Disclaimers:  If a character looks familiar from Highlander the Series, I don't claim credit.  If they don't look familiar, they're mine and I do claim credit. Not that it matters -- I'm certainly not making money off of these. If you want to borrow characters, talk to me.  I'm not completely unreasonable.
Rated:  R for strongly implied sex, both m/f and m/m.  If this isn't your cup of tea, hit the back button.  But don't say I didn't warn you.
This one is pretty self-contained, but if you're confused try starting at First Harvests or Absent Companions.

Poaching, Pt. 4
 

~*~*~*~*~

Night 23

Still laughing from their shower, Aidan and Duncan pushed Methos into the center of the bed.  "Move, you, it's cold," Aidan said.

"Gripe, gripe, gripe.  Shall we put you in the middle then?" he asked.

"No, you'll steal the covers and then he and I will freeze," she pointed out.

Duncan solved the argument by climbing in the middle.  "Come get warm, both of you.  I'll trade places with you after a while, Methos."  He hissed when Aidan's wet braid caught his side.  "How does your hair get that cold between the shower and the bed?"

She shrugged.  "It's a long walk and it's February?  I don't know, Duncan.  Maybe I should have put the bed in the other corner of the floor but I didn't want to be that close to the stairwell."

Methos finished burying himself in the Scot's side, more than his fair share of the blanket tucked around his shoulders, and cheerfully fought the usual evening war over who got the covers.  Aidan sighed at last and pulled an extra comforter up from the foot of the bed, draping it over her side and shifting her braid so that it was away from Duncan.  "There.  At least I might not freeze tonight."

The younger man chuckled at that and wrapped one arm tightly around Methos.  "Warm now?"

"Getting there," he purred, the sound muffled both by the cloth partly over his chin and the fact that his mouth was tucked against Duncan's chest.

"Good."  Duncan's other arm tightened around Aidan's waist and she answered with a contented sigh, her own arm thrown across his waist to catch Methos' arm, one leg wrapped up over Duncan's thigh.

Silence fell, and after a few minutes Aidan's attention was drawn by some aspect of the quiet.  Then she realized that, judging by the muscle tension under her arm and the quality of their breathing, neither of the men was drifting off to sleep.  "Loves?  What is it?"

"About Marc?"  Duncan's voice was thoughtful as he searched for words to ask something; Aidan's body lay very still against him as she waited to hear them.  "When are you going to contact his family?"

That was not even remotely what she had expected to hear.  "Dhonnchaidh, why in the many Names of the Consort would I do that?  They think he's dead, love."

Now the startled silence came from the two on the other side of the bed.  Methos finally said quietly, "No, Edana, they don't.  Joe says they've had a missing person report out on him for the last two years."

Aidan said nothing for a long while.  Only the steady, deliberate pace of her breath told them she was awake.  She spoke into the dark silence between the bed's draperies at last, saying, "Chris told Marc he'd rescued him from the morgue -- that that was why he had no clothes, no wallet, no other way of life than to go with him.  Do you know, I may yet challenge Owain?" 

Methos shrugged against Duncan.  "Can you take him?"

"Probably," she answered as if the question and its answer were unimportant, then gasped as Duncan's arm cut off her air when it tightened.

"Until that answer is 'of course,' " the Highlander growled, "don't even think it.  Let Damien do it.  Or Xan or Alex if they're up to it, or Connor.  Don't you dare commit suicide on us."

"Dhonnchaidh," Aidan gasped, "I can't breathe."  His arm loosened immediately and Aidan drew a deep breath, then rubbed at her ribs.  "Gods, man, don't do that.  I'm not going to get myself killed, I have things to do -- like spend the next few centuries with you two."

"Good," Methos commented lightly.  "About time you did something hedonistic.  You never take vacations."

"And how many doctorates do you have?" the Irish woman asked sardonically.  "A fine one you are to be lecturing, teacher mine.  Besides, I think two lovers this skilled is hedonism.  That was you two making me scream earlier, was it not?"

Duncan smiled at the rhetorical question and rubbed her sore ribs in apology.  "About Marc's family, though?"

"Gods, yes, we get him back in touch if they just think he's missing," she answered promptly.  "The question becomes, what do we tell them about where he's been?  And how do we tell him we got the information?"

Methos spoke in a contemplative tone of voice that told Edana he'd been plotting.  "For the latter, we tell him Joe looked into it for us.  He already thinks Joe has some hacker friends.  True enough," the oldest immortal smiled.  "Joe does.  Most of them have tattoos, that's all.  For the story, though?  Why not tell them large chunks of the truth and pretend ignorance of the motivations?"

Duncan groaned.  "You're going to use the truth to lie?"

"Would they believe the truth, MacLeod?  Think about it," Methos said calmly.  "Granted, it's rare, but you do occasionally hear about psychos kidnapping some youngster for company and Marc didn't look his age when he was taken.  We simply don't tell them about immortals, or a dagger in a back alley, or that Henslowe brought the boy to Seacouver."

Aidan said thoughtfully, "Well, we all like camping.  Shall we say we found him working his way downstream to civilization and rescued him?"

Duncan found himself helping with the plotting.  "We found him on my island, then?  Marc's seen pictures; he could describe it easily enough.  And if I were lost, I might stay there for a day to get food and rest before heading on into the city."

"Good enough," Methos mused.  "And he got free because Chris -- no last name, I think -- didn't come back after a few days.  Probably fell and killed himself checking some fur traps."

"That certainly happens," Duncan nodded.  "Or got caught in a bad storm?"

"Storm's easier," Aidan pointed out.  "All it takes is a bad fall and broken or strained leg, no shelter... by far the most believable story.  We'll need to slice this whole thing with Ockham's Razor, gentlemen."

"Just remember to leave holes in it," Methos reminded her.  "We shouldn't know the whole story, and since Chris is 'dead,' we 'never will.'  Let his family draw their own conclusions on some of it, then they'll be more likely to believe everything we tell them."

Duncan rolled his eyes, but stayed silent.  Methos caught his distaste for the manipulation over their link and raised up just enough to kiss his lover.  "We can't tell them the truth, Highlander.  So we'll tell them as much of it as we can.  Now, how do we keep him in Seacouver for training?  They'll want him to come home to Philadelphia."

"Bad associations?" Aidan answered.  "And truly, Dhonnchaidh, while I hate to put Marc through it, his body language will make sure his family believes him.  He did have a nasty time, and he doesn't hide his reactions well enough yet that his family won't be able to read him.  And look at him.  He's still a good fifteen pounds underweight.  By the time we get enough muscle on him, he'll probably have a fighting weight twenty or thirty pounds over where he is now.  So we claim we took a couple weeks to get him calmed down and some food in him before checking to see where his family was and what his legal status was."

The Scot sighed and put aside his reservations.  As usual, they were being sensible.  He simply disliked lying.  Once he'd come to that conclusion, though, Duncan turned his mind to the other problem.  "How do we tell Marc?  He'll want to call his family and go home for a little while at least."

Aidan groaned.  "And I've got a meeting with my finance manager tomorrow."

"And you promised to go shopping with Amanda," Methos reminded her. 

"I can talk to Marc," Duncan offered.  "He's going to classes with me, remember, at both the University and the dojo."

Aidan nodded thoughtfully.  "And you and I both understand how much of a draw his family will be to him.  Would you mind, dearest?  It can wait until tomorrow night, if you'd rather."

"No," Duncan said firmly.  "It can't.  He's got a right to know his family thinks he's alive.  I'll do it, Aidan.  How soon are you willing to head to Philadelphia with him?  I assume you're going?"

"Oh, I'm going," she answered.  "Rich, too, possibly, just so Marc's family knows he's got friends his age here.  I'll discuss it with him tomorrow.  Are you two going?"

She could feel them thinking about it, discussing it back and forth across their linked quickenings, although Aidan had no sense of what they were saying except through body language.  At last Duncan sighed and said, "All right, you'll stay here then.  If we leave this weekend, can you proctor my exam, Methos?"

Methos kissed him slowly and thoroughly in apology.  "I think I can manage a class of juniors, MacLeod," he muttered when they came up for air.  "Not a problem.  But one of us should stay, and I'm in the middle of the legal paperwork with Joe to buy out the Seacouver branch of Shakespeare and Company."

Aidan nodded slowly.  "And Marc's family might not think a gay couple is suitable company for him."

"There's that, too," Methos said calmly.  "This is a very close-minded century we're in.  But I don't want to leave Joe in the lurch, either."

"Tweaking the Watchers' collective noses?" Aidan asked curiously. 

He shrugged and said, "Just giving Joe a chance to do what he thinks needs to be done instead of being completely reliant on their money.  With the purchase providing some capital, he can afford to hire Mike as bar manager and bring in another bartender.  At that point Joe can devote his time to playing, which brings in more money."

Duncan snorted at his lover's attitude.  "And the fact that the man will be happier is completely accidental, I'm sure."

