Highlander

"Little Immortals"

Summary:Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

Author's Note: This takes place any time after season 3.

Warning:SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun.

Chapter 3: A Shopping We Will Go

"We're gonna do what?" Richie asked, once the dishes were washed, dried, and put away.

Mac, who put on a t-shirt and his boots, shrugged into his coat as he said, "We're going shopping. We need to get you two some clothes and also—since we don't know how long this is going to last—some more food."

"But, Mac," Richie protested, "I've already got tons of clothes!"

Mac snorted. "And none of those fit you at the moment, Rich," he reminded the boy. "I'm not even sure where you got what your wearing..."

"That stupid crystal," Methos grumbled, sourly. "When it shrunk us, it shrunk the clothes we were wearing, too."

Mac nodded, understanding. "Well, you can't go around wearing those every day," he said, smirking. "So, let's go."

He headed for the lift, pushing the gate open and looking at the two boys expectantly. "C'mon."

With a resigned sigh, the two youths stepped into the lift and Mac followed, closing the gate behind him and hitting the 'down' button.

"Hey, Mac," Richie said, eyeing him speculatively.

"Yeah, Rich?" he asked, glancing down at the now much younger kid.

"What if we meet someone?" he asked. "You know...one of us? What do we do then?"

MacLeod knew the kid had a right to worry; there was no way he, possibly not even Methos, could face a full grown Immortal in his current condition and possibly hope to win—not without fighting dirty like that little twerp Kenny—but he knew exactly what to tell him to reassure him.

"I'll take care of it, Tough Guy," he told him. "I promise."

Methos snorted. "Give me a break," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

The lift stopped and they got out and headed for the exit of the dojo.

Mac opened the door of the T-Bird for them, and said, "Back seat, both of you."

"What? I'm not good enough to ride in the front seat anymore?" Methos asked, scowling.

"No," Mac told him, "but Richie's no longer able to and so it's not fair if he can't and you can."

"And it's all about poor little Richie, isn't MacLeod?" the 5,000 year old was close to pouting and it wasn't a really good look for him.

Mac counted to ten slowly in Russian. Then he did it again in Mandarin Chinese.

"Just keep in the car, Methos," he growled, "and shut the hell up!"

"Fine," the oldest Immortal huffed, "whatever!"

Mac shook his head. Yep, it was going to be a long day.

"Hop in, Rich," he instructed the younger boy. "We're burning day light here."

"Why can't I ride in the front seat anymore?" the kid asked, scowling.

Mac again counted to ten slowly.

"Because, your now a bit on the short side," he reminded him, "and there are laws about kids riding in the front seat."

This only increased the scowl on the youngster's face, rather than decreasing it.

"I ain't a kid, Mac," he growled, stubbornly.

Mac smirked. "You've always been a kid to me, Rich," he told him, affectionately, "but I'm afraid I don't intend on getting a ticket just because of your wounded pride. Now, you can either hop in the back or I'll stuff you in the trunk..."

"You wouldn't," Richie scowled.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, grinning. "Wouldn't I?"

Richie scuffed a small sneaker on the ground. "This sucks," he grumbled, as he climbed into the back seat of the car. "Next you'll be telling me to sit in a booster seat."

Mac closed the door. "Keep it up," he told him, "and it'll be a baby-seat."

That shut the kid up...for a little while.

Mac got in, started her up, and then pulled out of the dojo headed for the downtown mall.

Once there, he parked and they headed inside.

Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he took out a couple of hundreds and handed them to Methos.

The oldest Immortal scowled at the bills.

"I don't need your money, MacLeod," he growled at him, stubbornly. "I've got my own credit card, thanks."

"And you think the shop clerks won't think it strange that a seemingly fifteen year old has his own credit card?" the Highlander asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Methos snorted. "You think I give a flying fart what they think?" he asked, sarcastically.

"I think you would if they called security and had you arrested for trying to use a 'stolen' credit card," he told him, seriously. "Just take the damn money, Methos. You can pay me back later if you want to!"

"Fine," the 5,000 year old grumbled, snatching the bills from his hand.

Mac sighed. "Can I count on you not to get into any trouble?" he asked. "And to meet us back here in an hour or so—with clothes in hand?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "MacLeod, I swear you're the biggest Boy Scout I've ever met," he mouthed, sarcastically. "Yes, I'll be just fine shopping on my own. I've done it before, you know."

