge, Dhonnchaidh, already accepted.  You may come and watch, take his head if I fail, but it's mine.  I will not yield this point. Have done."  Grey eyes stared him down, deadly serious on this matter; she stood up, finished with the discussion for her part.

"And what do I tell Methos if you lose?"  Worry edged his words and sharpened his voice as her hand slid away from his mouth.

"You tell him I love you both and will see one of you in twenty years or so for training.  I will be back in a new body, a new life, within the sun's turning, Dhonnchaidh.  My Lady assures me I'm in the Game for the long haul."  Aidan leaned in and kissed him firmly on the mouth, not completely a lover's kiss, but more intimate than merely friendly.  "All will be well, dearest.  Don't fret so.  Will you come along tonight?"

Brown eyes blazing, Duncan reached up and pulled her back in for another kiss, more passionate than hers had been.  When he let go of her, they were both startled to realize that she sat curled on his lap and in his arms, but all he said was, "Yes, I'll be there, damn it.  Don't you dare lose."

"I shall be most careful, I assure you.  Besides, we'll be fighting in the storm.  That's more my element than his.  Come along, let's go reassure Joe that we've reached a pitched truce."

Joe watched them walk back to the bar and didn't pretend he hadn't been paying attention.  "You two still speaking?"

"Of course, Joe.  Whiskey for Duncan if you would, please, on my tab.  I'm sticking to tea.  What's the weather supposed to do tonight?  Storm, I assume?"

Joe glanced back and forth between them as he poured Mac a shot of single malt.  "Yeah, storms all night, starting sometime late this afternoon."

Aidan sipped at her tea, touched Duncan's shoulder gently as he downed his whiskey.  "Sit, Dhonnchaidh, your shoulders are a wreck."

He slid onto a stool and groaned as her hands dug into knots, probing, pressing, loosening the muscles then soothing them.  Fingers worked quickly and surely, searching in almost instinctive patterns, knowing that a tension here meant there was almost surely another stress there.  Sitting there with her eyes closed, the abstracted look on Aidan's face would have made a casual observer think she was daydreaming, not searching intently along patterns of pain to release them.  Joe had felt those strong fingers before and understood Mac's grimace perfectly.  The momentary pain would transform to pleasure immediately -- as soon as she stopped and everything relaxed simultaneously.

When she finally finished, shaking her hands vigorously, Duncan sighed and sagged against the bar.  Aidan stroked firmly along his shoulders and back, pressing muscles back into their normal positions.  "Better?"

"Much.  You could make a fortune with those hands, you know."

"Been there, done that."  She shrugged.  "They didn't sell t-shirts in those days.  Do let me know when you have another faculty party, though, by all means.  I'll come along and scent mark you in front of her, should you wish."

Joe snorted at the thought of Aidan rubbing up against Duncan and head-butting him like an oversized cat.  "So, Mac, tell me all about this clinging vine you ran into."

* * * *

Water fell in torrents, drenching the ground, pounding against the car roof, and nearly obliterating the headlights of the Range Rover.  Aidan glanced at Duncan, who was sitting in the passenger seat, and asked, "So whose idea was eight o'clock, anyway?  Yours or mine?"

She heard his chuckle rather than saw it.  "I think I'm the idiot who said it.  Going to forgive me?"

"Oh, assuredly.  Do you think he'll actually show?"  Aidan sat in the driver seat, tapping her fingers steadily against the sheath of her scimitar.  The drumming sound blended with the rain until the whole world seemed to be waiting for this fight.

"He's too stupid not to.  A smart man would have called the dojo and changed the time for this."  Duncan pushed the seat back even farther to accommodate his long legs and settled himself more comfortably.  "Why scimitar?  I've never seen you fight with that."

"Oh, I fought with one for six centuries, more or less.  And I still practice with it, never fear.  His blade is too heavy for me to try and take him with saber if I don't have to."  Aidan shrugged and checked to be sure her hair was securely bound and coiled.  Duncan reached over, turning her head away from him.  He prodded carefully at the braids, then reset a couple of the hair pins. When he finished Aidan murmured, "Thank you," and turned back to contemplating the night.

"How long do you want to wait?"  His voice stayed calm and steady despite his loathing of this.

"We give him until nine, I'm afraid.  I don't want to have to hunt him down tomorrow."  A steady growl punctuated her words and Aidan sighed.  "Well, I suppose that answers that.  Only twenty minutes late.  Should I be impressed, do you think?"