"Would I deliberately try to make Joe's life easier, MacLeod?"

The Highlander chuckled.  "It's too dark in here for you to try the wide-eyed innocence, my friend.  You're being altruistic, give up and admit it."

Methos nipped him sharply on the shoulder.  "Give me the middle of the bed and stop insulting me.  Good night, Highlander.  Good night, Flame Child."

Aidan snickered.  "Oh, you are annoyed, aren't you?  Good night, Magister."  She held the covers up as Duncan climbed over Methos, then tucked herself against her teacher's chest when he curled up, his back to Duncan's chest and her back to Methos' chest.  "Dream well, you two." 

Despite her ironic words, Aidan pulled Methos' hand up to her mouth and set a kiss in his palm.  He caressed her cheek lightly, and dropped her braid over her shoulder.  His lips ended up against the nape of her neck, and she took his kiss down into sleep with her.

~*~*~*~*~

Day 24

Marc grinned at the crowd of graduate and undergraduate students clustered around Duncan's desk even though the class was officially over, and found himself making bets on who would make the most obvious pass.  He lost in the end.  The redhead just wasn't nearly as blatant as the blond graduate student -- Stephanie, he thought he'd heard her called? 

At last the young Italian decided to take pity on his teacher's lover, and walked over to grab one handle on the box of worked silver pieces.  That and a pointed comment or two should get the idea across that yes, they really did need to leave.  "Duncan?"

The Scot turned to him with carefully concealed relief.  "What's up, Marc?"

"We're going to be late for lunch with Aidan."

"Oh, he won't mind, will he?"  Stephanie almost kept the irritation out of her voice. 

Marc said in a carefully amused voice, "Oh, I think she might.  It's Duncan's turn to buy."

Duncan repressed the grin twitching at his mouth, and answered, "Damn, you're right.  All right, let's get moving. Anyone who still has questions, I'll be in my office this afternoon from two 'til four."

Stephanie glared at Marc and whispered softly, "I'll get you for that."

Marc's eyes narrowed and his Italian temper rose up, barely throttled by conscious will.  With a deliberately insulting thoroughness he looked her up and down, then shook his head and turned his back on her.  "Some people," he muttered sotto voce, "have egos the size of Mt. Hood... but not nearly as lovely."

"What did you say?" she hissed.  Her hand rose as if to grab his arm, but then she stopped, unwilling to start a public scene she might not win.

Marc turned back and took two steps toward the blonde, backing her away from Duncan and toward the classroom desks.  Very softly, he said, "Lady, if your inside matched the outside, you'd have no problem getting whoever you wanted.  But you're just notching your garter belt, so go away."

"Some people," Stephanie said poisonously, "actually go to classes.  What are you doing here?"

"Some people," Marc answered in a silky voice as he leaned in toward her, "already have degrees and professional accreditation.  I'm a friend of Duncan's, having lunch with him and Aidan today.  And you know something?  You've got a quick mind, and a lovely face.  I wish to God your attitude lived up to them, because I bet you'd be interesting to talk to.  But conversation with you is like talking to a viper, wondering if it's going to bite.  Have a nice life, Stephanie."

"Who the hell are you to judge?  You're younger than I am," she snapped.

He looked her over.  "Maybe by a year... but it was a rough year.  Grow up, Steph.  Things -- and relationships -- are worth what you pay for them.  Nothing's free."  Without another word, Marc ignored the fuming woman behind him and went to help Duncan take the antiquities out to his car.

The Scot had been careful to keep talking to the other students still there so that all parties could pretend to ignore the tongue-lashing Marc had decided to deliver.  This ought to be an interesting story at lunch, though.  That had been downright vicious, which didn't quite fit with what the Highlander had seen of Marc's manners up until then.

Once at the T-bird, Duncan asked in amusement, "You don't really think we're meeting Aidan, do you?"

Marc shuddered.  "I'd rather not.  She's having lunch with Amanda, and those two together is really more than my luck's good for, Duncan."

"That's the truth," the Scot laughed, dark brown eyes gleaming with merriment.  "So -- soup, sandwich, burger, what?"

"Whatever," Marc shrugged, "just plenty of it.  I was in such a rush after we got in late from running that I forgot to eat breakfast."

"Meaning Aidan did, too."  Duncan started the engine and asked, "Chicken salad sandwiches and mushroom soup sound all right?  There's plenty of food at the loft and it's quick."

"Oh, the soup Adam fixed the other night?  Yeah, that sounds great."  Marc sat back against the seat and said more quietly, "Does it bother you to have me tagging along?"

Duncan waited until a traffic light stopped them, then turned and looked at the other immortal.  "No, it doesn't.  You're good company, Marc.  We don't see you as just 'Aidan's current student,' so don't you start doing it.  Aidan's commitments are a bit more irregular than mine were when I was running the antiques store.  But I don't mind helping out."

Marc nodded as they accelerated again.  "Yeah, Rich told me he lived with you and helped run the place.  Said he couldn't figure out at the time why you took him in.  Who's Sir Lancelot?"

"That's what he calls my kinsman, Connor," Duncan chuckled.  "Do you understand why we're all keeping a close eye on you, though?"

"Because Aidan's just now letting me use a live blade again?" Marc asked bluntly, slouching into the seat of the T-bird.

"Because we don't want you fighting yet," Duncan said seriously.  "This way one of us can take a challenge if it comes up.  Most of what Henslowe taught you was wrong, Marc.  There are well-known counters to most of what you already know."

"And you don't think I'd win," the younger immortal said flatly.

"At the moment it would take a miracle.  How blunt do you want me to be?" Duncan asked.

That drew a soft laugh from the young Italian.  "Are you kidding?  Be blunt, Mac, I'm used to it.  You should have heard my father lecturing me when I'd done something dumb."

"That's part of the problem.  You're still confused over your family, the Game, who to trust.  If your mind's confused, your blade will be too.  At this point only a headhunter would be challenging you; he isn't likely to have that problem.  He already knows what he wants and what he's willing to pay to get it."

Marc brought his hands up, his fingers intertwined and forefingers steepled against his lips.  "So that's why Aidan wants me to start meditating every night?"

"The more centered you are within yourself, the more likely you are to win a fight and to survive the quickening.  The older immortals don't really have that problem.  They've been themselves for so long, they don't really think about it anymore.  Sometimes that's fine; sometimes it makes them hidebound."

The younger man considered that all the way up to the loft apartment over the dojo and during the time it took to warm up the soup and assemble the sandwiches, only muttering an occasional distracted request for the lettuce or some plates.  "Okay," Marc said at last, "I'll start working on it."

Duncan nodded to him.  "Good.  Right now, though, sit down and have a beer.  We need to talk about something important."

Marc raised an eyebrow in surprise.  "What, I look like Adam?  I don't have to have a beer with lunch."  He took the proffered bottle anyway, wrapping a long-fingered hand around it.  "What's up?"

"Do you understand about clans?" 

"Sort of," Marc said cautiously, attention riveted now despite his sprawling position in the kitchen stool.  "Sort of like extended family, right?  I mean, it's like what I'm used to, where you've got all the brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and what have you all in one area.  I mean, hell, my part of Philly you couldn't walk into a store without finding out that the clerk's grandmother was third-cousin to your stepsister, you know?  Or that her great-uncle was a school rival to your grandfather."

Duncan laughed as he made up sandwiches.  "God, that sounds familiar.  Yeah, something like that.  Where everyone is connected to everyone else, like it or not -- and sometimes you didn't, but they were by God yours and you defended them against the world if it came down to it."

Marc's answering smile had the dreamy quality of a fond memory.  "Oh, yeah, like the time I got a black eye over my cousin Beth.  And then she got mad at me for not giving him one, too, and kicked him in the shins at recess the next day."

"Here, Muhammad Ali, have some lunch," the Scot chuckled as he pushed a bowl of soup over.  "How old were you?"

"Oh, ancient," Marc laughed, eyes focused on the present again.  He picked up the spoon as he answered, "Say, seven?  Eight?  Why?"

"You and Aidan and I have a lot in common," Duncan said slowly, ignoring the food in front of him as he carefully chose the words to try and make sense to the younger immortal.  "Our friends and family are a weakness, because enemies can use them against us, but they're what we draw strength from, too.  Why we get up in the morning, why we practice with weapons every day.  Clan, or family, or network, whatever you want to call it, the three of us need it."

"And Rich?" Marc asked hesitantly.  "Or Adam?"

"They make close friends, but... not as many.  Rich grew up on the streets; he still depends mostly on himself.  Adam is one of the most self-sufficient people I've ever met, by habit more than inclination I think."

Marc nodded, food forgotten as he listened.  "He doesn't trust many people, does he?"

"No," Duncan said grimly, "he doesn't.  He's never been given much cause to.  But your family is important to you, I think."

