**Note: None of the following characters are my own. I've simply borrowed them for a little while from the folks who invented them. This story is only my personal speculation of Richie's POV during, and just after, the episode The Gathering. I'm not entirely sure as to how much time passes during the show, so I'm making assumptions on that, too.
**It is not one of those AU stories that then breeze through season one and Richie manages to save Tessa while becoming Immortal himself. As much as I was able, I've stuck to the original in this story. I've just speculated on what happened off-screen.
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Richie Ryan wandered the streets, thinking about what had just happened. He'd just been released from Juvie because the guy who owned the antique store refused to press charges. The seventeen-year-old knew there was plenty of evidence against him, but the guy-- MacLeod was it? --had let him off in exchange for silence. He still wasn't sure what to make of what he'd seen: First, MacLeod showed up with some kind of oriental sword, then the dude with the mask jumped down through the window and pulled out some kind of Medieval sword. The final straw, though, was when the third guy showed up, also with an oriental sword.
He had bolted, leaving his bag in the store, but there were some smaller items in his pockets. The police had picked him up about two blocks from the store. They had been processing him when MacLeod called saying there would be no charges.
The young thief had felt pretty cocky about that until MacLeod showed up. He'd been shaken up by the encounter far more than he'd ever admit. The only condition was that Richie say nothing about what he had witnessed. He couldn't explain why, but something about that sword he'd been messing around with just before MacLeod showed up fascinated him. He also felt some kind of inexplicable connection with the strange, sword-wielding antique dealer.
Richie sighed and stuffed his hands into his pocket. There was no place for him to go. The foster parents he was with didn't care what he did, so long as they didn't have to bail him out or otherwise spend more of their money than they had to.
Somehow, he found himself in a park not far from the antique store. Richie found a bench and sat down, wondering what he was going to do next. His current foster parents were out of town, and had left him behind.
He was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on, when he heard someone call his name. He looked up and saw one of his friends.
"Hey, Angie." He said.
She sat down next to him.
"You didn't stop by this morning." her tone wasn't accusing, but the question still stung.
"I got busted last night at an antique store and the guy dropped the charges."
"He did _what_!?!"
"He dropped the charges. I saw something I guess he didn't want the police to know about, so all I had to do was forget what I saw."
"But you won't." It wasn't a question.
Richie looked at her, "I can't forget it. I lied about it to the police, but I don't think I'll ever be able to forget what I saw."
"Why?"
Richie took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if he should spill it. MacLeod was scary, and he didn't want the man coming after him with that long sword of his.
"Let's just say I think that guy either has some loose screws, or he knows more about some of his merchandise than the average dealer."
"What kind of merchandise? Was he doing drugs or guns on the side?"
Richie glanced around, then leaned closer, "Try swords. Old ones. I saw a really cool looking one, and was messing around with it when he caught me. I think he thought I was going to kill him or something. Fortunately, there was a…ah…distraction and I split. The cops picked me up a couple of blocks from the store. First time I've ever been relieved to see 'em."
"Are you coming over tonight?"
"Yeah, I don't really have anywhere else to go." Richie leaned back, "You know, if I had a real family, I wouldn't hafta steal."
Angie twirled some of Richie's hair around her finger. "I'm surprised no one adopted a cute kid like you."
Richie snorted, "You know what the state system is like. My dad was never found, and they won't let any one adopt if there's a chance the natural family might want the kid later."
"So what will you do now?"
"I don't know. Find someplace to crash until some social worker comes looking for me."
"Only for another month."
"Yeah, and then what? I've got nothing, Angie. All I've got I stole. Or it's stuff people who felt sorry for me gave me."
"Listen. You spend the night at our place. At least there you don't have to worry about getting stripped."
Richie sighed, "I guess you're right."
He and Angie headed back to her apartment.
Her mom greeted them, "Hi you two."
"Mom, is it ok if Richie spends the night?"
"Honey, you know he's welcome here, but—"
"I know, I know," Richie interrupted, "I get the couch, right?"
That brought a laugh from both mother and daughter.
