See Part One for Disclaimers and Author's Note.

Matthew Adamson became a frequent and welcome visitor at Robin's apartment over the following month and a half.  Robin mentioned him on the phone to her sister, who felt it was suspect that any man would be so interested in a woman with a baby.  The nurse, though, knew that she could trust him.  Besides, it was nice to have him to pass Claire off on at the end of a long day.  Motherhood, Robin decided, was not for wimps.

He was also quickly becoming her steady date.  He made it a point to take her to some event at the college or elsewhere at least once a week, and she enjoyed calling him on any Saturday or Sunday she had free, and they'd spend the day running errands or sightseeing like a couple of tourists.  So far, though, their relationship hadn't gone past friendship.  Robin was grateful for that.  She was the kind of person who needed time to make up her mind about things, and Matthew seemed to be willing to give her that time.

One particular Friday afternoon she had free, she went over to the campus to visit him.  He was in what passed for his office (shared with two assistant professors and one adjunct), talking with some students about their test scores.

"You can't throw two eras together, Gina," he was saying to a small, dark-haired young woman.  "Where are you getting your history, reruns of  Xena: Warrior Princess?"

"Well, I just thought . . ."  The girl shrugged, then sighed in resignation.  "Can I redo that essay for late credit?"

"Of course.  I can't let it be said that I'm meaner that Dr. Halstrom, can I?"  He grinned mischievously, passing back the paper.

The other student, a fiery redhead, laughed.  "That would be hard even for you."

Matthew noticed Robin in the doorway.  "Come on in, Robin," he told her.  "Robin, this is Delia Cullen" he indicated the redhead "and Gina Cardones" he indicated the brunette.  "This is Robin Wecks and her foster daughter Claire."  The two young women smiled at Robin, who moved into the room and greeted them as they gathered their stuff and made their way to the door.  Matthew suddenly looked distracted, worried.

Robin was about to ask him what was wrong when she heard Gina's voice behind her.

"Whoa.  The future Mr. Gina Cardones comin' this way, Delia," she murmured to her friend, who responded with a quiet "Yow!"  Matthew's face cleared and an amused smile tugged at his mouth.

A new voice came from outside the door, apparently addressing Gina and Delia.  "Excuse me, but do you know if Matthew Adamson is in?"  The voice was deeper than Matthew's and the accent, though still British, was subtly different.

"I believe I hear Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," Matthew commented to Robin.  In another moment, the hunkiest man Robin had ever seen poked his head into the room.  Gina and Delia were staring in blind adoration.

The head came into the room, attached to a body that looked equally impressive under a coat quite similar to Matthew's.  The doctoral student rose to greet the newcomer, both smiling widely.

"Just what have I done to make you reappear?" Matthew asked in an almost affectionate tone.

"I thought I might invade your house, crash on your couch, and steal your beer.  If that's okay with you, of course," replied the apparent Duncan MacLeod.

"Well, mi casa es su casa."  Matthew suddenly reached over and, surprisingly enough, drew the larger man into a firm hug.  "It's good to see you again, Boy Scout."

"Good to see you, too, Old Man," said MacLeod, returning the hug.

Robin was delighted.  Was she finally meeting the "Boy Scout" Matthew so often alluded to?

"Duncan, meet Robin Wecks and her foster daughter, Claire," Matthew was saying.  "Robin, this is Duncan MacLeod, an old friend."

Duncan's huge hand seemed to swallow Robin's, and his grip had an even greater sense of controlled power than Matthew's.  One naughty corner of her mind wondered what Jayne would say.  His smile was open and friendly, which paradoxically seemed to take the edge off his incredible looks.

"Glad to meet you," he said, and this time she identified the Scot in his voice.

"Same here," she returned.

Duncan hunched down to Claire's eye level in the stroller.  "And you must be Claire."  The baby favored him with one of her blinding smiles and gurgled with delight.

"I don't believe it," Matthew remarked disgustedly.  "There's not a female on Earth who doesn't fall for him."