Marc accepted the change back to topic, although the thought of his family hurt like a knife in the heart.  The wry thought crossed his mind that that wasn't a figure of speech, not to him at least.  He knew exactly what a blade through the chest felt like; it had hurt less than the realization he could never go home.  "Yeah, they are.  Were, I guess.  I can't contact them."

"Put your spoon down, why don't you?" the Scot asked.  Worried amber eyes met his for a moment, then Marc did as he'd been told.  "Aidan says your family thinks you're dead.  Did you tell her that?"

"Well, when a body gets checked into the morgue...."  Marc tried for a flippant tone and made it.

"You didn't."  Duncan didn't try to pull the punches.  "Your family has a missing person report out on you, Marc.  Joe has some hacker friends; they checked for us."  Across the counter from him, the young black man froze in place, hands motionless, restless eyes stilled, barely breathing from the looks of him.  "Adam and Joe both thought that if Henslowe had lied to you about the rules of the Game that he might have lied about other things.  He did."

"I'm not dead?"  The words came out in a shaky voice and Marc didn't care.  "I can go home?"

Duncan said quietly, "You're not officially dead, no.  It hasn't been seven years.  And you can go home.  But you need to think about some things."

Marc paused, part of his mind afraid that Duncan was going to yank this away from him as Chris would have, terrified by the possibility.  Most of his mind kept repeating, I can go home.  I'm not dead, I can go home.

The Scot went on, "The reason I'm telling you is because we didn't want to make you wait to hear this.  We just pieced together the facts and the different stories last night and Aidan's busy all day.  I do understand how you feel, Marc.  I remember what it was like going home to the clan, even if only for a little while."  He paused to see if Marc was listening and smiled at the stunned look on the other man's face.

"Earth to Marc.  You in there?"

Slender, long-fingered hands wrapped tightly around the edge of the counter as Marc said quietly, "I can go home.  Oh, God.  My mother...."

"You can," Duncan agreed.  "But you need to think first.  What are you going to tell them?  Where were you?  What happened?  Why didn't you call?  Why are you in Seacouver?"  He watched those questions start to sink in and asked quietly, "Do you want to keep studying with Aidan?  How do you tell them if you do?  What are you going to do if you don't?"

"I...."  Marc took a deep breath, then let it back out.  "God, Duncan, give me a minute to think, okay?"  He took a bite of his sandwich, not really tasting it as he tried to gather scattered thoughts.  A smile cracked his face and he glanced over, saying, "Hey, at least you don't yell at me to come up with an immediate answer."

Duncan gave him an irritated look.  "Compare me to Christopher again and we do some extra sparring before my office hours."

"Oh, God, more bruises," the younger man groaned.  He applied himself to soup and beer industriously, memories of his family flooding his thoughts.

After five minutes of silence broken only by the clink of spoons on bowls, or glass being set down on the counter, Duncan sighed and said, "Would you like some suggestions?"

Marc glanced up, then pushed his empty bowl away.  "Yeah, please.  Did you talk about this last night, then?"

The Highlander nodded, running one hand through loosened dark brown hair.  "Yeah.  First things first.  I assume you do want to get back in touch with them?"

"God, yes!"

That drew an understanding smile.  "I would, too.  Okay, we think we have some ideas on what you can tell your family.  But the question still stands.  Do you want to keep studying with Aidan?"

"Aidan's based....  Oh."  Marc paused, torn now.  "She lives here.  And I wouldn't move again, either.  She's been here -- what?  Ten months?"

"About that," the Scot agreed easily.  "She moved here last May and we finished the major work on the house Midsummer's Eve."

"Ouch.  Eight months, then.  And you live here, too, and Joe."  Marc sighed and said, "And I don't think I'll find a better teacher.  Well, I went to college away from home.  It wasn't this far away, but we'll make it.  It beats being missing."

"That's a yes, then?"

"Yeah, Duncan, that's a yes," Marc said in exasperation.  "Unless she wants to get rid of me?" 

"No," the Highlander answered emphatically.  "She'd be telling you that, not me."

Marc's eyes closed as he sighed in relief.  "Oh, good."

"That's not exactly her style, Marc," Duncan pointed out.  "All right, here's what we came up with...."

~*~*~*~*~

Day 28

Marc gave the last direction, "Turn right here, third house on the right," and fell silent again.  Aidan pulled to a stop three houses past, for lack of other available parking, and looked around thoughtfully.  It was a nice, middle-class suburb, full of 1920s and '30s houses, well-shaded by trees, and full of kids and sleds on a Saturday afternoon.  She glanced at her student and smiled.

"Ready?"

Rich, meanwhile, was staring around him and shaking his head.  "You grew up here?  It looks like something out of 'The Andy Griffith Show,' Marc."  The wide streets with the medians full of huge trees and kids playing in the snow did invite the comparison.

That did draw a reluctant laugh from Marc and he ran one hand through loose black curls, a purely nervous gesture the other immortals knew.  "Yeah, sort of.  Come on, let's go in before Mama comes out to get us."

Neighbors stared as they stepped out of the rental car.  As they recognized Marc, several of them waved and called hellos to him.  He returned them a bit hesitantly, and promised one next door neighbor that he would come over and talk tomorrow.  By then the commotion had drawn attention from his house and people were streaming out to greet him.

Aidan and Duncan watched as Marc was engulfed by people, from a large-boned, now stooped, older woman to a wiry, middle-height man with short, dark curls.  Four young adults swarmed around as well, mid-teens to early twenties, Aidan would have guessed, and two golden retrievers joined the crowd, barking frantically and jumping on everyone.  The two older immortals watched the young man drop back into his life and family and exchanged matching glances of similar memories and regrets.

Duncan wrapped an arm around her waist and Rich moved to stand at his other shoulder.  Sotto voce, the young redhead muttered, "I've got a five that says we don't get introduced for another five minutes."

Aidan whispered back, "I'll take that bet.  Italian manners are usually pretty good."

Four minutes later, Marc finally surfaced from the crowd of mostly dark heads -- although Rich had definitely noticed one of his sisters who was a striking redhead with olive skin. 

"Papa, Grandmama," he said simply, "these are the people who found me." 

The older woman studied Aidan thoroughly, taking in the long trench coat, good sweater, and corduroy jeans she was wearing, the long hair neatly braided into a coronet as intricate as her own, and the arm she had wrapped around Duncan's waist.  The lack of jewelry met with a single nod, and the matriarch of the Scipios conceded her approval.

"Buon giorno, Signorina Logan," she said.  The voice was familiar to Aidan immediately, both from the phone calls of the last few days and from years of hearing similar voices roughened by calling to families, barking out orders, and in general being well-used in more than one language.

"Buon giorno, Signora Scipio," the immortal woman replied in the same language, dropping into rapid Italian.  "Your directions were excellent; thank you."

"You are most welcome.  Dinner will be ready in a little while, and you have yet to meet my daughter-in-law, Marco's mother.  You will all stay to eat, of course?"

Aidan immediately replied, "If it won't interrupt your reunion, of course we will.  May I present my friends?"  Dropping back into English, she said, "Signora Scipio, allow me to introduce Richard Ryan and Duncan MacLeod.  Duncan, Rich, this is Giovanna Scipio, Marc's grandmother."

Duncan took her hand and kissed the air just above the back of it, murmuring a pleasantry in Italian.  Aidan ruthlessly suppressed her smile as Duncan successfully turned on the charm.  Rich just shook his head.  When Giovanna turned to him, the younger immortal caught her hand in both of his and gave a very shallow bow, more an inclination of the torso than anything else, while saying he was very pleased to meet Marc's relatives.

Turning to her assembled grandchildren and children, who had yet to let Marc work his way back over to his friends, she said in a rough voice, "This is how you greet people, not this impersonation of circus performers!  Come and be introduced, hmm?"

Marc's brothers and sisters grinned at each other and her, tugging their older brother and the dogs with them to greet the newcomers.  His father kept a firm arm on his back, beaming the entire time.

"So.  My son, Antonio," Giovanna said proudly and the wiry man turned his smile on the newcomers.  He was at least a head shorter than his adopted black son, and just as obviously Marc had gotten his laconic humor and perpetual lazy smile from his father.  The lines around his mouth had come from smiling, and the grey spiking his hair at the temples suited him.

"Thank you for everything," Tony said simply.  "We can't ever repay you, but thank you."

Duncan shook his head.  "There's no need."

"Say you'll stay for dinner, at least?"  When all three of them nodded, Tony nodded and said, "My other children.  This is Julius." 

The young man who smiled had his father's dark curls and clear grey eyes.  He looked to be twenty-two or so.  "Call me Jay, please."  He had a firm handshake, even with Aidan, which was something of a rarity in her experience with young men.

Tony indicated his other son, saying, "This is Cornelius." 

The other young man was in the last of his teens; he nodded to them, the wide grin that split his face showing a chipped tooth and hazel eyes bright under light brown hair, and said cheerfully, "Everyone calls me Neil.  I'm glad you're here."

"My older daughter, Jocasta," and Tony beamed proudly at her. 

