In the strained silence that followed, Duncan saw that Richie had gone deathly pale, and looked almost physically ill. As for Joe, he clutched at the flagon of ale, poured himself a drink, and downed it in a succession of rapid gulps. He himself was fighting the urge to slide down in his chair, try to make himself smaller. Invisible. //But I'm not invisible. I can't hide, can't slink away. And I can't escape what I have to do. What I've known in my heart, from the moment I said that cursed word "ashes."// He pushed the chair back and heaved himself to his feet. "Connor," he said hoarsely. "You know that...I love you." Connor looked up at him, eyes widening in surprise. He made himself go on, though the words seemed torn from his throat. "If...if you truly want to die, and you believe there's a way you can stay dead..." More chair movements, accompanied by gasps of horror. "I...I will...*do it again*." He tried to smile. "N-no ashes. I promise." Connor's jaw had dropped. "Duncan, I didn't expect--" *"No!"* And Richie was also on his feet, throwing a protective arm around his father. "Don't put him through that again, Connor." It was an order, not a request. And the voice was firm. "If you want to die, let me take your head. I'm young, but I have more experience than you did at my age. I'll make it quick and clean." "Stay out of this, Richie!" Duncan pleaded. "It's my responsibility--" "No, it isn't," said Connor. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. "I won't do this, not to either of you. "The truth is"--he sniffled, and wiped disgustedly at the tears--"I don't so much 'want to die' as want to *be dead*. To have the dying part over and done with. But if I can't die without hurting people I love, I'll settle for living. Hell, I've been doing it for almost five hundred years." Duncan was afraid to believe. "You won't let your guard down the next time an Immortal challenges you?" Connor sighed. "No, I give you my word I won't." "The Watchers. They still want to kill you. And if they do, your Quickening will be lost forever, because I don't think I have any part of it now--" "Then I'll just have to evade the Watchers, won't I?" Joe, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet for some time, cleared his throat. "I may be able to help you there, Connor. If you stay in touch, I'll give you the name and photo of anyone who's actively searching for you." "I may have to kill some of them." Joe grimaced, but said quickly, "Yeah, I know. I trust you. If you kill anyone, I'll accept that it was self-defense. "And remember, they aren't even sure you're alive! In fact, the most popular theory as to why no one's spotted you or Kell is that you killed him, and one of his posse murdered you while you were weakened by the Quickening." He gave a faint chuckle. "My suggestion." Duncan's face must have betrayed his anxiety, because Connor rose, came around the table, and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Then he extended an arm to include Richie. "Don't worry, Duncan," he said as he released them. "I'll die in the Game, someday, somewhere. An honorable death. And I won't make any requests about my remains. No risking your life to recover my body and *prevent* cremation! It can be left to fate." "You...won't be able to stay with us." Duncan had known that from the start, but it didn't ease the hurt. "No. That's one of the things I meant by saying life is never fair. The old Enemy is dead, and I *still* can't risk being close to anyone." Connor's voice throbbed with regret, and his eyes were moist again. But he gave Duncan's hand an affectionate squeeze, then said gently, "Now that I'm on my feet, I think it's time to go."