Robin laughed at that.  She had to admit -- Duncan MacLeod looked like a lady-killer.  Nonetheless, she felt an almost instinctive trust for him.  Besides, anyone who looked that distracted by a baby couldn't be all bad.  A look passed between him and Matthew Robin couldn't quite understand.

"Robin, do you have any plans for the night?" asked Matthew suddenly.

The nurse shrugged.  "Not at the moment, no."

"How about the four of us go to dinner at Borelli's tonight?" he suggested.

"The four of us?  Including Claire?"  Robin wasn't quite sure of the idea.

"Why not?  Besides, MacLeod's paying."  He gave his friend an impish grin.

"Hey!" protested Duncan.  "See if I ever come to see you again!"

"Oh, but if you didn't, you'd break my heart."

Robin rolled her eyes.  "Not sure I want to get into this."

Matthew gave her his most winning smile.  "Pick you up at six?"

The nurse chewed her lip, not realizing how endearing Methos found the gesture.  "Um, the problem is, Claire's car seat is in my car, and those things are a pain to remove.  How about I drop by your place?"

"You pick me up?"  The erstwhile doctoral student raised his eyebrows.  "Oh, dear, I'm not sure I can let you do that.  I'm a very old-fashioned guy."

"Yeah," interjected Duncan.  "You know -- chivalry."

***

Dinner that night was the most fun Robin could remember having.  The barbs flew fast and furious between Matthew and Duncan.  It was obvious to the nurse that they went back quite a ways.  In spite of her fears about bringing Claire along, the baby was perfectly behaved.  Their waiter, a slim, pretty young man, fawned over Claire nearly as much as he did over Duncan.

"You know, MacLeod, if you play your cards right, you could have a date for tomorrow night," suggested Matthew, earning yet another dirty look from his friend.  Robin's sides already ached from laughing.

A few minutes later, Matthew excused himself to the men's room.  Robin leaped at the opportunity to pry a little information out of the Scotsman.

"So how long have you known Matthew?" she asked.

The question seemed to catch Duncan off guard.  "Ah, let me think . . . close to ten years now.  Feels like forever, though."

"Really?  How did you meet?"

Again, Duncan didn't seem sure of how to answer.  "We're both kind of . . . history buffs.  At one point we were both researching the same thing and kind of ran into each other."

"College, then?"

"Something like that."

"I'm sorry," Robin apologized, feeling bad.  "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No.  It's okay."  Duncan smiled at her, and she relaxed.

"Good.  It just seems like I don't know all that much about him, and I'd really like to."

"He's not an easy man to know."  Understatement of the millennium, thought Duncan.  "But I can tell that he's very much interested in you."

"I hope so."  The words slipped out before Robin could stop them.  She felt her ears heat and wondered if a cuss word would be inappropriate.  "I can't believe I said that," she mumbled.

Duncan chuckled, not unkindly.  "It's okay.  You could do worse, and he could do a lot worse."  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.  She laughed with him, and Methos chose that moment to return to the table.

This can't be good, he decided.

After dinner, they all went back to the Adamson place with its eclectic furnishings for a little more talk.  Robin elected to have a cup of tea rather than a beer (which she never had learned to like -- besides, she was driving with baby on board).  Matthew spread himself all over the couch in a way that she found painfully sexy.  As if that wasn't enough, Claire decided she wanted to be held by Duncan.  The sight of such a big, powerful, gorgeous man with a baby in his arms was almost too much for Robin's hormones.

Fortunately for her, it wasn't too long before Claire announced that it was her bedtime.  Robin gathered her up, bade Duncan farewell, and Matthew walked her out to her car.

"Thanks for inviting me, Matthew," she told him as she buckled Claire into her car seat.  "It was fun, and I really like Duncan."

"I'm sure," he muttered.

She regarded him curiously.  "What was that tone?"

"Nothing."

"It sounded like jealousy to me," she suggested, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Nothing of the sort," he insisted.

