AN – OK busted by Southern Chickie, now I'm filling in plot holes for the Gathering and filling out the back story for the Quickeing at the same time! Shameless self promotion! Many thanks for all the reviews, I'm glad I wasn't the only person laughing madly to myself as I wrote that line Mys and thanks especially to Shady Lady, – I'm honoured!

Um. Yeah. Much longer. Much.

***

Suddenly Duncan realised he might have stumbled onto something without realising it. That was the trouble with planning your campaign in unfamiliar territory. You just didn't know where the minefields were.

"Does the reason you didn't want to tell us you were sick have anything to do with why you don't want us to foster you?" Duncan asked.

"No." Richie looked at the floor.

Duncan stilled. For all his other talents Richie wasn't a very good liar. Oh, he could lead you a merry dance with his quick wit and his fast talk, but ask him a direct question and he was far more likely to clam up than tell you a bald faced lie. This must be serious.

"You sure about that?" Duncan asked, taking care to keep his tone light.

"Absolutely. Positively." Richie babbled.  "They are two entirely, separate, different things."

"If you say so."

"You think I'm lying to you?" Richie challenged.

"No." Duncan said mildly.

"Oh. Well. Good." Richie looked a little non plussed.

"I know you are lying to me." Duncan pointed out.

 "Look, I can tell you to mind your own business, or I can lie to you. Its your choice." Richie threw up his hands.

"I'd rather than you just trusted me." Duncan spoke quietly.

"I want to .." Richie ran his hands through his hair. "I do .. really .. Its just .. its hard .. you know."

"Yeah." Duncan squeezed his shoulder. "I know." He turned towards the door.

Richie looked up. "That's it? No thumbscrews? Sleep deprivation? Medieval water torture?"

"Rich, if you don't want to tell me. You don't have to." Duncan said walking away.

"Argh." Richie said. "C'mon Mac. Not the guilt thing. You know I can't do the guilt thing."

"So tell me." Duncan encouraged.

"Why?" Richie demanded. "Why does it matter you so much? Look, it was a nice idea and all .. but why can't we just go on as we are? Please?"

"Because before I thought you were eighteen." Duncan pointed out reasonably. "Now I don't."

"Aw, c'mon Mac. You're over 400 years old. What's a teensey little year? Its nothing. A drop in the ocean."

"It's the difference between you being an adult and you not being an adult."

"You told me that when you were a kid, guys could get married when they were fourteen." Richie protested.

"Yeah and you could drink beer and be hung for stealing as well – none of which made you an adult by the way."

"What about about Tessa?" Richie tried. "I'm mean she's got her career and all. She won't want to give that up. They expect foster parents to stay home and bake and stuff."

"C'mon Richie. You tried that already. She wants this – she wants you – at least as much as I do. I think you know that already. And she works from home a lot of the time anyway .. and" he winced. "We can always buy cake."

"Alright." Richie said with quiet resignation.

"You'll agree?" Duncan felt a sudden, unexpected, warmth, flare in his chest.

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Richie shrugged.

"Ach Richie." Duncan put his hand on the teenager's shoulder and on an impulse, gently pulled the lad into a hug. Richie could be a little skittish about any signs of affection, especially from him. Duncan and Tessa had discussed it. It wasn't as if he was afraid of it, more than he wasn't used to it and not sure how to react.  To his surprise, Richie hugged him back fiercely, as if he would never let go. "Easy." Duncan stroked his hair. "Everything's going to be OK."

He wasn't overly concerned when Richie suddenly pushed away from him and raced out of the room. He figured the lad was probably a little embarrassed about his uncharacteristic display of affection. Duncan smiled. That was OK. They had time to work on that. Plenty of time.

Then he wondered why he was still standing here, rather than going to tell Tessa the good news.

Something wasn't right.

"I'm going to kill him." He vowed.

He knew what was amiss. Richie hadn't looked at him.

***

Sure enough Richie was packing. Throwing his few belongings into his single black holdall with absolutely no regard for how carefully Tessa had washed and ironed them. Duncan took a breath. He knew he had to handle this with calm and understanding.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.

"What does it look like?" Richie shot back. "I'm leaving."

"Over my dead body." Duncan threatened.

"That can be arranged." Richie advised him. "Just don't bother looking for me when you wake up. Because I'm outta here."

"You think its that easy?" Duncan demanded. "You breeze into our lives, into our hearts, and – just because things aren't working out as you planned, - you take off and we just get on with our lives?"

