AN – Thank you, thank you, thank you, for the reviews. Well here we are. All loose ends tied up. All problems resolved. All pigs fed and ready to fly. And yeah, I already have a new story (with Methos in it) in the works!

!!!

Almost as soon as lunch was over Duncan had hustled Richie out to the T-Bird, claiming that they didn't want to be late. He refused to give him any clue as to where they might be going, except to look him up and down with a slight smile and suggest that he might want to change out of that suit. Two hours later, Richie stared out of the window of the T-Bird, looking at the scenery. He wasn't about to admit that he has no idea where he was. Some little town or other.

"We're here." Duncan announced.

Richie got out and looked at the non descript wooden house. It was well cared for, the veranda running along the front, dotted with pot plants and hanging baskets. But he couldn't imagine what they might find here that would justify the drive out of the city.

"C'mon," Duncan came around the T-Bird and headed up the steps. "He'll be out back."

"Shouldn't we at least knock or something?" Richie hung back

"No point," Duncan looked back over his shoulder as he led the way through the house. "He already knows we are here. Besides, he's expecting us."

They emerged onto the back porch to find what looked to Richie like a motorcycle graveyard. Makes and Models of all descriptions lay in various states of repair

"Aw man, this is awesome," Richie blinked. "Look, is that a Vincent Black Shadow over there?"

"It sure is," another voice cut in. "You must have a good eye. Under all that dirt it is pretty hard to tell the make, never mind the model."

Richie turned to look at the speaker, who was carefully laying a rapier to one side.

And his jaw dropped.

Standing in front of him was the unmistakable figure of Pete Goddard. The man whose face had stared out the cover of a thousand motorcycle magazines when Richie was younger. The man for whom he and Gary had lied and tricked their way into the Seacouver Stadium to see him take the title. He was only eight at the time. Two years later, at the very height of his fame, the World Champion, multi-millionaire and National Hero had died in a spectacular crash.

"Hey," The man smiled at his confusion and held out his hand. "I'm Pete Goddard."

"But you're dead!"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt the red flush rise in his cheeks. He wasn't sure what counted for good manners when meeting Immortals, but he was fairly sure that reminding them of when they crashed and burned, wasn't it. He looked down at the ground, unwilling to meet Duncan's disapproving gaze. Maybe, if he stared at it long enough, it would open and swallow him up.

Then he realised that the two Immortals were laughing.

"Yep, I am," Goddard made a face. "Or at least, Pete Goddard is dead to the world, for a generation at least."

"Maybe, more," Duncan intoned sternly, but the warm had on his shoulder reassured Richie that the Immortal wasn't angry at him. Richie looked up.

"How come?"

"I managed to die in a blaze of publicity in full view of the world's press," Pete shrugged. "But who knew I was gonna pop right back up again?"

"So, you weren't Immortal, before?"

"Sure, I was. I just didn't know it yet."

"Was Mac your teacher?"

"Him? No," Pete snorted. "I woulda taught him to handle a bike much better than he does. Naw, we have a mutual friend. Hey, I heard Gregor got back into his photography gig."

"Really?" Duncan raised a brow. "He's not being a Doctor anymore?"

"Not last I heard," Pete shrugged. "Maybe, he got tired of it."

"Maybe." Duncan shifted his hand to the small of Richie's back. "Pete, this is .."

"Hey, I know who this is," Pete grinned. "I saw him on National TV. Richard H Ryan, world famous motorcyclist to be."

"You saw me on TV?" Richie shook his head. "Man, that's weird. I used to watch you all the time." Then he grinned, that cocky smart alec grin, Duncan was none too fond of. Not least, because the lad only used it when he was lying, none too sure of himself or deliberately trying to be annoying. "So, how'd I do?"

"You won didn't you?" Goddard regarded him levelly. "What more do you want?"

"I want …" Richie pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Go on." Duncan encouraged quietly.

"Its like, anyone can win if the other guys are no good. I want to be the best. I want to able to really feel the bike, you know?

"Yeah, I sure do," Goddard gave him a respectful look. "Alright, you looked pretty good, but its hard to tell, what with all those fancy gizmos they can do with camera angles and stuff these days. So, what do you say, Richard, you wanna try a little one on one?"

"He prefers Richie." Duncan correctly subtly.

"Well Richie it is, then .." Goddard looked up as the phone rang. "Excuse me a sec .."

As Goddard went back into the house Richie gave the Immortal a sharp look, his eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?" he murmured.

"You told me."

"I did?" Richie blinked. "When?"

"Somewhere amid all the shouting."

"Oh." Richie made a face. He had been pretty upset. But it was kinda worrying that he didn't remember everything he had said.

"You didn't tell me why." Duncan's quiet voice reassured

Richie glanced up sharply. He was usually pretty good at hiding his feelings. How was it that this man could read him so well? Maybe, cos you're not trying so hard to hide 'em.A little voice inside him mocked. Maybe, you want him to notice.

And, maybe, he owed him something of an explanation.