Robin sighed a little melodramatically.  "A girl can always hope."

He caught her smile, then walked over to her and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders.  A moment later, the two were sharing their first kiss.  Robin thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

A few minutes later, Methos reentered the house to find that Duncan had taken over the sofa.

"She's cute," the Scotsman observed.

"She's a good deal more than that."  Methos tossed him another beer from the fridge.  "Why are you in town, by the way?"

"Seacouver's only about three hours away by car, you know.  I thought I'd look in on an old friend."  Methos snorted, and Duncan headed back around to the subject that most interested him.  "So where is this all headed?"

Methos sat in a high-backed chair, and, to Duncan's amazement, actually seemed to sprawl even in it.  The man had talent.

"I think," mused Methos, "that Robin is well on her way to being wife number sixty-nine."

That pronouncement shut Duncan up.  For a few moments, anyway.  "Does she know this?"

"Of course not."

"Does she know you're Immortal?"

"Nope."

"Have you two . . ?"

"Strike three."

"Well, you seem to be taking things slow enough."

Methos sighed in exasperation.  "You know, for your amount of experience with the fair sex, MacLeod, you're surprisingly thick."  Duncan narrowed his eyes.  Methos made an impatient gesture.  "Come on.  You can't get a woman into bed in less than a week, you expect to be 'just friends' forever.  Take it from a five thousand year-old -- the really good ones are worth the wait.  Robin needs time."

Duncan wrinkled his brow.  "How much time?"

The older man made a negligent gesture.  "At least eight months to a year."

"That long."  Duncan shook his head, then suddenly pinned Methos with a look.  "Is she a . . ."

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

Methos grinned enigmatically.  "That would be an embarrassing story for her, I'm afraid.  Can't tell you."

"How gallant."  Duncan's tone was sarcastic.

"Not at all."  Methos regarded his friend lazily.  "Considering the fact that she and I are going to be married one of these days, I'll need some blackmail material."

Duncan's brow wrinkled, and his posture became a little less casual.  "Methos, what about Claire?"

The ancient was silent for a long moment.  When he finally spoke, he sounded tentative.  "I don't think Robin's going to give her up, so if I marry Robin . . . Claire will grow up as my daughter."

"Have you thought this through?"  Duncan knew that it was no small thing to raise a pre-Immortal child.

Methos took a long drink of his beer.  "Actually, I was planning to play it by ear."

Later, after Duncan left, Methos reflected back on their conversation.  He knew MacLeod had kept tabs on several pre-Immortals over the years -- Richie Ryan, for instance -- and, for that matter, so had Methos.  He'd watched them grow, trained a few when they'd gained Immortality . . . and he'd watched them die.  A few of Methos's students still lived, but not many.  As for Claire, she was being born into the most violent phase of the Game Methos had ever seen.  How would she survive?

His thoughts turned back to Robin.  Try as he might, he could not get her out of his mind.  Not during the day, and most certainly not at night.  Every time he slept, she was in his dreams.  I'm falling in love, he realized, and closed his eyes.  What he'd told MacLeod was true: he couldn't let go of Robin, and Robin wouldn't let go of Claire.  Like it or not, Old Man, he told himself, you're about to become a father again.

***

A few days later, after Duncan had breezed back out of town, Robin had an especially tough day at work.  She was lying on her couch after work trying to get up the strength to make dinner when the doorbell rang.  Slowly, she hauled herself over to the door, and it opened to reveal Matthew Adamson.  She leaned forward.  Her forehead pressed against his shoulder, and she moaned.

"You, too?" he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

"I had a bad day," she groaned.

"That would make two of us.  I found a menu for an Italian restaurant on your doorknob -- would you like to order pizza?"

"Uh-huh."  She didn't move, and he practically had to carry her to her couch, where she promptly collapsed again.  It registered to her that he was calling the pizza place and making an order for a large, half Hawaiian (her favorite), and half pepperoni with black olives.  A few moments later, he was lifting her into a sitting position.  She protested at this until he sat behind her and started giving her the best back rub she'd ever imagined.

