AN- So, there I was happily writing away on Rite of Passage and Richie and Walker were having a few issues, and then I wanted Mac's take on such things and also to explain why Richie felt like he did, and suddenly I have a whole new story. You don't have to be reading Rite of Passage to understand this. But if you read this it might help you understand the issues coming up in Rite of Passage!
If you've never read any of my stories, you just need to know that in this Richie is only 16. This takes place in the time between Connor leaving and Richie's 17th Birthday in I never liked Art..
***
For the tenth time in as many minutes Richie looked over at the display case, holding the swords.
Mac had told him that on no account was he to handle the swords, when the Immortal wasn't there to supervise.
He had nodded earnestly.
But he hadn't actually said that he wouldn't.
The case was locked.
But he had his lock picks in his jacket pocket.
Tessa was at a meeting with the Art Director of the Museum and wouldn't be home for at least another hour.
Mac had gone to see the Shipping Agent. He'd been gone for a hour. But it was right across town and the traffic was always bad at this time of day.
He had plenty of time.
He could put the closed sign up for five minutes.
If anyone complained he could say he needed to go to the bathroom.
Which was not a lie. Everyone needed to go to the bathroom, sometimes.
No-one need ever know.
***
The lock picks jammed awkwardly in the ancient lock. Afterwards, Richie would see that as a sign from God that maybe this wasn't one of his more stellar ideas. But that was later.
Right now, he just swore softly under his breath and persisted until he heard the lock click.
"Bingo." He breathed.
The two handed broad sword was rather heavier than he had imagined. He had a near miss with an expensive Venetian vase as he lifted the sword out of its place, bringing it around in a less than graceful swoop.
"Oops." Richie bit his lip, and spread his feet apart, to try and balance the sword.
"Nice," he grinned, turning the blade into the light.
It couldn't hurt to just try it out.
He brought the sword up and tried to raise it in a defensive move over his head. Except, that it was a little too heavy and almost got away from him.
Still, Richie didn't think anyone would notice the small nick in the floor.
Perhaps cut and thrust was more his style, he decided, adopting a dramatic en garde pose.
The sound of the apartment door opening caused him to freeze in alarm.
"Please don't let it be him," Richie breathed. "Anyone but him." Right now a thief, a kidnapper, or a sword wielding maniac, would be a more welcome sight than his employer and would be father.
"Or Tess." He added, as an afterthought to his fervent prayer.
The Frenchwoman could be pretty formidable when she chose. And besides, she would tell Mac.
"Richie?" The Immortal's concerned tone drifted through the Store.
"Um, just a minute, Mac." Richie called back.
He spun around to return the heavy sword to its proper place.
Unfortunately, the sword didn't quite spin with him, slicing cleanly across his palm.
***
"Hey Tough Guy," Duncan greeted him. "Why .."
He trailed off at the sight of the open sword case, and the incriminating evidence, balanced on its point between the floor and Richie's left hand.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" he exploded, angrily.
Richie didn't appear to hear him. He was staring dully at his right hand.
"Richie!" Duncan demanded.
"Shouldn't it be bleeding?" the teen asked him hollowly.
"What?" Anger fled to be replaced with concern.
"I cut it," Richie looked up at him. His eyes wide, in his too pale face. "Shouldn't it be bleeding?"
Duncan had seen the signs of shock too often to dismiss them lightly.
"Let me take a look, huh?" he spoke gently.
The cut was bad. In places Duncan could see the bright gleam of bone. And the rivulets of blood, just beginning to well up in the gaping hole.
"OK, Tough Guy, we're going to take a little trip, OK?"
"I can't," Richie protested. "I have to look after the Store."
"And I have to look after you." Duncan told him.
As he glanced around for something to stem the blood flow, his eyes lit on an Antique silk hanging.
Its four figure value was nothing to him in comparism to Richie's welfare.
Snatching it up, he wrapped it firmly around the cut hand.
"Mac, that hurts." Richie protested, sounding rather younger than his usual self.
"Sorry, partner," Duncan apologised. "It has to be tight."
"Oh," Richie swayed a little. "I'm being punished, so it has to hurt, right?"
"Richie," Hating himself for having to keep the pressure on the wound, Duncan realised that the pale, sweating, teen, was in no state to be reasoned with.
So he did the only thing he could think of.
He hugged Richie hard. Feeling the teen tremble slightly in his grasp.
"I thought you'd be mad at me." Richie quavered.
"Oh, I'm far from pleased," Duncan assured him. "But that doesn't mean I don't love you."
"Am I going to die?" Richie surprised him.
"Lord, no," Duncan was already dialling the Ambulance. "Tis a nasty cut, but a few stitches and some antibiotics and you'll be as right as rain."
"So, why are you being so nice to me?" Richie slurred.
"Because." Duncan countered with the teen's favourite argument.
This was not a topic he wanted to get into while the lad bled all over the floor.