"Pretty much. Yeah." Richie looked around to see if he had left anything.

"Think again." Duncan growled.

"Alright." Richie looked at him and Duncan was struck by the pain and anger in his eyes. "If you're so concerned about my welfare. How come you didn't notice this before?"

"What?"

"You heard me." Richie's eyes flashed. "I've been in nine different foster homes since I changed my records and none of them cared enough about me to read my damn records well enough to realise that something might be wrong. You can't pretend you are any different. You would never have known if I hadn't been dumb enough to bring Teresa over here."

"Richie. I … You think I've seen your foster records?" Duncan was brought up short.

"No." Richie's hard narrow gaze mocked him. "I know you've seen them."

"Those records are confidential." Duncan pointed out.

"Oh please. You can fake your own death and make yourself your own grandson, but you won't peek in a few files?"

"Richie. On my honour. I haven't looked at your files."

"What? You want me to believe that you let me move in here … with Tessa … without at least checking that I wasn't a homicidal maniac?" Richie shook his head. "No one is that trusting."

"I didn't." Duncan assured him. Then his face twisted. "Conner did."

***

"You did what?"

I checked his foster records." Conner repeated. "You really need to learn how to use a computer Duncan."

"Those records are confidential."

"I have contacts. Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Not probably." Without asking Duncan went to pour them both a drink. "I think its fairly obvious that he's not the son of some Seacouver millionaire."

"As far as I can tell he's not anyone's son." Conner frowned. "There's several addresses here, but none of them are current."

"Maybe you don't know how to use a Computer as well as you think you do." Duncan smirked. "He lives over on Westlake."

"Really?" Conner raised a brow.

"Yes really." Duncan insisted. "What? You think I just let him walk out of the Police Station into the Sunset?"

"You followed him."

"Yes. I followed him. I thought we might want to know where to find him again?"

"Did you see him go into the house?"

"Yes. I saw him go into the house Conner." Duncan sighed at his teacher.

"By the window or the door." Conner smiled thinly.

"By the door, of course, I'm not a complete idiot."

"Of course not." Conner soothed. "But .. you don't spend a great deal of time with teenagers either."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Duncan stopped. "Oh no."

"You didn't see anyone else at home and we know he can pick locks." Conner finished for him.

"He knew he was being followed." Duncan realised. "This is just great. So what do we know?"

"Not much." Conner admitted. "According to this he hasn't lived in full time foster care since he was fifteen."

"What! These people had a responsibility to take care of him. What are earth are they thinking?"

"They've tried." Conner flicked through a few papers. "Every now and then he gets picked up, but it never works out."

"Maybe they didn't try hard enough." Duncan said firmly.

***

"What about the rest?" Richie's voice was tight.

"Richie. I swear, I haven't looked at your Police file, your Hospital records, your birth certificate, or anything else for that matter. I hoped .. that if there were things that you wanted me to know .. that over time you'd trust me enough to tell me yourself. That's how relationships usually work."

"Not my relationships." Riche commented sourly. "Mine always come with a warning label. Instant problem kid. Just add water."

"And you like to live down to people's expectations?"

"It doesn't seem to matter what I do." Richie shrugged. "Once people think you're bad news .. I just wanted you guys to be different."

"You think we're not different?" Duncan couldn't resist.

Richie gave him a brief, fleeing, smile. "I didn't mean it like that."

"What did you mean?" Tessa asked gently.

"Tess!" Richie jumped. "How much .. I mean .. how long .."

"Not so long." Tessa soothed. "What did you mean Richie?"

"When people become parents they .. go all weird." Richie complained.

"Define weird." Duncan said.

"They start worrying about your clothes and you grades and what you eat or don't eat, who you hang out with, what music you play, .. the list is endless. I've looked after myself for the last two years. I don't want  parents anymore."

"But maybe you need them." Tessa murmured in French.

Duncan patted her arm softly.

"But you're still young enough to need .." he paused, trying to think of a term Richie would accept. "A mentor, someone to help you make your own choices."

"So ment." Richie agreed. "Just don't foster me."

"Why not?" Duncan wanted to know. "Why does that make such a difference?"

"It never works." Richie warned.

"Never is a long time." Duncan observed.

"You should know." Richie shrugged.

"What Duncan means is just because it hasn't worked before does not mean it will not this time." Tessa agreed.

"No." Richie shook his head. "I'm not doing this. No way. Narda. Never. So either you guys think of something else. Or I walk."