Miss. Wrigglesworth is borrowed with permission from MathPiglet. Check out her fics for more info on her OC and her original adventures!
Richie sat on his bed, looking around to make sure he had everything for his first day of mandatory volunteer work. Not quite sure what he was going to do, he'd put a paperback and his Spanish workbook into his bag in case he ended up with spare time. He had been assigned to a middle school not three blocks from the apartment. He heard that other students that worked at schools had been told to do everything from heavy lifting, to grading papers, to supervising detention.
As he was about to close his bag, he saw it moving. Reaching in, he extracted the black and white kitten that had stowed away.
"Trying to get me into trouble?" he asked the, as of yet, unnamed kitten. The kitten mewed and swiped at his nose, her claws scratching him. Her eyes sparkled as Richie's quickening sparked to quickly heal the wound. "So that's what you wanted." He put the kitten down.
Over the weeks, the kittens had come to be fascinated by quickenings. They routinely scratched Richie if he wasn't quick enough and seemed delighted at the light show they got for their efforts. They only seemed to associate Richie with their favorite game, so that they didn't go around scratching everyone was good enough in Richie's book not to be too upset by their play. He double checked their food and water before leaving his room, the kittens at his heels off to play in the rest of the apartment.
"You off?" Connor asked him from down in the living room.
"Yeah," Richie answered monotone. After their confrontation over Meredith, conversation between the two had been strained. Richie's legs were still jelly from his running assignment.
"Will you be home for dinner?"
"Yeah. Probably before, really."
"Do you have time to practice tonight?"
He thought over what homework he had left. "Sure."
. . . . . .
Middle School 218 was so close to the apartment, that there was little reason to waste a subway token on the trip. Richie hoofed it, stopping by a bakery for a bagel and coffee on the way. He got to the school early as instructed and was presented with a stack of papers to fill out and sign. Once he assured them he was, indeed, who he claimed to be, he was presented with an ID on a lanyard and his assignment. He was going to be helping the advanced math teacher. He couldn't help but groan at the irony of it. Here he was, the star of his remedial math class, about to help the advanced math students. Life was cruel, sometimes.
He followed the directions to his assignment, Ms. Wrigglesworth room 207. As he rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, the presence of another immortal prickled his senses.
"Seriously?" he asked no one in particular. He looked up and down the hall for the source of the buzz. At the far end, a classroom door opened and a petite woman stepped out.
"Not in front of the children," the woman said, almost exasperatedly.
"Oh," Richie put his hands to his sides, palms out to show he was unarmed. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to meet," he consulted his assignment sheet. "Miss. Wrigglesworth."
Her eyes narrowed and she looked him over, not missing the official school district badge around his neck. "You're from the college?"
"Yeah. I'm just here to get my credit. I don't want anything."
Her expression softened and she smiled a bit. "Well, come in, then. They won't stay this quiet for this much longer." She opened the classroom door and only then did Richie notice the sign on it 'Miss. Wrigglesworth Advanced Mathematics.'
Richie rolled his eyes. "Naturally."
In the room, she directed him to the empty teacher's desk at the back, while taking her place in front of her own. "I suppose since you all finished the warm up so easily, we should count it as a quiz grade?" she asked the class, directing their attention away from Richie.
The class groaned collectively and switched papers as directed to grade what they had done of their daily warm-ups. For three class periods, Richie alphabetized, graded and recorded warm ups and homework assignments before turning to his own homework. When he expected the fourth period class to show up, Miss. Wrigglesworth got up from her desk, organizing papers.
"We have first lunch and then a planning period," she explained. "Usually I let my volunteers do what they want until the next class, but I suppose you and I should take some time to get to know each other under the circumstances."
"Um, okay." Richie got up and motioned he'd follow her.
"I think off campus would be good today, considering what we need to discus," she said, taking her purse. She looked at Richie and smiled. "My treat, of course."
She took him down the street to a café where they could seclude themselves without looking suspicious. After they ordered, she folded her arms on the table and looked him over again. With a faint smile on her lips she asked, "How old are you, really?"
Richie, for his part squirmed a bit and looked at his water glass. He hated that question. "Nineteen. I'll be twenty in September."
If Miss. Wrigglesworth was surprised by his answer, she hid it well. "You're quite young. Do you understand what you are?"
"Yeah, I knew about it before I… I know."
"Was it recent?" she had picked up on his reluctance to talk about it, but knew for some people it was a topic that needed perusing.
"A few months ago," he answered with a tight smile. "I'm not really much of a threat."
"To tell you the truth, neither am I," she told him, almost conspiringly as their food was delivered.
"Do you not train?"
"I do. I'm more a victim of genetics." She gestured indicating her petite and slim frame.
"I hear that."
They sat quietly for a few minutes, eating their lunches.
"What about you?" she asked, before biting into a carrot stick.
"I train everyday one way or another." Richie told her. "My teacher's pretty old fashioned and likes to keep to a schedule."
"Do you mind if I ask who it is?"