"Only to Papa and Grandmama; everyone else calls me Josie."  The redheaded young woman was maybe a year younger than Neil.  She took her attention off her oldest brother long enough to smile at the newcomers, which had Rich grinning despite himself.

"And this is my youngest child, Delicia.  Lissa, say hello properly."  The young teenager might have been fourteen.  A mass of straight, dark hair fell down her back, and she played with the ends nervously as she met the new people.  Josie unobtrusively pinched her for staring at Duncan too obviously and the younger girl jumped, then remembered her manners and said hello.

Marc grinned at his sisters and said, "These are my friends:  Aidan Logan, Duncan MacLeod, and Rich Ryan.  Where's Mama?"

Josie caught him around the waist to drag him inside.  "Making the salad, of course.  Come on, Marco, she's dying to see you but the lasagna's in the oven and she didn't want anything to burn."

"Hey, the suitcases," he protested as his sisters started to drag him off.

Jay shook his head and called, "Go see Mama, big brother, we'll take care of everything."  He walked straight to where his father was standing with Duncan and Rich and said simply, "We will, you know.  Thank you.  We'd just about given up."

Rich shook his head in admiration.  "Most folks would have given up after the first year."

Neil snorted as he pulled one of the golden retrievers off Rich again.  "Pyrite, behave.  You didn't hear Grandmother and Mama doing the daily novena at Mass, Rich.  They lit candles to saints I'd never heard of before."

Rich raised one questioning eyebrow and hastily offered, "Come on, let's get Marc's bags."

Tony lifted a hand to stop them.  "Won't you be staying with us?"

Duncan said quietly, "We'll come by as often as you like, but we thought you'd like some time with Marc by yourselves.  He's missed you desperately." 

Aidan added softly, "And he needs time with his family.  He's not completely recovered yet."

"He's too thin," Giovanna said grimly.  "Did the man not feed him?"

Aidan looked at the three Italian men still standing there, contemplating Neil, the youngest.  His steady gaze told her that he might be nineteen or twenty, but he was an adult.  She nodded once and answered flatly, "No, a lot of the time he didn't, from what Marc has and hasn't said.  If he was angry with Marc, for whatever reason, your grandson didn't get fed.  A good bit of the time he didn't get sleep, either.  Marc's doing better, he hasn't had nightmares for a week now, but Christopher was...."  The Irish woman paused, then with a slight smile to Giovanna, she continued, "Shall we say that I don't believe his parents were married?"

Giovanna's eyes narrowed with anger of her own, but she could taste the rage off the three adults who had brought her Marco home, her dark grandson.  So, this was not some made-up story to cover up worse doings!  Someone truly had kidnapped and abused her baby.

Jay said bluntly, "What the hell -- pardon me, Grandmama -- did he do to Marc?  Marc says he's been with you for three, four weeks and he's still too thin, not that Marc ever looked like he could stand up to a strong wind.  Did that bastard hurt him?"

"Jay, language."

"Grandmama, you always told me to call something what it is.  Anyone who'd kidnap and starve my brother is a bastard," he answered bluntly.  "I'll take it up with Father Sean if you like, but that's how I feel."

Aidan sighed, trying to figure out how to answer that one, and to her surprise Rich stepped in.  "He beat him up a bunch of times," the young redhead said.  "Some broken ribs, maybe his arm once I think, but nothing bad enough to lose him teeth or do permanent damage.  I think Chris was being careful.  Marc wasn't raped, if that's what you're worried about."

Tony sighed in relief and his shoulders slumped as the tension fell away.  He clearly hadn't even wanted to ask, but just as obviously, he'd been worried.  No great surprise; if the man had been crazy enough to kidnap his son, what else had he been mad enough to do?

Neil nodded, willing to take Rich's blunt certainty at face value for the moment.  "Good.  Now we don't have to ask Marc."  Behind him his grandmother crossed herself.  She stayed out of the conversation, however, and let her grandchildren ask the rude questions she wanted answered.  "Nightmares?" Neil asked quietly.

Aidan nodded.  "He's been up at two or three in the morning making himself coffee or hot tea a few times too many.  Nightmares."

Tony shrugged and said, "Coffee we have.  And plenty of people in the house who will get up and have a mug of something with him and tuck him back in bed afterwards."

Rich was down on one knee, ruffling the fur on a golden retriever and being slurped within an inch of his life.  "He's doing better, honest.  He went on a double date with me last week and didn't have any problem with the crowds."

"Marc?  Have a problem with crowds?"  The disbelief in Neil's voice was obvious.  "You have got to be--"  A quelling glare from his grandmother stopped him in mid-sentence.  "Oh.  Sorry."

Duncan said quietly, "He was away from people too long, that's all.  He's getting better.  An ER doctor who's a friend of mine checked him out:  no mis-set bones, no missing teeth, no permanent damage."

Aidan added, "We've put ten pounds back on him in the last few weeks.  It was mostly exhaustion and lack of food.  He'll be all right eventually, but it's going to take awhile."

"Anything else?"  Tony asked bluntly.  "You seem to know how to handle this."

The two older immortals glanced at each other, then the Irish woman said quietly, "For most of our lives people have been bringing me or Duncan problems to solve.  We're simply used to it.  Marc needs regular food, a safe environment -- and by that I mean one where he feels safe, regardless of how secure it is or isn't -- and... calm, I suppose would be the best word for it.  He isn't as bad as he was when we found him, but he'll still flinch away from harsh words or a raised hand."

Rich added grimly, "Especially from a man.  Women yelling doesn't bother him as much."

Tony's eyes narrowed, glinting with rage.  Beside him, his mother's lips tightened to a thin line.  "I will confess to the Father," she snapped, "that I hope this man goes where he deserves.  Are you sure this Christopher is dead?"

Duncan studied the people in front of him and threw one small part of their plan away.  In a careful, intense voice, he stated, "He won't be bothering Marc again.  Ever."

Giovanna stared at the Highlander intently, then she stepped forward and put a hand on each shoulder to pull him down.  She kissed him firmly on the mouth, then once on each cheek.  In Italian she said, "You are a good man.  Thank you." 

Duncan said softly, "I won't take credit that isn't mine.  A friend of ours... took care of that problem.  I'll give him your thanks, though."

"Why isn't he here then, hmm?" Giovanna asked.

"Business back in Seacouver which couldn't be put off," Aidan answered simply, but she let her tone indicate that the topic was concluded so far as she was concerned.

Giovanna nodded once and turned to look at her son and grandsons as she continued in English, "That discussion is closed.  Forever.  Get Marco's bags."

"We're keeping you out in the cold," Tony tacitly agreed.  "Come inside and meet my wife, please, all of you."

Aidan handed the car keys to Neil, so that he and Rich could get Marc's luggage.  Tony looked at her thoughtfully and said, "Where did our Marco get clothes and bags?"

Duncan shrugged and said, "Bread on the waters, probably."

At the same time, Aidan smiled and replied, "Oh, here and there.  Mostly there.  The subject is not open to negotiation, Mr. Scipio."

"Tony," he said firmly.  "And if you have put out money on my son--"

"The subject is closed, Antonio," Aidan cut him off in flawless Italian.  "Anything I've done for Marc has been of my own will and not for purpose of repayment.  I'm not poor and I have never minded helping a friend shoulder burdens too heavy for one person alone.  Enough."

Giovanna rested one hand on Duncan's arm as they walked up the stairs to the house.  "She is a stubborn woman, your friend."

"You have no idea," Duncan answered ruefully.  "Don't bother trying to pay her back; Aidan would just take the money and set up college funds for Josie and Lissa.  Her 'no' is made out of granite."

Rich, who was standing behind them with Marc's bags, said cheerfully, "Oh, sort of like your head, huh, Mac?"  The Scot just laughed.

Once inside, the three visitors hung their own coats up, then walked to the fire to get warm.  Lissa came over and said, "Would you like coffee?  Or there's plenty of hot tea, I just made some for Marc and Mama."

Aidan had her hands wrapped around a thick mug full of hot tea with honey and lemon when Marc pulled a tall, blond woman into the living room and said, "Mama, these are my friends."  Rich looked up from the skinning knife Neil was showing him and frankly stared.  Aurelia Scipio was an inch or so taller than her husband and she had a regal beauty that her two daughters might yet grow into, born partly of a striking bone-structure that was aging very well and partly of internal composure.  Her hazel eyes were warm and that warmth spread to encompass the three newcomers in her house as she was introduced to them.

"I'm very glad to meet you all.  Rich, Neil and Jay can share a room if you'd like to stay over."

Rich glanced at Marc and something in his friend's face told him that would be a good idea.  Besides, one of the older immortals needed to stay here.  "I'd love to, Mrs. Scipio, but I can stay with Marc instead of bouncing Neil or Jay.  A sleeping bag on the floor is nothing new to me."

Marc said promptly, "That'd be great, but I think we can do a little better than that."