"Ohhh," she moaned.  This was heaven.  One of his hands moved to her very sore neck, and he paused briefly, feeling her spine.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.  She nodded.  "All right, then.  Relax and lean back against my hand."

She did so, and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders while gripping the back of her neck.  There was a sudden jerk, a popping sound, and the crick in her neck that had been dogging her all day was gone.

"Wow!" she exclaimed.  "You're incredible!  A history professor and a chiropractor all in one."

"I've learned a few things in my time," he murmured.  She was still leaning back against him.  His other arm wrapped around her, and she found herself being securely held.  Talk about heaven, she thought.  One arm unwrapped, and his hand found the remote for her stereo.  In another moment, soft music was drifting out of her speakers.

"Nat King Cole," Matthew observed.

"Yeah.  And Louis Armstrong, too."  She craned her neck to look at her friend.  "I like Satchmo.  I don't know why.  The man can't sing, really."

Their noses were practically touching.  "No, but he was an exceptionally nice man," Matthew told her.

Robin's brow wrinkled.  "How would you know?"

He hedged.  "I am a history professor, you know."  He wrapped his arm back around her, and their lips were almost touching . . .

Claire chose that moment to announce that she'd awakened from her nap and wanted dinner.  Robin pulled away very reluctantly.

A little while later, they were eating hot pizza while Robin fed Claire a bottle and groused about her day.

" . . . and then, to top it all off, I had to do report with Paige.  All she wanted to do was complain about her so-called boyfriend who she picked up at a bar.  Seems he's not the commitment type.  I told her, 'Paige, you meet the guy and sleep with him the same night, you shouldn't be surprised he turned out to be a jerk.'  Honestly, she's always coming up with these guys who 'forget' to tell her they have wives, or ten children, or are on the lam--!  You'd think she'd get the picture."  She took another bite of pizza and washed it down with diet cola.  "Anyway, that was my day.  Fun, huh?"

"Sounds like it."  Matthew finished his slice and sucked a little sauce off his thumb.  Robin found that incredibly sexy.  Of course, she found almost everything about Matthew Adamson incredibly sexy.  "Mind if I complain about the college administration a bit?"

He ranted about the bureaucrats, then they played with Claire awhile, and the evening deepened.  Matthew gave Claire her final bottle of the day.  After the baby was put to bed, Matthew sat down beside Robin on the couch, looking pensive and nervous.

"What's wrong?" Robin asked gently.

Methos had come to a decision.  Generally, he felt his gut was the best judge of what he should do, and it was urging him to tell Robin what he was now, before things went any further.  Still, he hesitated, his ingrained habit of self-protection warring with his instincts.

"Robin," he began finally, "there's something I want you to know -- something about myself that I think you should hear now, before we go any further."

The nurse's brow wrinkled.  She wasn't sure she liked the sound of this.  "What is it?"

Matthew hesitated again.  "I'm not sure quite how to tell you."  He was avoiding her eyes.

This was driving Robin nuts.  "Okay, let me guess.  You have a wife."

"Not at present."

"Ten children?"

He laughed.  "No."

"Are you on the lam?"

"Not this century.  I guess I'll have to tell you."  He smiled at her, then got up and went over to his coat and retrieved two items from it.  As he came back, Robin could see he was holding a leather pouch in one hand and what looked for all the world like a dagger in the other.  He sat down, setting the dagger on the coffee table.  It looked lethally functional.

"I have a gift for you, and a secret."  He took her hand and spilled the contents of the pouch in it.

It was a necklace, intricately worked in gold, with a large, inky black onyx as its centerpiece.  The weight of it told her immediately told her that the gold was pure.  She was stunned.

"Matthew, I -- I can't accept this," Robin protested.

"I want you to have it," he told her firmly.  "No matter what your decision is after you hear what I have to tell you."

