Disclaimer – Don't own any of the D/P characters. Because if I did there would be none of that Richie being inconveniently dead business. Anyone else is probably a figment of my imagination.
AN – OK I know I said I wasn't gonna post more than one story at a time ever again. But I needed some light relief from torturing Richie in The Q and people seem to like younger Richie stories. Also I have noticed its not Christmas. Or even close. But this really wouldn't work in the Summer. I haven't exactly decided if this is set in the same Universe as I never liked Art or cannon. Let me know what you think.
***
Richie looked morosely out of the window of the T-Bird and tried to hunker down a little more into his thin green and blue leather jacket.
It was snowing. Again. Or maybe it just hadn't stopped yet.
"No sane person goes out in weather like this." He grumbled.
"Is that why you and Tess spent all yesterday afternoon building that snowman?" Duncan sounded amused.
"Hey that was entirely her idea." Richie protested. "I only agreed cos she seemed kinda down."
"She misses her family at this time of year." Duncan sighed.
He pretended not to notice when Richie tensed.
"So. You guys could fly back to Paris for the holidays. I mean. You can afford it, right?" He offered in a flat voice.
"I don't think that's a very good idea." Duncan shook his head.
"Geez Mac." Duncan was surprised by the sudden anger in his tone. "What the hell do I have to do? I promise to dress nice and keep regular hours, not swear at the customers – not matter how pompous they are – and I haven't broken anything in months."
"Richie. This is not about me trusting you to look after the Store." Duncan realised.
"Its not?" Richie glanced over at him.
"No. Its not." Duncan lips quirked. "At least you don't keep hiding the best stock at the back of the display cases so you can claim it hasn't sold when it mysteriously turns up in the Apartment."
"Is that where all that stuff comes from?" Richie grinned.
Duncan was glad to see it. The lad hadn't done nearly enough of that lately and he was at a loss to know what was amiss.
"So. Why can't you go to Paris?" Richie asked, looking carefully out of the window.
"Tessa's family." Duncan shrugged. "They hate me."
"You're snowing me, right?" Richie shook his head. "I mean, you have a great job, you make loads of money, plus you have that whole charm thing that parents love. You gotta be perfect son-in-law material."
"Except that I'm also the older man, who took their only daughter thousands of miles away, to live in a foreign land, and still hasn't made an honest woman of her." Duncan pointed out.
"Oh." Richie considered that. "Yeah. That's gonna screw up your credit rating alright. Especially with dear old Dad."
"When did you get to be the world's expect on Fathers-in-law?" Duncan teased.
"Easy." Richie said sourly. "All my girlfriends Fathers hate me. Its like they have this built in radar or something."
***
"What are we stopping here for?" Richie protested.
"We're making the delivery." Duncan arched a brow.
"Here?" Richie looked up. "This isn't a house. Its like a Palace or something."
"I think it was a Palace." Duncan shrugged. "Or a Consulate. Now it's a house."
He opened the door, letting an icy blast of air into the car and got out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Richie alone in the silence of the car with only the pinking of the cooling engine for company.
A sharp tap on his window broke into his thoughts.
"You came to help." Duncan reminded him.
Wearily Richie opened the door and stepped out, landing his right sneaker right in a puddle of freezing water. He swore.
"Just because you do that in Polish, doesn't mean it doesn't count." Duncan gave him a stern look.
"Fine." Richie sniped. "I'll pick another language."
"Richie .." Duncan began.
He looked at the defiant stare and the tense, closed, body language and held his peace. He's already learnt the hard way that with Richie it was wise to pick your battles carefully.
"Just take the other end will you?" he sighed.
"So what happened?" Richie griped. "Did you run out of supplies of Spinach or something?"
"What?" Duncan grunted as he took the weight at his end.
"Who did you get to help you with this kind of stuff before?"
"Richie. Just shut up and lift will you?" Duncan managed.
***
The mistress of the house frowned visibly as Richie squelched through her exquisitely appointed rooms. Looking him up and down before he left as if she thought he might slip the silverware in his pocket.
Duncan was polite to her and didn't appear to notice.
"How's the foot?" Duncan asked, once they were back in the car.
"Wet. Cold. I think I might have frostbite."
"You'll survive." Duncan turned the heat up a little.
"Easy for you to say." Richie snapped. "Its not like your foot would turn black and drop off. Us lesser mortals don't have your advantages. Remember?"
Duncan swallowed his hurt. The fact that Richie would one day be Immortal was irrelevant right now. He had always done his best to take care of the lad. More often than not it was Richie who complained about being fussed over.
He pulled over. "Stay here."