His two brothers glanced at each other and at Marc, then grinned.  Jay said, "Come on, big brother, let's move that day bed into your old room, then.  It's in Josie's room now, but that's no big deal, right, sis?  Rich, want to give us a hand?"

"After dinner," Aurelia answered over Josie's cheerful, "Hey!  I need to clean it off first!"

A quick glance lowered her daughter's volume as Aurelia went on, "But yes, that will work.  Aidan, Duncan, I hope you like lasagna."

Aidan smiled at her hostess.  "If that's the wonderful smell in the air, I'm sure we will.  Can I help with anything?"

"No, it's all done.  Come and eat."  Children and dogs were shooed around impartially as food was put on the table.  Aidan bowed her head with a good grace to the blessing Tony offered and conversation flew over who was doing what in school, what Seacouver was like, how Scipio Builder Supply was doing, and what Marc had been studying while he was... resting.

That last topic brought the conversation to an uneasy halt until Marc said bluntly, "While they've been taking care of me, you mean, Papa?  Aidan's been teaching me finance; Duncan's been teaching me one of the martial arts called aikido.  Rich helped me get my motorcycle license last week.  And I've been studying French on my own."

His mother stifled a smile against one hand as her mother-in-law muttered, "Just like your grandfather.  Never the polite phrasing, the easing into a discussion.  Boom!  You drop the thing on the table like a dead fish or a brick.  If my Gregorio was here!"

Marc grinned at her and said, "If Grandfather was here, he'd be saying, 'What, we can't discuss family among family?  Spit it out, boy!' "  His voice dropped and the accent grew even thicker, hands waving and his younger sister ducking automatically.

"It's good you are home, Marco, but you are still as blunt as ever."

"Well, Grandmama, that's why Jay is going into law instead of me," Marc answered firmly.  "At least, I hope you're still thinking about law, little brother."

"I start this fall," Jay grinned.  "Already accepted at University of Chicago."  With that the conversation started up again and Marc dug into his dinner gratefully, glad it had slid away from him for the moment.

Aidan and Duncan were sorry to leave when they finally did.  For the two clan-raised immortals, it had been a pleasure to be swallowed up in children and dogs, cooking and clean-up and family gossip, spats between teen-agers and heated discussions over just who, exactly, had gotten the last piece of yesterday's chocolate cake.  Both of then had settled into the flow of the family with no problems at all.

Rich was looking a bit overwhelmed by the sheer volume of noise and the loving arguments back and forth.  He'd held up well, though, playing with the dogs, moving furniture around, and discussing Italy and Spain with Giovanna.  His awed respect of her had changed to a more subtle courtesy as they argued over why he wasn't in school instead of racing bikes and picking up a living here or there.

He'd finally resorted to saying that he was young and sowing his wild oats now to get them out of the way.  She had nodded, smiling, and gone off into reminiscences about her Gregorio and Rich had listened quite happily to stories of mischief, taking notes.  Duncan had grinned at Aidan, murmuring, "He sounds like Fitz."

"Oh, Gods," she whispered, "Fitz was in Italy for a while, wasn't he?"  Then Aurelia had asked her something and they dropped that topic in favor of a discussion on the current NBA standings.

At last, though, still stuffed from lasagna and tiramisu, Aidan and Duncan were escorted back out to the curb.  Jay and Tony walked with them, partly to get Rich's bag, and in part because they were still settling plans for the next day.  Tony hugged them both at the car, asking, "So, we will see you for lunch, and possibly you'll come to five o'clock mass with us?"

Aidan smiled and shook her head.  "I'll stay and help with dinner, but Duncan, feel free."

Jay raised an eyebrow and said, "We don't mean to push.  Not Catholic?"

She simply answered, "No, I'm afraid not.  However, this way Aurelia can go, too."

Duncan commented quietly, "I'd enjoy it.  We'll see you all tomorrow.  Don't let Rich eat you out of house and home before we get here."

Tony laughed at that.  "As if my Marco hasn't cleared out your kitchen, hmm?  Which of you was he staying with?  I haven't been quite sure."

The Irish immortal laughed and said, "My house is actually divided into several sets of living quarters.  Rich rents out the basement and Marc's been living on the fourth floor.  So I suppose he's staying with me.  It's actually a place of his own, though."

Jay gave her a respectful look.  "That must be some house."

Duncan rubbed his back ruefully.  "We refinished a storehouse for her.  Four floors and a basement, and I don't know what was worse, replacing all those window frames or refinishing that much hardwood."

Tony whistled under his breath.  "How much square footage?"

Aidan looked thoughtful, then said, "Of hardwood?  Ten thousand square feet, give or take a little.  Four floors, fifty by fifty.  The basement is almost as big, call it forty-five by forty-five, packed earth covered with concrete and water sealed, set for drainage.  And actually, Duncan, I thought sandblasting that much brick was much worse than the windows."

Jay shook his head in admiration.  "Big project.  Sounds like a great place, though.  How many other tenants?"

"Just the three of us," Aidan said calmly.  "I work on the first floor and live on the second.  We set up the third floor for workouts, since Duncan teaches martial arts when he's not teaching art history."

"You still owe me and Adam for all the help with that place," the Highlander groused.

Aidan rolled her eyes and groaned theatrically, which made Tony laugh.  "And how many dinners have I made you since then, hmm?  And how much help have I given you with your projects?"

"It's the principle of the thing," Duncan answered smugly.

"You sound like Adam!"

"I should; I'm taking his side on this."

Jay grinned and said, "Who's this Adam?  Your friend who couldn't come along?"

"Mm-hmm," Aidan grinned.  "He's an old friend of ours who tries to claim that the best things in life include lounging on a couch with a beer."

"Someone else's couch and someone else's beer," Duncan added, trying to sound aggravated and only managing to sound fondly amused.

Tony said quietly, "This is the friend who... dealt with this Christopher?"  At the sober nods that received, he asked, "He's a friend, though?  Not someone you... owe a favor to, now?"

"He's the best friend we have," Aidan said simply.  "It wasn't done as a favor, but because we all thought it needed to be done and he was the one who handled it.  Duncan or I would have, given the chance.  Adam was simply there first."

Both the Scipios reappraised her at that.  A slender, well-educated woman with the wit and courtesy to handle both Jay's college jokes and Grandmama's Old World manner, and she would have killed Christopher?  And Duncan saw nothing odd or unbelievable in that statement, and hadn't denied that he would have killed the man given the chance?

They traded glances, some family communication that finally ended when Tony said firmly, "He's welcome in our house.  Make sure he knows, please."

"We will," Aidan answered gently, not pushing to understand.  Marc had predisposed her to trust these people and nothing in the evening had changed her mind.  She glanced at Duncan, then promised, "And we will see you for lunch tomorrow."

~*~*~*~*~

Day 29

Aurelia spoke without looking over her shoulder.  "Who'll run down to the store?  We're out of milk."

"I'll get it, Mama," Marc replied without thinking, never glancing up from the Monopoly game in progress in the kitchen.  Rich felt the tension jump in the room as memories of Marc's disappearance washed across people's faces and were sternly repressed.

"Let me grab my coat and I'll come, too," Rich said cheerfully.  "I've been inside all morning."  Aurelia gave him a grateful smile and the young redhead murmured, "De nada," as he went by.

Marc glanced over at his friend as they walked down the sidewalk.  Four houses down, he finally asked, "What was that all about?"

"They're afraid you'll vanish," the former street punk told him.

"Oh."  After a few more paces Marc muttered, "I should have thought of that."

"Nah, you're supposed to be enjoying your family.  I'll keep you out of trouble, from my position as the more experienced of our kind."

The slender black man grinned at his friend, and the mischief on his face told Rich he had just walked into something.  "Well, you are the one who's known Duncan and Adam longer.  And you didn't seem to mind letting me lead that dance...."

Rich laughed as he wrapped an arm around Marc's shoulders and threw him into a pile of snow.

"Hey!"  Marc didn't try to get up; he just scooped up a handful of snow and threw it back at Rich, and the conversation broke down into a scuffle in the snow-drift.  After a couple minutes, though, Rich had him pinned in a lock Duncan had shown him a year or so ago.

"Give?"  He sounded completely cheerful and Marc laughed.

"Just this once.  'Cause I could get you off, but my reputation's taken enough of a beating."

