1946

Duncan MacLeod looked again at the card in his hand as the train lurched through green fields toward a small town in Connecticut. The words on the card were few, set in Connor's typical concise fashion: "come visit," an address and a signature. They had lost track of each other during the Second World War, and now that the war was over, Connor had been able to track Duncan down before Duncan had even had a chance to go looking for his kinsman. Duncan could see why Connor had picked this area -- quiet, but not too far from The City. A place that would invite growth, and make for a good return on investment. Connor had always been good with investments -- owning solid things, buying and selling property. The crash of '29 had barely touched him -- values had dipped, but Connor knew if he held on long enough, they would rise again. Connor trusted things far more than people and their words on paper, and big properties -- buildings and ships -- were his favorites. Duncan gazed at the small town buildings that, one day, would probably be nearly swallowed by New York City, the values rising year by year. Duncan's mentor had foresight...had since Duncan could remember. But Connor was a sensitive man too, and Duncan thought that the quaintness of this town might have had as much effect on Connor's choice as the potential future value of the property.

This spring day was bright and crisp, and Duncan had no trouble finding his way from the train station to the neighborhood he was looking for. He smiled at the line of recently-painted houses and white picket fences as he strode down Daisy Lane. Duncan's pace slowed as he checked the number on the card against the one on the house, and he tried not to let his puzzlement show as he leaned on the fence and spoke to the young girl playing jacks on the front porch. "Hi there," he said in his friendliest tone, smiling benignly. The blonde girl just stared at him, her eyes wide. She was a scrawny little thing, maybe 8 or 9, and thin as a reed. Duncan cleared his throat before continuing. "I'm looking for a man named Connor MacLeod, I was told he lives here. Do you know..." The girl dashed into the house, and Duncan's voice trailed off as he finished his sentence to empty air: "...if he's around?" Shaking his head, Duncan lifted the latch on the gate and stepped into the yard.

"Duncan!" Connor's familiar voice called out as he stepped outside. Connor was smiling broadly, holding out his right hand in greeting. The little girl was clinging to his left hand and half-hiding behind him. "It's all right. He's my brother," Connor reassured the girl, extracting his hand from hers to stroke her hair. The girl clung to his waist now instead, and Connor gave her a tolerant smile.

"Good to see you, Connor," Duncan said, shaking his kinsman's hand. He knelt to come eye to eye with the girl, who buried her face in Connor's side. "And who's this?"

"This," Connor said, continuing to stroke the child's hair, "is Rachel. She was orphaned in the war." Rachel finally peeked at Duncan, one eye staring at him from behind a fold of cloth.

"Hello." Duncan smiled at the girl, who finally uncovered her face and offered a shy smile back.

"We were about to have lunch. Please, join us." Connor gestured toward the front door.

Connor's house suited him: simple but elegant. Duncan noted that the more expensive or dangerous relics were kept out of easy reach, up high or in locked cases. Rachel happily skipped ahead of the men into the kitchen, from which the smell of a simmering stew emanated. Connor's tastes hadn't changed much in the three centuries they'd known each other; luckily Connor's cooking skills had.

Rachel sat down eagerly, bouncing a little in her chair as Connor served the meal. She began to eat rapidly, stuffing pieces of roll into her mouth when she wasn't shoveling in stew. "Rachel," Connor said, his voice gentle but firm. She stopped in mid spoon-lift, her mouth half-open, and looked up at him. "Slow down. There's no hurry," he gently chided her. Rachel swallowed guiltily, but nodded as she took the spoonful of stew into her mouth and chewed slowly. Connor winked and smiled, and Rachel smiled back with a blush.

Over the wonderful meal, Connor and Duncan caught up with each other, being careful with their references to time frames and anything else associated with Immortality. Duncan noted that Rachel was taking in every word carefully, watching him and evaluating this new person invading her household. Wherever Connor had picked her up, she'd learned to be wary. But as a child who would grow up around Connor, Rachel was probably better off being a little guarded against people she didn't know.

Duncan and Connor had finally fallen silent for a few moments, and Rachel took advantage of the momentary quiet. "May I be excused?"