"It's what they call me." He scowled.

"They?" The Immortal's eyes had softened, recognising that Richie was finding this difficult to talk about.

"You know," Richie shrugged. "Them. Social workers. Judges. Cops. They act like they know you, like they know what's best for you. It's for your own good, Richard. You'll really like it here, Richard. Cept they don't even know the name you go by. It sucks, you know?" Richie took a shallow breath. "You .. I know you're not like that, but when you call me that .." he trailed off not wanting to offend the Immortal.

"It kinda feels the same?" Duncan offered gently.

"Yeah," Richie nodded, grateful for his understanding.

"Then I won't call you that anymore." Duncan assured him.

"Works for me." Richie smiled shyly.

"I'm glad to hear it, Tough Guy." Duncan tousled his hair.

"Man, I can't believe you know Pete Goddard," Richie beamed, anxious to change the subject. "I mean, I figured all Immortals were like zillions of years old."

"Hey, four hundred, is not that old," Duncan cuffed him, good naturedly.

"Alright," Goddard came back out carrying a motorcycle helmet. "Sorry about that, it was a booking for an AMA superbike race in Vegas."

"Race?" Richie blinked. "Don't get me wrong. But should you still be hanging out around the circuit?

"No, he should not," Duncan glowered.  "By rights, he shouldn't even be in the country."

"Not that again?" Goddard rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Mac. No-one is gonna recognise me."

"You think?" Richie looked him up and down. "Cos from where I'm standing, you look just like you."

"Nuh uh," Pete shook his head. "Mark Goodwin, Pete Goddard look a likey, at your service. I make mega bucks out of it too. Well, I should, I've got all the moves down pat."

"You're impersonating yourself?" Richie laughed. "Man, that's wild."

"Its foolish and reckless and just plain daft, is what it is," Duncan muttered. "How you ever got Gregor to agree."

"Simple. I didn't tell him. Besides, this isn't the dark ages, Mac. I died on CNN. You don't get any more official than that. So, I look like Pete Goddard. So what?  People aren't gonna make the connection because they know I'm dead. They already saw me die with their own eyes."

"He has a point, Mac." Richie agreed. "I mean, the truth is just too out there."

"Don't you start." Duncan rolled his eyes.

"I'm done."

"In that case, you want to take a spin on the Triumph Trident, Richie?"

"Oh man, can I?"," Richie jumped off the porch into the dirt towards the bikes, then skidded to a halt, looking back anxiously at the Immortal. "I don't have my helmet or anything .."

"Yeah, you do," Duncan grinned at him. "Its all in the trunk."

!!!

Two hours later Duncan set the tray down on the small table on the back porch and looked over at the dust covered boot hanging out of the hammock, slung across one corner. "Rich, do you want ice in your lemonade?"

The hammock swung gently, and silently, in the breeze.

Duncan stepped quietly over to the hammock and peered over the edge. Sure enough, Richie had dozed off. Duncan smiled down at the sleeping teenager, covered from head in a fine layer of dust, his mouth slightly open as he snored softly, he looked relaxed and happy and positively angelic. Duncan chuckled, he could just imagine Richie's reaction to such a observation. Unconsciously, Duncan reached out and brushed a lock of stray hair out off his face. Lord, he knew what they said about people looking younger in their sleep, but Richie looked ..

"He asleep?" Pete's amused tone cut into his thoughts.

"Aye," Duncan agreed fondly, as he came back over to the table and sat down. "You must have given him quite a workout. Normally, we can't get him to sit still for more than about two seconds."

"Hey, it was all him," Pete shrugged. "He set the pace."

"So," Duncan picked up his glass and asked the question that had brought him here. "Is he as good as Saracen thought he was?"

"'Fraid not." Pete grinned broadly.

"He's better?" Duncan realised.

"Mac, the kid's a natural. I was impressed." Goddard leant back in his chair and propped his feet on the rail.

"Is he better than you?" Duncan teased, taking a sip of his drink.

To his surprise, Pete gave the question serious consideration.

"Now? No. When I was his age? Yeah, probably. In a decade or so, who knows, we could have a World Champion on our hands."

"We?" Duncan raised a brow.

"What? "C'mon Mac, you didn't come all the way out here just to try out my lemonade."

"You're dead, remember?"

 "And I got a new identity."

Duncan snorted his opinion of that.

Look Mac, the kid's got real talent, and you are not the man to help him with this."

"You really think he could be a World Champion?"

"If he lives long enough," Goddard nodded. Then grinned, uncomfortable with his own solemnity. "Or until he discovers girls."

"Its too late for that," Duncan shook his head fondly. "He already likes to think of himself as a "chick magnet."

"I bet he's a real heartbreaker too. How did you meet him?"

"Long story." Duncan had promised Richie a fresh start. He could hardly have that if he told all and sundry about his former occupation. "We just kinda .. ran into each other."

"I take it he doesn't know about ..?"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way. He deserves a chance at a normal life."

"He means a lot to you, huh?"