Rich pulled him up and dusted him off.  "Come on, let's get the milk before your mom worries."

~~~~~

Aidan settled into the kitchen with a book and some water to watch over the dinner.  It frequently amused her to read history and see what the author had gotten right or wrong.  Occasionally she was frustrated not to be able to correct stupidity, but more often it was simply funny.  Tonight, however, she was enjoying a new translation of Homer's Odyssey that Marcus Constantine had recommended and keeping a careful eye on the loaves of fresh bread in the oven.

Both dogs were sound asleep near the stove, worn-out by the afternoon's snowball fight.  Aidan had wondered if Marc would be exhausted, too, but his family seemed to be rejuvenating him.  She got up long enough to check on the cauliflower, then sat back down.  To her surprise, Giovanna came and sat down as well before she got more than a paragraph into it.  One eyebrow raised, the Irish woman asked, "Weren't you going to Mass?"

"I can go tomorrow morning," Giovanna answered with a shrug.  "I wanted to talk to you while it was quiet."  That said, the family matriarch studied her thin, callused fingers where her hands were twined on the table.  "There is something I need to ask you and I don't know how to ask it."

Aidan said softly, "You can ask, Giovanna, but I won't promise to answer."

"I know you have not told us everything.  I do not ask what is left out, because I think perhaps you have a good reason, but what I have to know is why.  Why did you help our Marco?"

"Because he deserved it," Aidan said simply.  "Because I couldn't not help him."

Giovanna considered that, her eyes as dark a brown as Aidan's unbound hair and intent on her thoughts at the moment.  The immortal held her place in her book with one long finger and waited silently for the next question.  The family matriarch studied her for several minutes and Aidan met her gaze without flinching or hiding.  At last, those strong, aged hands closed over Aidan's long, smooth fingers and clasped them firmly.

"You are a good woman, Aidan Logan."  The voice had no doubts, no uncertainty.  "So.  Tell me about this Adam, this man who dealt with that Christopher."

"He's...."  Aidan paused, at a loss for words for once.  "Adam is unique.  He lets so many things slide over him, as if nothing touches him, but for one of his friends -- what few he has -- he will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, or healthy.  Completely ruthless when he needs to be, and never entirely certain he's welcome even among friends."  The Irish woman ran out of things to say, obviously flustered.  Almost grimly, she said, "Ask me to describe sunrise, or the first morning breeze, or... I don't know, sunspots.  I could do that more easily."

"But he's a friend?" Giovanna asked intently.

"Oh, Lady, yes," came the prompt reply.  "He and I go so far back I have trouble remembering when I didn't know him.  He's my best friend.  For that matter, he's Duncan's best friend."

"Rich told us about Duncan and Tessa, that Duncan took in a young thief and made him... more respectable.  I still think Richard should be doing something more than racing bikes for a living."

"Right now," Aidan commented, "that's what he wants to be doing.  He'll grow out of it in his own time.  He's going to be formidable when he does go into business.  Rich has a talent for making deals, for charming people."

Giovanna smiled, which softened her expression from formidable into fond.  "He is very charming, I agree.  And a good friend to Marco.  But Duncan was a father to him?"

"As much as Rich ever had," the Irish woman agreed.  "Rich lived with them for a year and a half, in both Seacouver and Paris.  After Tessa was killed, he stayed with Duncan for another year, and he stills stays with Duncan any time they're in the same city."

"So.  He is a good father; he makes good money with his antiques business.  Why are you and Duncan not married?"

A small part of Aidan's mind laughed, thinking she had just won twenty dollars off Duncan.  He had thought they were safe from that question for another day at least.  Out loud she answered, "He's already involved with someone else."  Drawing a deep breath, she went on, "He's in love with Adam."

Giovanna stared at her, surprised and uncertain she'd heard that correctly.  Then she asked, "Does Richard know this?"

"He does," Aidan said quietly.  "I know, Duncan doesn't seem the type to fall in love with another man.  I'm not sure who he surprised more, himself or everyone else.  But they're perfect together, and watching one light up when he sees the other...."  She shook her head, still smiling.  "It's wonderful."

"So you are in favor of this?" Giovanna asked thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"I will have to meet this man, then.  I must admit, I would have never thought it, but perhaps I simply do not know Duncan well enough.  He loved this Tessa, did he not?"

"Oh, yes, he loved Tessa deeply.  We still keep an eye on Duncan on her birthday.  He never expected to fall in love with another man," came the wry answer.  "Neither did Adam."

"And you?  Were you surprised?"

Aidan shrugged.  "I had an outsider's eye for it.  That made it easier for me to see what was going on."

Giovanna waited while the young woman checked on the ham in the oven, spooning the juices up over it and sealing the aluminum foil again.  That done, she checked the other pots and pans almost by habit, then sat back down and waited for the next question.

"So when are you getting married, then?  You are looking at prospects, I hope?"

Aidan laughed, a merry peal of sound in the otherwise quiet house that brought one of the dog's heads up.  She scratched the retriever behind the ears when he came to sit next to her, saying, "I haven't ruled it out, but it's not a priority for me just yet.  I have time."

"At your age, I already had my Enrico and was expecting Gabriella," Giovanna pointed out sternly.  "Best you have your children when you are young enough to have energy for them."

That dredged up old pains, regrets for children raised but not her own, and Aidan hastily deflected the conversation.  "You still have the energy to keep up with all these children," the immortal answered.  "There's time, Giovanna, and it needs a good man, too.  And with Rich and Marc around, there are days I think I simply missed the younger years and somehow acquired two teen-agers to raise."

That drew a look of complete agreement, and an exasperated wave of the older woman's hands which encompassed the entire kitchen.  "How do you keep them both fed?  Or do they cook for themselves?"

"Oh, Rich can cook.  Mostly basics, but a few dishes he picked up from Duncan or Tessa, too.  Usually I feed both of them, though, and frequently Adam and Duncan as well.  I hate cooking for one."

"Hah!  That is not cooking, it's trying to use up leftovers," Giovanna said practically.  "But you cook for all of them?"

"No, I cook a fair bit of the time because I like to.  But Adam is as good in a kitchen as I am, and Duncan is a superb cook.  We usually settle out over dinner who's doing what the next day, including who's cooking and at which house.  Rich and Marc just want to know that there will be food.  Both of them will help if we ask, but they haven't yet learned to clean up as they go.  It's not always worth it, since the cook doesn't have to do dishes."

That got a smile, and Giovanna commented, "That reminds me of the days when Gabriella lived two doors down and we would discuss on Friday night who was bringing what dishes to Saturday dinner after Mass.  Those were good days.  Tony and his five children, and Gabriella and her four, and me and my Gregorio, and half the time it seemed someone from the church was invited as well.  Those were very good days."

"If we're going to sit and talk, shall I make us some tea?"

"Coffee, if you would," Giovanna said.  "More warming in the cold at my age.  Do you like milk in yours?"

To Aidan's surprise and pleasure, the Italian woman spent the rest of the time until Mass was over talking about her family and what it had been like to come to America from Italy at sixteen.  Aidan simply kept asking and listening with every sign of interest, showing more knowledge of Italy than Giovanna had expected and a keen understanding for what it meant to be in the middle of an extended family.

When the others came piling in from Mass, heading upstairs to change out of good clothes, Giovanna watched regret pass over the younger woman's face.  She nodded and put a hand on Aidan's forearm to catch her attention.  "Soon, cara mia.  Start a family soon."

Aidan watched Duncan and Rich come in, still laughing, and said gently, "I already have one."

~*~*~*~*~

Day 30

Aurelia studied her hands intently, trying to find some sense somewhere, to control her own emotions and give her family the unflinching calm she always brought to crises.  But, oh, this is hard!  To lose my first son again, like this!

She remembered all too vividly the three years of trying and trying to carry a child to term, the four miscarriages that had hurt so.  She and Tony wanted children so desperately that when they heard the orphanage nearby couldn't place a baby, they adopted him immediately.  There had been a brief family uproar over a black Scipio, until Papa Gregorio roared the lot of them down, saying that the boy would be a Scipio if he was raised a Scipio.  The old man never wavered on that, thank God.

But, ah, blessed Mary, why is he leaving again?

"Marco, why?"

"Because... Mama, I can't.  I can't live here right now.  Every time I walk outside, I look around.   Every time.  I know he's dead, but Philadelphia just... I can't.  I'm so sorry, Mama, but I can't."  Marc was trying not to shake, already too keyed up over the conversation as it was.  Oh, God, I hate this.  It's not just something I'm saying.  I really am scared to stay here.  I'm such a fucking coward.  He's dead, damn it!  Christopher Henslowe is dead.  Adam took his head....