Richie gave him an icy glare and didn't answer.
When he went back juggling two large cups of hot coffee and two warm apple pastries the lad had the grace to look a bit abashed.
"I'm sorry Mac." He apologized. "I guess I got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning or something."
Duncan wasn't remotely convinced. But he was happy enough to accept the thaw in relations.
"In the 1950's she was a gogo dancer. She made all her money shaking her .. maracas."
Richie nearly snorted coffee up his nose. "You're kidding?"
"Well maybe." Duncan shot him a grin. "You never know."
Richie attacked his pastry with rather more relish. Maybe Mac had noticed after all.
***
Duncan glanced over at the passenger seat as Richie shivered for the fourth time in the last few minutes.
"Are you alright?"
As soon as the words left his mouth he realized that it wasn't the best of openings.
"Well. Let's see." Richie ticked off on his fingers. "First I had to get up at some ungodly hour – on a Saturday – to come out into the freezing cold and slush .. and then .."
"I meant." Duncan cut short what could be a very long, loquacious tirade. "Are you coming down with something?"
"No." Richie looked out the window.
"Great." Duncan muttered. "Motor mouth to monosyllabic in one second flat."
He decided to try another tactic.
"Because we could go home, if you were feeling sick?"
Richie shot him an evil look, which made it very clear that he knew what the Immortal was about.
"No. I'm fine."
"Alright then." Duncan gripped the steering wheel firmly, to avoid the temptation to throttle the lad. "Since you're fine. We have one more call we need to make."
"Whatever." Richie wouldn't look at him.
Duncan almost reconsidered. It wasn't really fair to do this to the lad if he really wasn't feeling all that well. But he had been promising to go and meet with this dealer for several days now – only to be interrupted by other business. Jonathan Russell was new in town and Duncan really didn't want to loose his good opinion before they had even met.
"We won't stay long." He compromised.
Richie didn't answer.
***
The new premises were most impressive. Russell was delighted to finally meet Macleod and Duncan took an instant liking to the genial old widower who had made collecting Antiques his life's work.
"And this is my assistant Richie Ryan." Duncan introduced the lad, laying a proud hand on his neck.
He paused. Under his hand Richie's skin felt slightly warm to the touch.
To his credit the man only shot a mild look of surprise at Richie's ugly jacket and ripped jeans before shaking his hand warmly.
"Nice to meet you my boy. Learning about the Antique business are you?"
"Some." Richie acknowledge politely. "Of course, I don't have anywhere near as much experience in the business as Mac." He said with a straight face.
Duncan acknowledged the inside joke with a quirk of his brow.
"Is that from a Harley?" Richie suddenly blurted.
"Ah." Russell smiled. "You know your motorcycles. I was much the same when I was a boy. This is from my collection. There are more pieces in the back that I haven't had time to unpack yet. Why don't you go and take a look whilst I show Mr. Macleod the artifacts he was interested in."
"Can I Mac?" Richie asked eagerly.
"Go for it." Duncan smiled, surprised at how much the lad's enthusiasm lightened his own heart.
He really hadn't mean to stay long.
Especially since he was almost sure that Richie was on the brink of sickening for something.
So it was with a slightly guilty conscience that he realized he hadn't heard anything from him for almost an hour.
"Rich?" he made a show of calling for the lad.
After all. It wouldn't do for anyone to know that he could sense exactly where he was.
"Here." Richie replied.
But there was no sound of answering feet.
Russell smiled. "Come. I think I know where he is."
***
"Ah man." Richie enthused. "Did you see her? Man. What a beauty."
"Looked like a heap of rust to me." Duncan observed.
"No way." Richie protested. "Well. OK. She needs a little love and attention."
"Russell said that bike hasn't been ridden since he was in college." Duncan pointed out. "And that was over 40 years ago."
"Exactly." Richie enthused. "That makes her a classic. I bet it wouldn't be that difficult to get the parts for her either …"
"Not that difficult." Duncan acknowledged. "But expensive."
"Maybe not." Richie hedged.
"Richie." Duncan growled. "You got out of the parts business. Remember?"
"You were a long time." Richie changed the subject. "Did you find anything you wanted?"
"No." Duncan pursued his lips.
"Oh." Richie slouched down in his seat.
They drove on in silence for a few blocks.
"Sure took a long time. I mean. For not having anything you wanted." Richie said innocently.
Duncan wondered when this lad had learnt to read him so well.
"He had something. It just wasn't for sale." Duncan said in a tone of finality.
"Ah." Richie nodded.
Two more blocks passed. They were almost at the Store.
"So. What was it?" Richie asked.