Richie stormed through the back door immediately followed by Duncan. Both men were sweaty and sore from their training session, and both were very angry with the other.

"Richie, what's wrong?" Tessa asked as he yanked the refrigerator open. "What happened to you?" She looked at his blood stained shirt and still bleeding calf.

"Talk to your husband," he spat. "He seems to be pretty omnipotent today."

"Duncan, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything that didn't need to be done," Duncan answered flatly. Richie snorted and began chugging a bottle of water. "If you don't listen, the lessons are going to be a little harder," Duncan snapped at him.

"So are the punches." Richie shot back.

"If you'd just pay attention to what I tell you, I wouldn't have to be so rough."

"I think I've listened to you enough for one lifetime."

"It's going to be a pretty short lifetime if you think that you're ready to go out there and be immortal on your own."

"So what, I'm supposed to, like, depend on you to make my decisions for the next hundred years, or however long it take me to become as good as you think I should be?"

"With the way you retain instruction it'll take at least that long for you to remember to keep your sword up!"

"And to never over-extend my thrust because it leaves me venerable and off balance," Richie added. "Still think I don't listen? Well, I do. I probably hear a lot more than you think I do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Bite me."

"Richie!" Tessa scolded. "Calm down, Duncan is helping you."

"He's helping me alright, helping me into early retirement."

"Don't start that again," Duncan groaned. "We've been over this. You can't learn how to use a sword in a hotel lobby."

"So I take a breather, go on hiatus or something."

"And have the tabloids full of pictures of you looking like this? How do you plan on talking your way out of those situations?"

"Man, do you have any idea how much this sucks?" Richie kicked the wall. "Just when stuff really starts working for me. . . Surprise! You died."

"Another classic example on how Richie Ryan pays attention so well," Duncan mumbled.

"It was dark! How was I supposed to see the ice?" he defended.

"And I'm sure you weren't speeding either."

"Oh, get off it."

"Haven't I been telling you for years that if you weren't careful you were going to get yourself killed?"

"Shut up, Mac. I'm not in the mood." Richie said turning to leave.

"I don't care." Duncan grabbed his arm and spun him around. "You better learn to keep your attitude in check real fast young man, or your going to get into some pretty serious trouble."

Richie glared at Duncan, "Should I be taking notes?"

"Richard Ryan, you listen to me and you listen to me good," Duncan growled tightening his grip on Richie's arm. "That cocky attitude of yours is getting really old, really fast. It may have been cute when you were a kid, but it's not anymore. If you talk like that to other immortals your head will be gone before you can even blink. I can't jump in and save your butt anymore, if you piss somebody off you're on your own."

"Just like old times," Richie sneered. "I can take care of myself."

"You sure don't look like it now. Do you remember how scared you were when Methos came by the other day and you were by yourself? You can't run and hide from an immortal like you used to be able to. You died, things changed, and you need to start accepting what you've done to yourself."

"Don't you ever get sick of being older and wiser all the time?" Richie spat pulling himself free of Duncan's grip. "Just because you've been around for a couple hundred years doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do. If I need your help, I'll ask for it."

"Oh, yeah, you're real good on admitting when you need help."

"Like you said, things change. And I know when I'm in over my head."

"I'll believe it when I see it. But for now, you need to- - -"

"Mac, save your advice for someone who wants it, 'cause I sure as hell don't. I'm sick of you making decisions for me and pretending to be someone you're not. You're not my- - -" he stopped and took a deep breath. "Never mind, forget it."

"I'm not what?"

"I said forget it!"

"No, Richie tell me, I want to know."

"Duncan, drop it." Tessa interrupted forcefully, fully aware of what Richie had been about say. "Richie, go up stairs. Duncan and I need to talk."

"Good luck," Richie snorted turning and leaving the kitchen.

"Tessa, I know what you're thinking, but he needs to- - -"

"Have time to feel like he has some control over what's happening to him. I know you're right. His temper has gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but he needs time to think. He has nothing to distract him now. Wait a couple of hours so both of you can cool down, then go talk to him. Don't yell, talk. And listen, and then come to an agreement."

"Tessa," Duncan started to argue.

"No. When you told me he was immortal for the first time, I stopped defending to him to you. I let you push him, and I let you yell, and I let you take control and tell him what to do. Now I am stepping in and telling you what to do."

"So I'm just supposed to let him pout for an hour?"

"Longer if he needs it. You have to stop treating him like he's a little boy. He may not be by immortal standards, but as far as he can tell, he's a man now. He's twenty-three and in need of a friend who can offer guidance, not an overlord. Now get out of my kitchen, I have dinner to prepare."

"Let him pout, but stop treating him like a child? Isn't that a little contradictory?"

"Out!"