Despite having slept only a couple hours in the past two days, Richie couldn't seem to get to sleep. What little he managed was interrupted by dreams and nightmares. He kept seeing a sword swinging towards his throat, only instead of MacLeod, it was that mask guy. And every time, MacLeod would block it with his own sword.
After breakfast, Richie decided he'd see if he could find out any more information on MacLeod. The man intrigued him.
When he got to the store, though, it was closed. Richie was mildly disappointed as he walked away.
As he wandered through the warehouse district, Richie's attention was caught by the sound of clashing metal. Normally a common enough sound, this seemed different somehow. More rhythmic and less even than normal machinery.
Richie glanced around as he went over to investigate. Pausing briefly at the open door, he quickly moved past it and crouched at a square opening where a window had been knocked out. Inside were two of the men he'd seen in the antique shop, the two with the oriental swords and no mask. He remembered the introductions.
*I am Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod.*
*And I'm Conner MacLeod. Same Clan, different vintage.*
Unlike that night, though, the two men didn't seem to be really fighting. It seemed more like a practice, or play. Richie allowed a grin to slowly spread across his face. He nodded slowly, then headed back to the antique store to stake the place out. They returned around sundown, and Richie crouched behind one of the cars to wait and watch.
Only a few minutes later, Conner came out.
Richie ducked.
"Damn! Sir Lancelot!" He muttered.
He glanced around, and, thinking fast, picked the lock of the car's trunk and slipped in. He hesitated for a moment, then shut himself in as the car started rolling.
Richie tried to figure out where Conner was going, but he quickly became disoriented in the pitch-black trunk. When the car finally stopped and Richie heard the car door slam shut, he found his flashlight in his pocket and jimmied open the trunk so he could get out. He saw immediately they were at Soldier's Bridge.
As he closed the trunk as quickly and quietly as he could, he watched Conner stroll almost casually towards a second, older man who was obviously waiting. Richie heard them say some things to each other, but he was too busy finding a hiding spot in the support beams to pay attention to what was said.
The older guy pulled out a mask and put it on. Now Richie recognized him as the third sword-wielder from the antique store.
When they started fighting, even Richie could tell they were serious. Somehow, he knew it would be to the death, and Conner didn't seem to be doing to well.
"Man, these guys should sell tickets." Richie wasn't sure if he'd said that or not. He could see something that look like electricity or sparks flying from the swords when they clashed or slid against each other.
Suddenly, Conner slashed at the other guy's head and cut his face through the mask. The guy screamed and ripped the mask off. Then he sliced the guy's side.
Just as Conner was about to go for the killing stroke, though, the guy lifted his sword. Richie saw something fly out of the handle and embed itself in Conner's chest. He saw the man stumble back and go over the side of the bridge. At the same time, a second car pulled up, and Duncan jumped out.
"SLAN!" He bellowed, jumping over the low fence.
Richie couldn't see how Slan could still fight, wounded as he was, but fight he did. Duncan, though, seemed to fight with a little more flair than did Conner. Slan took some swipes that Duncan easily dodged.
"Getting a little slow?" Duncan taunted.
When Slan knocked Duncan's sword away, Richie thought it was over, but Duncan managed to flip Slan, then jump over him, grabbing his sword as he rolled and stood up.
The two faced each other, then Slan charged, sword aimed for Duncan's head. The other sidestepped and let his sword run through Slan's stomach. The wounded man fell to his knees as Duncan turned around and raised his sword. To Richie, it seemed as if this guy acted like he was dispatching some kind of pest he'd found in his home.
"Finish it, Highlander." Slan hissed.
"There can be only one." Duncan said quietly.
Everything seemed to slow down as Richie watched Duncan bring his sword down, neatly slicing off the head of the fallen.
Richie was stunned. He wanted to get up and run screaming, but he couldn't seem to move. As he stared in shock, a white mist enveloped the body, with arcs of electricity coming out of the neck. When one of the arcs hit Duncan, it seemed to start some reaction. Suddenly, the air was filled with lightning.