Connor looked up and out the window toward the front of the house. Duncan followed his line of sight and saw a girl with sunshine-colored hair -- much like Rachel's own -- hovering at the front walk. Connor was smiling now. "Ah, I see your friend June is here. Yes, you may be excused." Rachel quickly stood and dashed out the front door.

"She's adorable," Duncan commented, watching the girls frolic in the yard. "Lovely voice too...when she speaks."

"She's done well picking up English these past few years," Connor replied.

Duncan's attention focused on his kinsman. "She's from Europe, then?"

Connor nodded, refilling their lemonade glasses. "I speak just enough Dutch to get by...enough to get her to come with me." Connor's eyes drifted to the window, but Duncan knew he was seeing a different scene. "I was running, trying to escape that God-forsaken place myself. I ducked into a bombed-out factory to catch my breath, and I heard a sound." Connor sighed. "A sob. I pulled aside some debris, and there she was, hiding under a table."

"And you whisked her off to safety," Duncan said with a grin.

Connor rolled his eyes at his friend, but smiled back. "Sort of. After getting past some...obstacles."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Obstacles?" he repeated, knowing Connor was prone to understatement.

"A Nazi with a machine gun," Connor clarified. "Shot me in the back while I was carrying her. I played dead, got his gun and shot him."

"So she knows." Duncan's smile faded.

"She knows it's 'a kind of magic,'" Connor replied with a shrug. "And she knows she isn't supposed to bring it up. After living most of her life in danger, she knows how to keep quiet."

Duncan watched the girls for a few moments as they tried to sneak up on a jaybird in the gnarled oak tree. "Is she Jewish?"

Connor nodded. "Though she doesn't speak of it much. Her name -- Ellenstein -- is too suggestive of it, I wasn't about to leave her there for someone else to discover it."

"So you got her papers to come back here." Duncan gave his kinsman a sideways glance. "There are orphanages in England, and over here..."

"I'm well aware of that, thank you." Connor's stern gaze focused on Duncan. "And what would you have done, my friend? If you had been confronted with a little girl who had just lost all of her family, who was grimy and too thin for her age and scared half out of her wits?" A sly smile spread across Connor's face. "You weren't in much better shape when I found you." Connor shook his head as the smile faded. "I couldn't just leave her in some orphanage when she'd just lost everything she knew, including her home. At least I knew some of her language."

Duncan smiled at Connor's defensiveness. "So what do you tell the neighbors?"

Connor shrugged. "As close to the truth as I can. I say that my wife and I had wanted children, but she passed away without us having any. So I adopted a war orphan to fulfill my own desires and to give a child a second chance. They don't question it."

"No reason for them to." Duncan smiled as Rachel waved to them through the window. "She's quite attached to you."

Connor nodded. "She's a sweet child. And if I can give her a comfortable life after what she's been through..."

"What about the Game?"

Connor slammed his fist on the table. "To hell with the Game."

"Are you quitting?" Duncan half-taunted. It had been three-quarters of a century since Connor had expressed his disapproval of Duncan wanting to leave The Game after Little Deer's death, and Duncan didn't honestly believe Connor would consider quitting either.

"No. I'm taking a little break," Connor corrected.

"They'll find you," Duncan threw Connor's own words back at him.

"If they find me, I'll fight." Connor shrugged. "I'll do what I have to. But I won't go looking for it." Connor suddenly stood and walked over to the window. He tapped on the glass loudly, and when he had Rachel's attention, he frowned and pointed his finger downward. Rachel made a face at him, but clambered down off the fence. A faint smile played on Connor's lips as he re-settled himself at the table. "She's given me such a gift, Duncan."

"And what would that be?"

"Youth." Connor's smile was full-fledged now. "I feel younger now than I have in centuries. I'm starting to think youth is contagious." Connor's love for the child shone through his eyes. "She has lived through all of these horrible things, and yet she can look at a flower as if it's the first one she's ever seen. She'll point out a snail on the sidewalk or a bird way up in the sky. She will giggle just because she's happy and hug me just because she feels like it." Connor shook his head in amazement. "Her exuberance is revitalizing."