His mother's hand tightened over his until he looked up at her, and something in his face brought her around the kitchen table to hold him, rocking him against her body as if he were still smaller than she.  "Shh, shh, easy, Marco.  Hush, amati, hush.  If it is like that then it is like that.  Where will you go, then?  Back to Seacouver with them?  I think they would let you stay.  I think they will worry about you, too, mio figlio."

"I know," he got out, his head tucked against her shoulder as the tears burned down his cheeks.  "They will.  But I hate this, Mama.  I grew up here; I shouldn't be scared of my own driveway, my own neighborhood.  I know these streets like the back of my hand, so why do I watch them for new shadows?"

"Because he hurt you," Aurelia said softly, still rocking him against her.  "It happens.  If this is what you must do to be happy, then it is what we will do.  And you will come home for holidays and in the summer, and remember what it is to be happy here, and perhaps eventually you will move home again.  So.  First we must pack your things, and then your father will help us break the news to your grandmother."

"Oh, God, Grandmama.  She's going to hate this," Marc groaned.

"What will I hate?" Giovanna asked calmly.  She had come into the kitchen to get more coffee before starting on the mending; now it seemed that worn socks and torn jeans might not be all that was in need of repair.  "Marco, are you all right?"

"Grandmama... I'm not staying."

Dark brown eyes studied him without surprise and with no censure for the tears still visible on his face.  "No, mio coure, of course not.  You are grown now, and the nest is too small for you.  And I think you wish to stay with these new friends of yours, yes?"

"You don't mind?" came the relieved question as Marc scrubbed the back of a hand across his cheek.

"Of course I mind, boy!  You're a Scipio!  And your father's oldest, of course I mind.  But if you have to leave, then you have to leave."  His grandmother regarded him with the fierce glare that had always cowed everyone in the family except her husband.  "You were always the most stubborn of my grandchildren, Marco; you will be back because you will not let this Christopher win.  Yes?"

"Si, Grandmama."  Marc traded that same raptor's gaze with his grandmother.  "No one beats the Scipios."

"No, Marco, they don't," she agreed with him, proud that one of her grandchildren had finally grown to meet her challenges.  "The mending can wait.  This, I think, cannot.  Very well, you two, let us go and see what we must ship to Seacouver.  Perhaps a few of us should drive out and bring most of it, say over the school recess next month, or for summer break if you can wait that long, Marco." 

The idea of Giovanna Scipio face to face with Adam Pierson brought a grin to Marc's face.  "Si, Grandmama, that would make more sense.  But it would be nice if we could ship some of my clothes and books out, too."

Aurelia smiled, holding her own regrets and griefs close within.  "Ah, you mean those old jeans you wouldn't let us throw out, and your mystery collections?"

"And my suits, Mama, and my architecture books, and my magazine collections...."  Marc growled and teased with his mother, knowing she hated this and grateful that Aurelia Scipio never made things more difficult than they had to be... or any easier than necessary, either.  He didn't envy Aidan and Duncan the inquisition that was surely headed their way. 

His mother would insist on knowing everything:  where Marc was going to live; what the job market in Seacouver was like; what, exactly, the relationship between Aidan and Duncan was;  who was feeding him and Rich; and a thousand other details Marc hadn't even thought of yet, but she had.  Oh, yes, inquisition was definitely the right word for it.  The newest immortal found himself working out the details for the popcorn concession as they started sorting out his room and discussing the stored boxes in the attic.

~*~*~*~*~

Day 31

Adam met them at the airport with the Range Rover and looked almost amused at the extra luggage.  "Amazing.  How did you manage this one?  Amanda was here in Seacouver."

Aidan shrugged.  "Brought back a few of Marc's personal possessions.  Where is Amanda?"

"On her way to Greece, I believe, at least she was muttering about Mykonos.  The cold and damp finally got to her."

Duncan threw his lover a wary glance.  "And?"

"And she got tired of ranting and raving about 'Who's Erin?'  It was fairly amusing, though.  Joe didn't tell her anything, and neither did I.  Expect to have your ear bent, MacLeod.  How was the flight?"

Duncan shrugged as they waited to collect their luggage.  "Long.  Boring.  O'Hare is as bad as ever."

"Some things never change," Rich sighed.  "I'm starting to really hate that airport."

Methos glanced at Marc who had remained silent through the greetings.  "That tired, Scipio, or nothing to say?"

Marc shrugged and answered quietly.  "Nothing to say.  Thanks for covering things so that Duncan could go."

"You're welcome," was the calm reply.  "I see you survived the family reunion.  Or did they steal your tongue?"

That drew a reaction from the young black man.  "Just left my heart, that's all, I'm sure they'll forward it back to me when they notice it on the couch.  Jesus and Mary, Adam, do you ever let up?"

The raised volume drew a grin from Adam and a frown from Aidan.

"Adam--"

"Hush, Aidan.  Nice to see you're intact and awake, Scipio.  Survived the trip, then?"

"No, you're hallucinating.  I'm not really here, it's just a ghost," was the sarcastic answer.  "And I didn't notice that sharing Aidan's bed gave you a leash for her tongue."

Rich stepped back a bit, startled and wary of this unexpected temper.  "You know, you haven't had enough coffee yet, Marc."

"What, Ryan, less than a full pot?  Aidan, unlike you apparently, is old enough to take up for herself, Scipio.  Let us worry about it, why don't you?" Methos continued, pushing to see just when the young immortal would stand up for himself.  Aidan knew what he was doing; it was the only thing stopping her from going after his hide.

Duncan growled, "Adam.  Quit it."

"Dhonnchaidh, stay out of this," Aidan murmured in Gaelic.  "Let's see what Marc does."  That drew a startled glare from the Scot, but she went on, "Hush.  He'll face worse tests than this in the Game.  Time we got a glance at his mettle.  And it's been a month now."  Methos promised me four weeks; I should have expected this.  And he's right; we have to see what Marc will do. 

Marc, meanwhile, looked at Adam coldly before deliberately switching to Italian.  "Look, Adam, I'm sorry both your lovers have been in the City of Brotherly Love for four days, and for all of me, you can drag them off as soon as we get back to the house, since you seem to think that restraint is something for other people.  But put your temper on a leash or I'll call it in to the ASPCA.  They offered to go with me; I didn't ask."

Aidan choked on a laugh as she caught the implied insults, and Duncan's mouth twitched.  Methos raised one eyebrow and replied in Italian as well.  "What, Scipio, measuring my stamina by your own?  I'm a little older.  But the insult was at least original.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.  Shall we try sparring with wooden blades in the morning, instead?"

Marc paused, and the exchange settled into a new pattern in his mind as he thought about it.  Sainted Lady, he was pushing me, just to see what I'd do!  That devious son of a bitch!  And he looks... pleased that I was pissed off and insulting him?  I am never going to figure out these older ones!  Fine, Pierson, you want temper, I'll give you temper.  Idiot.

"If that's the only blade you've got, sure.  Of course, by the time they get through with you, at least one weapon won't be up for much.  So I guess wood will do.  10:30 or so?  Or will you be awake by then?"

Rich watched, not catching the rapid-fire discussion in what he knew was Italian.  Whatever Marc had said, the tone had been deliberately stinging and both Duncan and Aidan were trying not to snicker, grins twisting their mouths.  Methos, meanwhile, looked entertained rather than offended, and faintly pleased, as if Marc had come up with the correct answer despite all expectations.

"I'll manage something," Methos chuckled, switching back to English.  "Welcome home, Marc."

Aidan rolled her eyes and muttered, "Are you two through yet?  At this rate I'll need to pick up testosterone supplements for the both of you."

Rich said plaintively, "No, but could we maybe get some lunch and someone tell me what in hell I just missed?"  I have got to pick up some more languages!  Like Italian, and Gaelic, and Russian!  Damn, I hate it when they do this.

Duncan passed luggage off the conveyer belt as, true to form, everything arrived all at once and too quickly to be easily handled.  "I think we can handle lunch, Rich.  Here, Adam, make yourself useful and carry a bag."

"I'm always useful, MacLeod."  Methos took the offered bag anyway.  "And Joe said the sandwiches were on him when you all got back, because he needs someone to look at the roof of his house."

Marc rolled his eyes and asked sarcastically, "So did you?"

"I leave such things to the younger members of the group," Adam told him blithely.  "But I will periodically pass up the beer."

Marc shook his head and laughed despite himself.  "You know, you sound like a foreman I worked for in college.  All right, Adam, you bring the Pilsner and we can do this.  So what else did we miss?"

Aidan watched them bantering back and forth and exchanged a smile with Duncan.  "Maybe this will work after all?"

"If anyone can bring out his temper," Duncan chuckled softly, "it'll be the old man.  I think things will be fine.  Come on, let's go catch up."

~*~*~*~*~

Epilogue

Christchurch, New Zealand -- March

"And in the latest story from Melbourne, Australia," the anchor said somberly, "the tragic murders of John FitzAlan and Jan Urquhart last night closed the chapter on a seamy story of embezzling, greed, and rumored treason.  The once-respected co-owners of F&J Importers were under investigation by both the United States and Australia for smuggling, money laundering, and possible drug-running.  Several charities which have benefited handsomely from F&J are refusing to comment at this time."