Bizarrely, it seemed to make some sense to Richie, because he nodded sagely, just before he passed out..
***
After that Duncan decided not to waste time calling an Ambulance. It would be quicker to take him, himself. Pausing only to leave a brief note for Tessa and wrap a warm blanket and a second cloth around the injured hand, he carried the unconscious lad to the car, trying not to notice how fast the two cloths were becoming saturated with dark red blood.
He didn't know whether to be pleased or anxious when one glance at the injury was enough to speed them straight through to an examining room.
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave Mr ..?" the nurse tried to hustle him away from the table.
"Macleod," Duncan supplied. "Can't I stay. He doesn't .."
"No, please, I don't want to stay here .."
Duncan's head whipped around sharply at the unaccustomed note of begging in the lad's voice. Richie's eyes were wide and scared, as he looked frantically around.
"Easy Rich, its alright." He put a hand on the teen's shoulder. "They just need to take a look at your hand."
"Mac," Richie gripped his arm so hard that Duncan could almost feel the bruises rising. "Please, I don't want this .."
"I'm sorry Tough Guy," Duncan shook his head. "Its necessary."
"No, please," Tears welled up in Richie's eyes. "Please don't leave me here. I'll be good. I promise."
Duncan had to remind himself that the lad had lost a lot of blood. He wasn't quite himself.
"Hey, I'm not leaving you here," he reached one arm around Richie and gave him a hug. "I just want to get you checked out."
The comforting weight of the Immortal's arm around his shoulders visibly calmed the lad.
"You promise?" Richie asked quietly.
"My word on it," Duncan assured him.
***
Duncan had never quite lost his awe at the power of modern medicine. Some replacement blood, extra fluids, a dose of pain medication and some temporary butterfly closures later and Richie was almost back to normal.
Which wasn't entirely a blessing in the circumstances.
"C'mon Mac, I've been poked and prodded and punctured. Can't we go home now? Pleeese?" Richie tried his best puppy dog expression.
"Sure," Duncan agreed. "I think we have some cat gut somewhere."
"Great!" Richie started to move. Then stopped. "Cat gut?" he queried.
"Yeah," Duncan nodded. "That still needs stitches." He nodded at the cut.
"They use cats insides?" Richie grimaced. "That's gross."
"Well, no. I'm sure by now the Hospital has some synthetic alternative," Duncan allowed. "But, I haven't had to do this for a while."
"But you know how to? Right?" Richie was looking a bit uncertain.
"How hard can be it?" Duncan shrugged. "Although, I'm not sure what we've got in the way of anaesthetics .."
"Alright, already," Richie scowled at him.
"What?" Duncan asked innocently.
"You know what," Richie sulked. "I'll stay here until the nice Doctors say I can go. Alright?"
"If that's what you want." Duncan shrugged.
"Are you sure you've never raised any teenagers before?" Richie grumbled.
"I think I would have remembered." Duncan assured him.
***
"Hang in there," Duncan squeezed Richie's shoulder, when the teen tensed slightly, as the needle dragged through his ragged flesh. "You're doing fine."
Richie gave him a tight, grateful, smile, but it was clear from his drawn, hollow, features, that he fervently wished the ordeal was over.
"Almost done. This is a pretty big cut." The Doctor apologised, as he carefully drew the stitch closed. "Knife, was it?"
"Sword." Duncan corrected.
"Jesus H Christ!" The Doctor exclaimed. "Don't you know enough to keep those things locked up? He's just a kid for God's sake!"
"A kid with more curiosity than is good for him and a functioning set of lock picks, unless I miss my mark.." Duncan replied dryly.
Under his hand, Richie tensed a little. This time Duncan didn't think it was from the pain.
"Oh," the Doctor made the next stitch. "Well, the signs are that he'll live to regret it." He added, cheerfully.
"Will there be scarring?" Duncan asked, in concern. "Or tissue damage?"
"No," the Doctor looked up in surprise. "It's a clean cut, and I do good work. A few exercises, that he can do at home, and he'll be good as new."
"But you said .." Duncan trailed off.
"Ah," the Doctor nodded in realisation. "Its just that, in my experience, the kind of acting out that necessitates a trip to the Hospital, usually encourages parents to get real creative when it comes to punishment regimes."
"Punishment?" Richie squeaked.
"I'm guessing you didn't exactly have your Father's permission to check out his swords with your lock pick." The Doctor said pointedly.
"Far from it." Duncan said dryly.
"There all done," the Doctor finished up. "You might want to give him a couple of painkillers and a decent nights sleep before you come down too hard on him."
"Right." Duncan said doubtfully.
"Mac?" Richie gave him a worried look.
"First things first," Duncan decided. He carefully helped the teen off the table, supporting him as he swayed a little. "Let's get you home and rested up and then we'll talk."
The truth was, Duncan had never had to punish Richie before. He desperately wanted to do the right thing.
If only he knew what that was.
TBC!