"Sounds like she's just what you needed." Duncan smiled knowingly.

"I think she is," Connor replied with a nod as he distractedly watched his child through the window. "I think she is."

A child's shrill scream pierced the still night air. Before he could even think, Duncan was leaping out of the guest room bed, pulling on his trousers and bolting down the chilly hallway toward Rachel's room. Connor was already there, hushing his adopted child and rocking her gently. Rachel clung with tight fists to his pajama shirt, her face buried in his shoulder as she sobbed.

Duncan stood in the doorway, observing the room and its accoutrements, which were bathed in the moonlight filtering through lacy curtains. The rosy pink walls matched the floral bedspread, which had been kicked into a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. A few neatly stacked schoolbooks, an open pencil box and a bottle of paste sat on a sturdy wooden desk beneath the window. A squat chest of drawers in a slightly lighter shade of wood was nestled between the desk and one wall, while on the near wall was a set of bookshelves with a stepladder before it to aid Rachel's access. The top shelf held an array of carefully dressed porcelain-faced dolls, while the shelf below it was loaded with books. Duncan knew the girl would certainly be infused with Connor's love of knowledge, if she hadn't been already. The two lower shelves held an assortment of toys that also spilled out in front of it, including a jump rope and the jacks Rachel had been playing with when Duncan had first seen her. Duncan smiled. He knew no child could be completely orderly...even if she was in the care of someone as organized as Connor.

Connor had finally convinced Rachel to lie back down on the bed, and as she curled into a ball he carefully tucked her in and kissed her forehead. "Good night Rachel."

"'Night, Anderpapa," Rachel's soft voice replied. After a moment, she added hesitantly, "Good night, Uncle Duncan."

Duncan blushed. He hadn't thought she'd even noticed his presence. "Good night, Rachel."

Connor ushered Duncan out of Rachel's room, closed the door to a crack, and led his kinsman to his room. Duncan settled into the reading chair while Connor turned on a lamp and paced.

"Your heart's still racing, isn't it Connor?" Duncan said quietly. Connor nodded slowly, but didn't speak. The lamplight and his mood both cast shadows across his face. "Does this happen often?" Duncan prompted.

"Less than it used to," Connor replied. "But often enough." Connor stopped for a moment to give Duncan a long, serious look. "Every now and then you see the symptoms of her past. Like being wary of strangers...and the way she was eating earlier, wolfing the food down as if someone would take it away...or as if she didn't know where her next meal was coming from, or when." Connor resumed his pacing.

"I hadn't thought about her behavior that way. I suppose she'll grow out of it..."

"I hope so." Connor's face clouded over again. "I want her to be able to use those memories to know that she can overcome anything, but I don't want her to be haunted by them forever either."

Duncan nodded, and decided it was time to change the subject, or his kinsman's worry would never let him get to sleep. "Anderpapa?" he inquired.

"It means 'other father,'" Connor said with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I didn't want any intimations that I was replacing her parents...she knew them, remembered them. I wasn't going to take that from her. She was having trouble with my name, though. Then one day she started calling me Anderpapa. And it stuck." His smile twisted wistfully. "I suppose she'll grow out of that too."

"Hopefully she'll grow out of other behaviors first," Duncan replied with a grin. He glanced his kinsman up and down. "Not that it's any of my business, Connor...but I don't recall you ever wearing anything to bed unless it was extremely cold."

Connor slid the sleeves of his pajama shirt up to his elbows and shrugged. "I never had to rescue a child screaming from terrifying nightmares before." A grin spread across his face. "A child who has now taken to jumping on my bed at the break of dawn to wake me up too. Something else I'll have to take care of."

"When you stop finding it so entertaining." Duncan laughed.

"Speaking of that...if we don't get some sleep, that break of dawn is going to come far too early."

Duncan rose from his chair, shaking his head in awe. "I have to admit, Connor -- fatherhood certainly suits you."

"I wanted to be the father of Heather's children. I never thought I'd get the chance to be one." Connor smiled. "And I wouldn't trade this chance for the world."