Richie instinctively threw his arms up to protect his face and head. He heard glass shatter, and several explosions from the cars. A scream seemed to be coming from the figure standing in the middle of the storm. As impossible as it seemed, bolts of lightning seemed to be absorbed into the man's body.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the storm was over. Duncan dropped to his hands and knees, his sword lying on the ground next to him where he'd dropped it. Richie was frozen as their eyes met.
"Whoah, dude. Jus-just forget I'm even here." Richie said, as if in a trance.
Duncan broke eye contact and looked for his sword. He picked it up and promptly jumped into the river over 50 feet below.
Richie leaned against a beam for support. He was shaking all over, and his knees felt as if they would collapse if he didn't have something to lean against. He barely noticed the sun rising.
After a few minutes, Richie decided he wouldn't keel over the minute he started walking, and he got off the bridge as quickly as possible. He was still shaking, and a little weak at the knees, but at least he wasn't dropping in a faint. He went down to the river's side, not really sure why, but when he heard splashing, he ducked into the weeds to investigate. Peeking over an embankment, Richie saw Duncan supporting Conner as they came towards the bank he was on.
*No. Way.* He thought, *There's no way he could have survived that!*
Duncan dropped Conner rather unceremoniously at the edge of the water and pulled the dart or whatever it was out of the man's chest.
Richie could hear them talking, but he could make out "You'll live," "All the fun," "Tessa," and "But she won't." Then Duncan helped Conner stand.
The two men looked directly at Richie.
"What about the boy?" Conner asked as Richie ducked, "He'll need watching."
"I know. I will." Came the reply.
Richie didn't wait around anymore.
* * * * * * * * * *
*1 week later*
Angela was worried about Richie. Ever since that night a week ago, he'd been uncharacteristically quiet. He also kept going back to that antique store every day, but each time he came back frustrated. Plus, whenever she tried to get him to tell her what happened, he just got this spooked look and found some distraction so he didn't have to answer her.
Now, he had gone back to that store again. She wondered what kind of fascination her friend had with the place, but he refused to tell her. She also wondered what kind of man would use a sword to scare off burglars, rather than a gun.
Richie left the antique store in frustration. It was still closed. He knew Angie was wondering why he kept returning, but even he wasn't sure. All he knew was something kept drawing him back. It seemed to him the same compulsion that had led him to remove the sword from the case that first night.
Richie found a small park and sat down under one of the scattered trees. He needed time to himself to think. Angie had asked him about what happened that night when he'd watched the fight on the bridge, but no matter how much he wanted to, he simply couldn't tell her—or anyone else for that matter—what he'd seen.
*He will need watching.* Conner had said. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who they were talking about. Richie had been the only witness both during, and after the fight.
*Why would I need watching?* he wondered, *I can take care of myself.*
Richie was so lost in thought, he didn't notice the shadow approching him until it blocked the sun from his face. He looked up, startled, at the tall man with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a long coat Richie realized could easily conceal a sword.
_You!_ Richie exclaimed, pushing himself against the tree.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I left my sword in my car."
"Oh, and that's supposed to make me feel safer?"
"That depends. Actually, I've got a proposal for you."
Richie eyed him warily, "What is it?"
"You move in with Tessa and I and work for us in the store."
Richie looked at him, incredulously.
"Why would you want me? I tried to rip you off."
"Maybe I just think you need a chance, and a home." Duncan allowed a tight grin, "Besides, if you're someplace I can keep track off, then I know you won't be stealing from anyone else."
"You sure you just don't want me telling anyone about the fight I saw on the bridge last week?"
"You haven't yet."
"How do you know?"
"I haven't had the police banging down my door and asking me questions."
Richie said nothing as Duncan continued.
"I can't imagine why you would want to spend the rest of your life in and out of prison. I'm offering you an alternative. There's not many people who would want to hire someone with a police record, but if you've had a decent job, it'll be easier. Deal?"
Richie could see the logic of the argument. For the first time in years, he felt hope. Maybe he wouldn't have to end up like so many of his friends: Druggies, gang members, convicts.
He nodded and stuck out his hand. "Deal."
* * * * * * * * * *
*So, what did you think? This is my first Highlander fan fic to be submitted, and I'm hoping I'll be able to find the time to write more.
email me at: jehar@xoom.com