"I know," Mac told him, "but you weren't a sarcastic teenager before, either."

"Sure, rub it in. Whatever." He started to head off in the opposite direction.

Mac grabbed his upper arm and forced him to look at him.

"One hour, Methos," he said, sternly, "and don't make me have to come looking for you. Understand?"

Methos sighed. "One hour," he said, resigned. "I'll be here. Now, may I go?"

Mac let go of his arm and watched him head down the mall toward one of the 'trendier' clothing stores that seemed to have teenagers as their clientele.

Relax, MacLeod, Mac told himself, inside that brat there's a grown man...I think.

Placing a hand on Richie's shoulder, he said, "C'mon, Rich. Let's go get you some clothes."

Together, they headed down toward the other end of the mall.

The boy absolutely balked at going anywhere near Gap Kids or any of the other 'kid' friendly stores, so they ended up in one of the larger department stores in their boys' section.

"Let's get pants first, " Mac suggested to the boy, "then we'll worry about shirts and stuff."

Richie nodded, and then began searching through racks of jeans.

He found several that he liked, but due to the fact they really didn't know what his size was at the moment, he had to go try all of them on 'til he found the ones that fit.

"This is totally embarrassing," he told Mac, as they were in the dressing room, "I haven't had to have anybody come with me since I was...uh.." He blushed.

Mac smirked. "Since you were seven," he guessed, grinning. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Tough Guy. We're both guys, aren't we?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, sighing.

"You guess so?" Mac asked. "What's that supposed to mean? Either were both guys or one of us is gender confused...and I know it isn't me."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Funny, Mac," he said, sarcastically. "This is just so weird, you know..."

Mac nodded. Of course he knew how weird it was...

"I know, Tough Guy," he told him, "but we're gonna figure this all out. Somehow."

Richie nodded. "Okay, I think these fit," he said, pointing to the blue jean he had just tried on.

Mac held them up to him and then nodded in agreement.

"I think so too," he said, "now the shirts shouldn't be a problem...nor shoes...so that just leaves...um..."

"Leaves what?" Richie asked, curious.

Mac smirked. "Underwear and socks," he said, knowingly.

Richie's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no!" he moaned. "Kill me now, please!"

Mac chuckled. "Both guys, remember?" he reminded the boy. "Besides, I think after these last few years I know your preference. Boxers, right?"

Richie blushed, but nodded. "None of those cartoony ones, though," he growled, "okay?"

Mac held up his right hand. "You have my word as a Scotsman," he told him, seriously. "Tidy whities, all the way."

Richie snorted, and then burst out laughing. So did Mac.

Their laughter was cut short, however, when a mall security officer came up to them.

"Excuse me, Sir," the uniformed officer said, "but are you Duncan MacLeod?"

Mac frowned. "Yes," he said, "I am. Why?"

"Did you come in with a young man of about fifteen?" the mall cop asked. "Brown hair, brown eyes, really bad attitude?"

Mac sighed. "What did he do?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

"He tried to bribe the bartender of one of the bars-n-grills to sell him a beer," the man told him.

Mac winced. Methos, when I get my hands on you!

"I take it he's in your custody at the moment?" he asked the man, who nodded.

"Good, can you keep him 'til I come get him?"

"Of course, sir," the mall cop said, smirking. "Want him to stew on things for a bit?"

Mac smirked, this man obviously had teenagers at home.

"Something like that," he said, grinning. "It won't be long. Thirty minutes, tops."

The officer nodded. "You can come retrieve him at the security office," he told him, and then turned and headed out of the store.

Glancing at Richie, he saw that the boy was smiling broadly.

"I don't think this is so funny, Tough Guy," he told him, sourly.

"I do," Richie told him, laughing. "You thought I was a handful! The Old Timer's got me beat by a mile!"

Mac groaned. Could Immortals get white hair?

Well, if they could, his head would be full of 'em by the time this was over...

Of that, he was sure.

"All right, Rich," he told him, "you go pick you out some t-shirts, none too big, while I go get you some underwear and socks. Your shoes will have to do for now."

Richie nodded. "Sure thing, Mac," he said, "but what then?"

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Then," he growled, "we go collect our little jail bird."

Richie's eyes widened.

Boy, he sure wouldn't want to be Methos when Mac gets a hold of him.

Of that, he was sure.

TBC...

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