"Yeah," Duncan looked over at the sleeping form. "He does."

"Then take my advice Mac. Buy him a decent bike, something that can really haul ass, and let him have fun with it. Give him a normal childhood. In a few years, if he still wants to try his hand at the pro-circuit, I'll turn myself into my illegitimate son and put together a team that will have Saracen eating our dust."

!!!

"Alright," That evening Duncan sat at the kitchen table and looked down at his list of contact telephone numbers. "Angie, Gary, Marco, that's kinda short Tough Guy, anyone else?"

"Why?" Richie challenged, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the whole process.  "You gonna put together a surprise birthday party?"

"Rich, we've been through this," Duncan sighed. "If you get kidnapped by an evil Immortal, I want to know where you are before he plays tic tac toe on your chest, OK?"

"You could add  Powell to the list."

"Richie." Duncan warned.

"Alright already, Teresa I guess." Richie gave him the number.

"Your foster mother?" Tessa put in. "You're still in touch with her?"

"Yeah, she was nice. Took me in for a real long time." Richie looked awkward.

"I would love to meet her," Tessa smiled. "Perhaps, we could invite her to lunch?"

"You can't do that!" Richie blurted, rather too quickly.

"Sure we can. There's this modern invention called the telephone." Duncan grinned. Clearly, Richie was worried his old foster mother might let slip a few embarrassing stories.

"Yeah but," Richie scrambled for a reason that the Immortal would accept. "She works full time. Right across town and she only gets an hour for lunch. Her boss is a real jerk, he'd most likely fire her if she got back late."

"So, she can come to dinner." Tessa amended.

"Aw, c'mon Tess, have a heart," Richie tried to talk his way out of it. "She has photos. Lotsa photos. You don't really want to torture me like this do you?"

"Alright. Whatever you say, Rich, we won't ask her." Duncan allowed.

"You mean that?" Richie looked up.

"Of course, a Macleod always keeps his word," Duncan smirked. "You can do it."

!!!

"Hey," Duncan knocked softly and popped his head around the door. "You still awake?"

"Yeah," Richie sat up on the bed and used the remote to mute the sound on the TV. "You need something?"

"Uh huh," Duncan pushed the door fully open and walked over towards the bed. "I need someone to drink this hot chocolate I made."

"Wow, thanks." Richie reached up eagerly for the mug. Reminding Macleod of a much younger child. Still, the lad hadn't had much cosseting in his life. That must be it.

Richie paused.

"You put marshmallows in it."

"You like marshmallows."

"And whipped cream." Richie accused.

"You have a problem with that?"

"Depends," Richie scowled. "You're always telling me that too much sugar is bad for me."

"So, I can't spoil you once in a while?"

"Without me being injured, tortured, waking from a nightmare or the like? Not unless you want something."

"Alright, you got me," Duncan admitted sitting on the bed. "I wanted to apologise."

"You sure?" Richie raised a brow. "Cos, usually it's the other way around."

"You dinna do anything wrong lad. You trusted me and I gave you reason to doubt that trust and for that I am truly sorry."

"You couldn't help it."

"Yes, I could," Duncan sighed. He had thought about this a great deal. "I thought I had an obligation to meet her at the time and place of her choosing. But that wasn't honour. It was vanity. Lest she think me a coward."

"Mac, she challenged you. You had no choice."

"Yeah, I did," Duncan reached out and cupped his hand around Richie's jaw. "I could have chosen to put my family first. If she wanted to challenge me that badly she would have found me soon enough.."

"Family?" Richie quavered. As if the word was entirely unfamiliar to him.

"Aye, lad."

"But, its not like we even have that much in common."

More than you know, my lad, Duncan thought sadly. Still, that was besides the point.

"Rich, families aren't about favourite foods or tastes in music. They are about love."

"Love?" Richie's face twisted as if the word was distasteful. "Yeah. Right."

"Hey," Duncan chided. "Don't knock it till you've tried it, alright?"

"Mac, I've tried it plenty of times. It never works. Can't we just be friends?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Maac."

"You're just going to have to get used to it , Tough Guy," Duncan indulged himself by tucked the blankets a little more firmly around the pouting teenager. "I love you and that's an end to it."

"I thought you weren't gonna make any more promises you couldn't keep."

"I'm not."

"Things change, Macleod," Richie looked away. "People change. What if .. what if I wasn't what you thought I was? What if I lied or something?"

"Then we'd talk. I'd forgive you and we'd move on." Duncan assured him. "Now, go to sleep."

"You'd forgive me?" Richie's eyes were as wide as saucers.

Duncan looked down at the lad. True, he was streetwise, an accomplished thief no less, smart mouthed and cocky, but he was also loyal to a fault and a defender of the innocent. Time was boys younger than him were hung or deported for stealing a crust of bread to feed their starving siblings. He couldn't imagine any "crime" this child would commit that he wouldn't find morally justifiable.

"Aye, laddie," he vowed, brushing a lock of hair from the lad's brow. "You have my word on that."