Duncan heard the approaching motorcycle through the slowing patter of raindrops; the familiar sense of an approaching immortal stroked across his skin.  "Well, in some ways his timing is good.  Come on.  If you're determined to do this, we won't get a better time."

"Yes."  Aidan stepped out into the rain, not bothering with a coat to conceal her blade.  What point?  Both it and she would be soaked quickly enough as it were.  Standing just back of the light cast by the car, she waited for the challenger.

"Going to let the woman fight your battles, MacLeod?  Two of you in one night is fine with me."  Ned White set the kickstand on his bike -- a gorgeous Harley Davidson hog, Aidan noticed, wondering who he'd stolen it from -- and pulled out his tulwar.  "Come on, bitch, it's wet enough already."

She nodded, silent as always when death hovered so near.  In the light cast by her car, she moved into a guard position and waited for him to move.  Both her hands were wrapped around the hilt:  the right ready to release it, the left uppermost and holding firm for his first strike.  Aidan settled her soul into silence, enjoying the rain on her face, the wet grass under bare feet.

Moving into the light, White laughed, a sound meant to be cruel and mirthless that ended up callow rather than callous.  He hesitated for a moment then raised his sword to take the battle to her.  In that instant, Aidan moved.  Her right hand yanked a throwing knife from the back of her neck and threw; she dove behind it, hitting the ground in a rolling somersault over her own blade.  The knife hit high in the muscle of his shoulder as she came up and sliced across his belly with the scimitar.

Almost immediately, though, the damp played hell with her strategies.  Still rolling, she moved past White, knowing he had doubled over the wound she inflicted.  What she meant to do was come back around with a backhand and take his now exposed head.  One foot slid in the grass and all the slice did was catch his ribs, laying him open from just under the armpit up and back to the nape of the neck.  In the moment it took her to come back up and desperately reset her balance, White turned.

Convinced that she was unprepared to fight him head on, he brought his blade up for an overhead shot.  While his hands were up at shoulder height, White yanked loose her knife with a grunt and threw it back at her.  He missed badly, but charged after it and brought his tulwar down at her shoulder.  The crashing impact of 185 pounds of man and blade drove Aidan to one knee in the grass, but she held against it and pressed back to her feet desperately as he cocked another shot.

Standing in the rain, well back from the fight to reduce the temptation to help, Duncan watched grimly and took mental notes on White's style.  The shorter, heavier man whaled away at Aidan, slamming shot after shot at her torso.  The blows kept coming at her -- too low to duck, too high to jump, and it was too wet for her to dance in and out of his range as she normally would.  That first loss of balance had made the Highlander's heart ascend to his throat and it had yet to retreat again.

Duncan flinched in empathy; her arms had to be hurting, blocking bone-rattling shots again and again with little room for leverage and no chance to bring her own particular strengths to this.  Aidan's fighting style depended more upon speed, agility, and timing than sheer muscle for this very reason.  Strong though she kept herself, she had always known that men carried more upper-body strength.  First the grass had been slick, denying her traction, and now the mud their feet had churned up denied her speed as well.

From within the fight, Aidan would have agreed with Duncan if she could have spared the time and thought.  Even immortal healing could only do so much for the damage she was taking; White moved just fast enough that she couldn't strike at him and still have time to block his next swing.  Already a couple of his shots had forced her own blade back against her torso with bruising results.  Her arms would hold for only another few shots at this rate, she knew, then they would give way and she would be dead.

In her mind, she heard Ramirez' wry, resonant baritone voice from a discussion long ago. Well, you're smaller and prettier; an opponent is going to assume you play dirty.  Usually you don't, so after the first few minutes, he'll assume you won't.  Once he comes to this decision  -- then you can start.  At that moment, Aidan changed strategies as swiftly as her convoluted mind could manage.

In the mist-filled light from the car, the taller, more slender woman still held her own to Duncan's practiced eyes, balanced just slightly forward on bare feet against the constant slamming impacts of the biker's blade.  Immortal fights were rarely this still, but there was no light except the pool they stood in and no traction anywhere, so they fought in one place for the most part, striking and blocking again and again in a battle that had come down to sheer strength rather than skill.  Then a blow drove Aidan down to her knees, weight back on her heels.  The rain sparkled off her braided hair in the light as she fought not to fall backwards.

The Highlander growled low in his throat without realizing it but held himself back by an effort of pure will.  The rule was one on one; he had held to that too many years to break it now.  Not even for a line-sister -- not even for Aidan.  But he unsheathed his katana, knowing that the moment White stood from her quickening, his head would leave his shoulders.  While Duncan watched, White's next strike drove her blade down and to one side, her arms too tired to bring the scimitar back to guard.