"I'll just bet they are.  Who in the fuck donated to them?  We didn't," Johannes snarled, watching.  "Who did this to us?"

The dark-haired immortal reclining on the couch glanced at him and said softly, "Johannes.  Quit pacing.  Our identities there are dead.  Simple enough; we stay out of the Pacific for a while.  Admittedly, it's more difficult to hide than it used to be, but it can be managed."

"Fuck that.  Someone organized this, Owain.  Who?"

Owain snorted derisively at his tall, impatient student.  "That, Johannes, is the precise question we had better answer.  Did Cynthia, or someone in her line, decipher what we're doing?  Or are we under attack from a completely unexpected direction?"

The angry bald man slung a chair around and sat, his arms resting on the backrest, as he considered that question.  "We didn't instigate anything at Christmas; the first forays against us started not two weeks later."

"No, we didn't," Owain agreed, tenor voice cold and clear as he thought.  "But half the line of Ramirez assembled in New York at Christmas.  Nash's party, remember.  Could they have put together enough pieces to find us?"

Johannes frowned as he considered that.  Silence fell around them in stifling mounds, pooling at the edges of the room and choking first their comfort, then their thoughts.  The tall South African stood up again, too restless to remain still, and poured them both shots of whiskey.  Offering one tumbler to Owain, he said grimly, "They must have.  One of them, at least.  That line has never run to idiots, you know that."

"True," Owain mused, thinking rapidly.  "But they do run to fools.  Cynthia would have challenged me.  So would the younger MacLeod, or that hothead, Damien.  We were targeted very precisely -- who did it?"

"And how?"

Owain hissed in frustration, breath blowing the over-long curls off his temples.  In the recent days there'd been no time for personal vanities, such as haircuts.  He'd been too busy staying out of jail long enough to orchestrate their 'murders.'  "I don't know.  They have one computer expert, Damien, but he would have challenged us.  On the other hand, none of them are exactly poor, and expertise can be hired."

"Or this could have been done by mortals," Johannes said thoughtfully.  "Did you notice that Cook Trading benefited every time we had trouble?"

Blue eyes glared balefully across the room at nothing.  "Did they now?"

"They stole the Kennimer Copper contract out from under us, remember.  And the wool deal with Harald's fell through... and Cook had it when the trades came out."

"And the export agreement with Alpine Wine & Liquor in the States," Owain chimed in, still speaking in that ominously quiet, lilting voice.  "Perhaps we are looking in the wrong direction, after all."

"What about Cynthia?" Johannes asked.

"Henslowe will report back or he won't," Owain shrugged.

"You don't really think he'll capture her, do you?  Gwydion couldn't take Cynthia, remember."  Johannes had vivid memories of his 'brother' beating him again and again whenever they sparred.  The smaller man had been very, very fast.

Owain shrugged again, a nonchalant expression on his face as he plotted revenge on his mortal rivals.  "Gwydion faced her and fought.  Christopher was sending in that brat of his first."

"As a stalking horse?" 

"He was of no other use to us.  An honorable little idiot."

"So is Farrell, remember," Johannes settled himself further into the chair as he thought, the light gleaming off his bald head and polished leather boots equally.

"Farrell is harder," Owain said implacably.  "He learned.  This one didn't."

"She's old enough to have seen that trick before."

"Even old dogs fall eventually, and Cynthia is an old bitch indeed.  We'll take her, Johannes.  But shall we deal with the mortals first?  Cynthia will still be here in a month or so."

"And a few of the executives at Cook won't?" Johannes asked pleasantly.  "I think you're right.  About Farrell, though.  I disapprove of using him for this.  How can you be sure he'll fight for us?"

Owain gave him the annoyed look of a teacher whose pet pupil has just publicly claimed that pi equals three.  "Because, Johannes, he gave his word.  And if I bring him to oppose her line... no matter who dies, Cynthia will be hurt.  She's inexplicably fond of him.  Farrell is the only one of my students Cynthia has liked in nine centuries.  Oh, no, we most definitely will take Farrell to the line war.  I wouldn't have him miss it for the world...."
 
 

~ ~ ~ finis 2/99 ~ ~ ~

Comments, Commentary & Miscellanea:

1 -  Yes, I probably should be ashamed of myself for giving Marc headaches when he meets immortals.  I'm not.

2 -  For the curious?  Aquilla means eagle, and two different Scipios were notable Roman generals.  The elder of them (the grandfather) defeated Hannibal in one of the Punic Wars.

3 -  Aidan's opinions about the Game and its reality or lack thereof, are her own.  I'm not arguing with a woman with a sword who's a hundred times my age.

4 -  Oh, why not, I did this for "Intermezzo."  The Kurgan is, of course, from the original movie.  Grayson is from "Band of Brothers;" Kronos was in "Comes a Horseman" and "Revelations 6:8;" and Xavier St. Cloud was in more episodes than I feel like counting, but he first appeared in "For Tomorrow We Die."  And the comments on the consequences of fighting on Holy Ground are canonical rumor (is that an oxymoron?) from "Little Tin God."

5 -  See "Intermezzo" for an explanation of the trouble the line of Ramirez is having, and for information on line wars check here. 

6 -  I've always wondered why Methos lives in Henleys....

7 -  Ah, The Thousand and One Nights.  The accurate, i.e. racy, translation that Sir Richard Burton did of this work was a scandal to the jaybirds during Victoria's reign.  His wife, may she reap what she deserves, burned his notebooks when he died, thus depriving of us of who knows what translations, notes, and ruminations.

8 -  Curare is a South American paralytic poison.

9 -  Rihana of the Silences was trained by Ramirez and disappeared almost three hundred years ago according to the Watchers.

10 -  Of course Joe serves daiquiris.  The man has to make a living, okay?

11 -  Jao?  Ummm....  Tiger Balm with an attitude?  Great stuff for bruises and sore muscles.  It's a Chinese herbal lineament.

12 -  Rich gave Methos a sweatshirt for Christmas saying "Age & Treachery Will Overcome Youth & Skill Every Time."

13 -  For those who don't know, Chilton is the publisher for a popular line of car repair books, titled by car type and year.  For example, Ford Taurus 1996-8.

14 -  Bean amaideach is Irish for foolish/idiotic woman.

15 -  In my hometown, there has been a bar called the Library within walking distance of the major University for as long as I've been alive.  Because every student wants to be able to honestly say, "I was just down at the Library...."  (Rhi's note:  it finally closed in 2000, after a thirty-year run.)

16 -  Aidan took exception to the third person address in "Explanations."

17 -  Yes, tai chi and aikido are both soft forms.  Right now, Marc needs to learn coordination and put on some muscle before they start teaching him the hard styles.

18 -  Karl Gustav von Stengel left a broken replica longsword for Aidan as a threat in "Quarrels of All Kinds."

19 -  Ever wondered why Mac was so carefully neat?  Think about it.

20 -  Alexandrias and Xenokrates studied with Methos in the 2nd century AD.  They appeared in "Force of Habit."  Get used to them, folks, the laughing maniacs have taken up residence in my hard drive and are petitioning for citizenship.

21 -  Yes, the story of where and when Connor met Xan and Alex is on the drawing board.  I will admit that it was on the North American continent, and I'll even tell you it was during the first half of the 1800s, if that helps.

22 -  Sun Tzu's Art of War is a military text so admired and so essential that Napoleon carried his copy everywhere, full to the margins with notes and comments made during his almost daily reading of it.

23 -  Luaidh and amator are the Scots and Latin for 'beloved.'  Muirnin is the Irish. Mo chridhe is Gaelic for 'my own.'

24 -  Last time, Amanda interrupted Methos and Duncan; her timing does need work.  See "Crystalline Patterns" for that story.

25 -  Unless I am completely misremembering, the Whoopi Goldberg quote is from "Jumpin' Jack Flash."  Fun movie.

26 -  Zalman King directed the Red Shoe Diaries, an erotica series which ran on Showtime.

27 -  Methos?  Buy Shakespeare & Co in Seacouver?  I mean, just because it gives Joe capital, and consolidates the store ownership again, and gives the ROG an official reason for periodically travelling to Seacouver....

28 -  Rich referred to Connor as Sir Lancelot in the pilot episode, "The Gathering."

29 -  The Italian phrases in this one: Buon giorno -- good day or good morning.  Cara mia -- my dear.  Amati -- love. Mio coure -- my heart.  Mio figlio -- my son.  Signora and Signorina--Mrs. and Miss.

30 -  Yes, one of my beta readers pointed out that some of this makes Methos sound like a professional hit man, and that the Scipios took that idea very calmly.  Don't ask me, folks, I just type.  The characters stand over my shoulders and insist, 'No, Rhi, it happened this way....'  When they let me know what's going on, I'll let you know.  (Don't laugh too loudly;  I know perfectly well that I'm not the only one this sort of thing happens to....)

31 -  Joe Dawson is dating Erin Shea, whom Amanda didn't get to meet in New York.  See "Intermezzo," or "The Gathering Darkness," or "Prelude to the Storm."  Erin is currently a Researcher for the Watchers, but she's going to move to the University of Seacouver Linguistics department this fall.

32 -  The Lone Gunmen (yes, of X-Files fame, and they belong to 1013 and Morgan and Wong, not me, damn it!) took care of Owain & Johannes' in "Intermezzo."  The fall-out so far has been impressive.  No, I don't know what charities benefited from F&J's generosity, but I would not be surprised if SETI, NASA, and MUFON are on the list.

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