As he said this, he seemed to change in front of her eyes.  Robin had never been sure of his age, and that uncertainty was suddenly at the forefront of her mind.  He looked both older and younger than she'd imagined.  His eyes connected with hers and they looked almost golden in the soft light.  His voice, when he spoke, was at once light and gentle and filled with power.

"That necklace, Robin, is over two thousand years old.  It was created by an Egyptian goldsmith for the lady he wished to marry.  Unfortunately, she died of an illness before they could be wed.  The smith gave the necklace to a friend and told him to give it to his lady someday."

He paused in his narrative, as if gathering his courage.  "That friend, Robin . . . was me."

Robin stared at him uncomprehendingly.  "Run that by me again?"

Matthew reached over to the coffee table and picked up the dagger.  "What I'm trying to tell you," he said slowly, "is that I'm Immortal."  With that, he placed the tip of the dagger against his hand and cut deeply into his palm.  Blood welled up.

Robin was shocked into immobility.  What was he doing?  One corner of her mind watched absently as he casually pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood away.  For a moment, there was a long slit in his hand, and she watched as it sealed, then healed over without a scar.

The mortal mind isn't equipped to deal quickly or easily with such things.  Robin stared at his hand, disbelief, nausea, and a strange, tingling suspicion that everything she'd ever been told was wrong warring within her.  His voice intruded on her thoughts, and it took her a moment to identify the fact that he was saying her name.

"Robin?" he asked tentatively.  "What are you thinking?"

She shook her head, tried to make a coherent thought.  Finally, she pointed at his hand.  "How?"

"I'm Immortal, Robin," he explained again patiently.  "I don't age, and all wounds will heal on me.  Even mortal wounds.  Death itself isn't permanent, unless I get my head cut off."

"This can't be for real," she muttered.  She shook her head again, as if to drive away a hallucination.

"Robin, look at me."  It was an order.  "This is real.  I teach ancient history because I was there."  He waited, only to be met with a blank stare.  Stronger measures, he decided, were in order.

"Very well, then," he said.  With that, he took the dagger in his right hand and pointed it at his chest.  "Please don't scream."

And he stabbed himself through the heart.  Robin gave a short shriek as he fell back against the sofa and pulled the dagger out of his chest with the last of his strength.  It fell to the floor.

Her medical training took over her body, and she literally ripped his shirt open to examine the wound.  As she did so, it registered to her that he was, in fact, dead.  She didn't know that he knew exactly where to put the dagger in order to kill himself almost instantly.

"Matthew?" she called frantically.  "Matthew!"  Tears welled up in her eyes.  This couldn't be happening.  She pressed her hand against the hole in his chest.

He gasped.  She screamed.  He started coughing.  She jerked away, unbalanced herself on the sofa, and fell to the floor with a thud.  He looked at her.  She looked at him.

"Wh-what are you?" she whispered.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," he rasped.  "I'm Immortal."  He indicated the bloody patch on his chest.  "Look."

Tentatively, Robin got up on the couch beside him, then reached out and touched the place where there had been a mortal wound only a moment before.  She still had his blood on her hand.  On his chest was blood, but the injury was gone.  Vanished.

Her eyes met his, and his strange sense of agelessness hit her once again.  There were a few possibilities, a detached portion of her brain told her.  Number one, she was dreaming.  But it didn't feel like a dream, even if it looked like one.  Number two, this was some sort of elaborate con.  But she'd seen the wound; it was real.  Besides, what did she have that he would want to con her out of?

Number three, he was telling the truth.  She could barely comprehend it, but it was the only possible explanation.

She shook her head again.  "How?" she wondered aloud.

She didn't really expect an answer, but he gave her one.  "No one knows exactly how, Robin, but we do exist."  At her sharp look, he nodded once.  "Yes, there are others.  Hundreds of others that I know of.  We live among mortals, and, as you see, we don't differ from you that much.  Duncan MacLeod is another one."

Robin put a hand to her forehead.  This was a bit much to absorb, but she had to know more.  "Go on," she prompted.

Continued

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