The green-haired biker pulled his blade up and back over one shoulder seeing his opponent on her knees in front of him, scimitar too far out of line to block his tulwar.  "There can be only one!"

Aidan came up off her heels with the full force of her powerful legs, arms straightening as her body did, blade driving through his solar plexus and up into his chest cavity with all of her mass behind it.  His arms had been swinging up and back with the sword.  Rain swallowed his strangled scream as he fell backwards, impaled, trapping his own blade beneath his body when he landed in the churned-up mud.

 Duncan took one impulsive step forward, then stopped.  The immortal woman half-lunged, half-fell forward.  Bracing herself on White's chest with one hand, she pulled the scimitar free with the other and pushed back up onto her knees.  Her voice sounded exhausted and grim as she called, "Not if I can help it, you bastard."  The scimitar swung up then down with both her hands on the hilt for the extra force.

In the rain, the dim light rising up around White's body was nearly invisible; his quickening was mercifully short-lived.  Aidan lay in the mud, letting it pound across her, driving her farther into the trampled muck of grass and dirt, too tired to restrain her own scream of pain as the lightning tore across her.  She felt his personality settle into her mind and almost casually she forced it down and away.  He had been too young, too shallow, to be any serious threat to her sanity.

Still lying there, aware that the mud felt blessedly cool against her heated, aching body, she heard Duncan's voice.  "Shall I throw the motorcycle in the back of your truck?"

Head turned to one side so as not to breathe mud, blood splattered across her face, Aidan couldn't help laughing.  "Would you, please?  Maybe Rich will show me how to ride it."

She never moved as she heard the tailgate slam down and Duncan's grunt of effort as he lifted the motorcycle.  Rain washed the blood off her face, began to soak the blood from her hair, as she rested in the mud.  Duncan left for a few minutes; Aidan assumed he was dealing with the body, but it was just too much effort to sit up yet.

In just another minute, I'll get up and pull these clothes off.  I'll get in the truck and dry off, stuff the wet clothes in that trash bag, and pull on the dry clothes in my duffel.  In just a minute.  Sweet Lady my arms hurt.  And my shoulders, and my back, and my ribs, and my stomach....

Duncan's presence washed over her and Aidan knew she had been lying there more than the minute she had allotted herself.  So she forced herself up to her knees grimly.  As she paused for the next effort, the pouring rain began to wash the blood and muck off.

Duncan tossed some things onto the front seat of the Range Rover, then he came back and unceremoniously pulled Aidan to her feet with an arm around her ribs.  He pushed her at the passenger seat of the Range Rover and said, "Get those wet things off."  Not waiting for an answer, he retrieved both her scimitar and the tulwar, throwing the second sword carelessly in the back of her truck.  Her sword he sheathed carefully and slid into the sword-bag attached to her duffel, then pitched the bag and his wet coat in the back of the truck.

The sight of her arms under the interior light made him wince.  Little bolts of lightning crackled continuously along her skin, a sure sign of immortal healing, and he realized that her bones had half-broken again and again in stress fractures from the impacts she had withstood.  Across her shoulders from fingertip to opposite fingertip, the blue-black of bruising mottled her skin.  Her hands were swollen as blood rushed to knit bone back into place.

Duncan used Aidan's belt dagger to slice off her tank shirt rather than ask her to move her arms. Toweling the worst of the liquids off her torso, he pulled a sweatshirt from her duffel and tugged it down over her, arms and all, for greater warmth.  Aidan braced her back against the seat and managed to lift her hips without using her arms as Duncan quickly removed soaked, mud-coated denim leggings off her.  Again, he dried her off, and helped her pull on the sweatpants, setting the damp towel under her.

She threw him a rueful smile, well aware that the towel was dry compared to the car seat.  In a blasé voice ruined by chattering teeth as she began to go into shock Aidan murmured, "Next time, I let you have the challenge, yes?"

Duncan nodded, not trusting his voice for that one.  He reached into her duffel bag one more time and pulled out the trench coat she kept there, draping it across her for additional warmth.  He started up the truck and turned on the heater as they headed back into the city, paying just enough attention to the speed limit not to get pulled over.  Within five minutes, Aidan had dozed off, still shivering slightly.

Go back to Dancing Days
Go on to First Harvests, Part 2
Go on Prelude to the Storm

Comments, Continuity Errors, Opinions?  Please send them here.  Be advised, all flames will be donated to the nearest home for orphaned dragonlings.

The harvest has been brought in by at least  people since this story was reformatted 11/17/99.

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