Richie paused, not sure if he should answer. Surely being this candid with an immortal he'd just met was not the best idea. But, something in his gut told him she was one of the good guys. After all she liked to play "regular joe" just as much as Duncan and Connor seemed to, taking up a real job, interacting with mortals, blending in. And she didn't seem to be too anxious to pick up a sword against him.
"Connor MacLeod." He followed his instincts and told her.
For her part, Miss. Wrigglesworth, again, hid any reaction she may have had. For a minute, Richie thought he had made a mistake. She seemed to be thinking about something, and in his experience any immortal thinking too hard usually meant an uncomfortable night for him. Before he could worry enough to try to leave she spoke again.
"I've heard of him and his kinsman. I didn't realize you were that Richie."
Worry turned to panic quickly after that comment. "That Richie?" he repeated. "You know who I am?"
She smiled again, a smile that despite what past experience taught him calmed Richie a bit. "We have a mutual friend. Amanda was my teacher," she explained. "When she told me about Duncan, she neglected to tell me you were coming my way." She reached around the table and put her hand on Richie's knee. "I am sorry about what happened."
"What did she say about me?" he asked. "Last I talked to her she was pretty mad."
Miss. Wrigglesworth smiled that calming smile again. "She's fine. You know Amanda. She's nothing if not passionate."
"Guess if anyone knows her, it'd be you."
Miss. Wrigglesworth checked her watch. "We'd better eat. We have to be back soon."
. . . . . .
Richie returned home a little before five after spending the last half of the day the same as the first half. He did, though, finish his Spanish homework for the week and read four chapters of his book. He saw Connor on the couch downstairs, petting one of the kittens, and put his bag in his room before going down. The black female was purring contentedly in Connor's lap, and the brown male jumped at the chance to attack Richie as soon as he sat in the arm chair.
"How was it?' Connor asked, trying to hide his surprise at Richie making the first move.
"I'm working for the advanced math teacher."
Connor smirked. "Maybe she can help you."
"I'm doing fine. I got a B on my quiz last week."
"Good for you."
Richie scratched the kitten's stomach as it lay half asleep on its back. "There's more."
"What?"
"She's an immortal."
"The teacher?" Connor moved the kitten off his lap and sat forward a bit.
"Yeah. She's cool though. We talked. She actually knows Amanda, she was her teacher."
"Who was who's teacher?"
"Amanda was her teacher."
Connor sat back. "Okay. If you trust her, we'll go with it." The black kitten settled back into his lap. "You have to name these two if we're keeping them."
"I'm thinking."
"Are you training tonight?" Connor changed the subject.
"Yeah."
It would be the first time they trained together since the incident about Meredith two weeks before. Richie had refused to train due to his legs giving out on him after his running. After that, the two had strained to even notice one another. It seemed as though the mature relationship Richie had with Duncan was one he would have with all MacLeods. In truth, Richie suspected, if he hadn't felt it important to tell Connor about meeting another immortal, he may not have been having this conversation now.
"What are we doing?" Richie asked.
"I don't know," Connor almost shrugged. "Why don't we eat dinner and get the swords out?"
"Alright."
. . . . . .
"You're getting better," Connor praised, giving Richie a hand up off the floor. "You're stamina has really improved."
"Twenty miles in one night can do that to ya," Richie mumbled, wiping his sweaty face.
"You deserved it," Connor told him point blank.
"What do you care if I like your girlfriend anyway? I'm not the one dating her."
"It has nothing to do with her being my girlfriend. It has everything to do with respect."
"That's not what you said the other night. Ten for her, ten for you."
"Respect for me, Richie. I don't care if you like her or not, I do care that you show me the respect of being polite to her. I am your teacher."
Richie's eyes narrowed. "If that's all you care about, why the school BS? I want Sladkie's head for what he did."
"And what about after?" Connor asked. "If you survived the fight. If by some miracle you won. Then what? What would you do? You have no skills. No degree. No way to pay the bills. You still have to live in the real world, Richie. And in the real world you need a degree to survive."
"Why can't I do it after?"
"Who knows how long it will be before you get your chance. Even hunting him it could take years. You don't want to go now and you're at the proper age. Will you want to go when you're ten, fifteen years older?"
Richie couldn't think of what to say. Of course, Connor was right. If he wasn't forced into it, he didn't have much intention to go to college. And even as an immortal, he'd have to be part of the mortal world.
"I guess I didn't think of that," he admitted quietly.
"When I was your age, I didn't either. But that's why I'm here. Someone has to learn from my mistakes."
"You make it sound like you're my dad or something."
"That's Uncle Russell to you." Connor put his arm around Richie's shoulders and guided him out of the warehouse space and into the living quarters. "Meredith is coming to make us dinner tomorrow."
"I still don't like her."
"I told you, you don't have to. Just keep a civil tongue in your head and we'll all be just fine."
"How about we just tell her I have strep and I don't say anything?"
"Then how will I know if you learned your lesson?"
Richie smirked. "I won't be saying anything."
"You forget," Connor smirked back. "I know you."