"Dad!" Richie yelled as soon as he walked through the door. It was his customary greeting to announce who he was to save the trouble of being greeted with a sword every time he came home, but now it was more a try to locate his father. "Dad!" he called again. He searched half the house before he abruptly realized that if Greg were there he would feel him. Feeling slightly stupid Richie reached for the phone and began dialing. "Hey, Dad," he said into the answering machine at Greg's office. "Um. look, nothing to freak out about, but I need to talk to you. So, if you get this before I find you, give me a call. I'm at the house." He hung up and tried the process again with Greg's cell phone and once again left a message.

An hour later, Richie was in his room on his cell phone talking to Mac when the buzz hit him.

"I know this seems really stupid to freak out about. hang on. Dad?" he yelled down the stairs.

"Richie?"

"Hey, I'll call you back okay? Yeah, it's just him," Richie replied in a teasing voice to Duncan's demand of who had shown up. "Bye."

"Richie, where were you? I waited for you after the game but you never showed."

A sudden surge of guilt washed over Richie. Greg had promised to take him to dinner after the game. "Oh. I, um, sorry. I got some news and had to talk to someone."

"You should have told me you made other plans," Greg told him sternly.

"It was sudden; my mind was totally preoccupied. I forgot."

"I hear tuna and honey are good to improve your memory," he grumbled.

Richie looked up at his father helplessly from his seat on his bed. "Dad, I'm sorry, alright? This is important."

"What? MacLeod finally decided to let you go?"

"No," Richie shot back angrily. "Coach is retiring. he's dying. He told me today after the game."

"Oh," Greg's expressions significantly softened. "I'm sorry, Rich." He pulled up the chair from Richie's desk so he was sitting across from him. "These things happen, you know. He's mortal. It has to happen sooner or later."

"That doesn't mean it can't bother me," Richie told him. Duncan had made it quite clear long ago that death was nothing to take lightly, mortal or otherwise. "Dad, this sucks."

"Yes, it does. But moping around won't help anything. The guys on the team are going to be hit hard by this, too. You have to be strong for Roberts and them. Show them that it's nothing to be scared of."

"I'm scared of dying," Richie admitted. "Aren't you?"

"It's a fact of life," Greg shrugged.

"So's getting dumped, but it isn't something you can just forget about."

"You're comparing dying to getting dumped?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind," Richie mumbled.

"Well, I know what can get your mind off all this," Greg announced standing back up. "Heather's father called and they invited us to dinner tomorrow night. I checked your schedule and told them we could go. Now you can worry about what stories I'm going to tell them."

"You already told Heather all my embarrassing stories," Richie insisted.

Greg smiled at him. "What does Michelangelo mean to you?"

"The artist?" Richie asked. Greg laughed and left the room.

"Get some sleep," he called over his shoulder. "You look like hell."

Laughing to himself, Richie picked up his cell phone and settled back onto his bed. "Mac? It's me."

"Hey, Rich. You talk to Greg?" Duncan asked putting his book down and settling into the cushions on the couch.

"Yeah, but he wasn't much help. He basically told me to suck it up."

"And you don't want to," Duncan said knowingly.

"I feel wrong going 'too bad for you, but I'm moving on'."

"Richie, the best thing you can do is do your best for Roberts as long as he's alive."

"But. I've never know someone that was dying before," Richie told him. "At least not like this. all slow and drawn out."

"It's hard, Richie, but treat him normally. Let him live while he can. Don't try to ignore how you feel; just remember that you're doing something good for him by acting normal."

"Thanks, Mac. Sorry to call you so late, I just needed someone to talk to and Dad didn't say the right thing."

"Don't worry about it, Rich, call whenever you need to."

"Thanks, Mac."

"So, how's Heather?" Duncan asked changing the subject.

Richie groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Didn't she like the anniversary date?"

"She loved it. Thanks, by the way for all the help. She was really impressed."

"So why did it sound like such a sore topic when I mentioned her?"

"Because you reminded me that Dad is meeting her folks tomorrow."

Duncan laughed. "Greg is meeting the girlfriend's parents, eh?"

"Yeah, and he's plotting against me. I know he is."

"How do you know?"

"He told me."

"And here I thought you were being your usual paranoid self."

"Very funny. You know as well as I do that I have every right to be paranoid."

"Yeah, I guess you do," Duncan admitted after a short pause. "You seem to be at the center of a lot of evil plans, don't you?"

"Yeah. Although, I've hit a lull. Do you think I should be worried?"

"I think you should be honored."

"Can't I do both?" Richie joked.

"If you're feeling ambitious."

"Nah, it takes too much energy to be ambitious. I'll just stick with being honored for now."

"Good choice."

"Hey, I better get to bed. I'm opening tomorrow, then there's practice and dinner. I'll talk to you later?"

"Sure. Oh, Rich."

"Yeah?"

"We caught the game. You looked like you were having fun."

"Yeah, and I got a nice little lecture about setting a good example for the team for my troubles."

"You deserved it. But good game. OU in two weeks, right?"

"Yup. And nothing is going to stand in my way. I'm playing them this year, I swear."

"Kick some butt. We'll be watching."

Richie blushed. "Will do. Night, Mac."

"Night, Rich."

. . . . . .

"Come on, guys! Keep up the energy!" Richie yelled from his vantage point next to Coach Roberts in the stands.

"Why don't you come show us how it's done, Ryan!" Monday yelled.

"I earned my seat in the bleachers!" Richie yelled back. "You just missed the play!"

"Richie," Roberts said. "Why don't we cut practice short today? Ten laps then hit the showers, okay?"

"Are you feeling alright, Coach?"

"I'm fine. Let's just cut early."

"Alright, it's your team." Richie shrugged standing up. "Alright guys!" He yelled "Ten laps, then we're out of here! Let's go!"

"You must have a lot of pent up energy sitting on your butt all practice," a sophomore grumbled falling in behind Richie as they lapped the court.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asked.

"I mean you're pretty chummy with Coach and seem to get a lot of perks because of it."

"You know you have a lot of nerve for a sophomore," Richie told him. "I earned this position just like everyone before me did."

"Whatever you say, man. All I'm saying is people are starting to talk."

"What about?"

"You and Coach."

"What about us?"

"That you didn't get in like everyone else."

"What?!"

"I just thought you should know," the sophomore told him.

"Well, you tell whoever's talking that if they have something to say, then they should say it to my face because that way I can straighten them out."

"Will do, Cappy." The sophomore fell back in the crowd.

"Come on, guys, keep up!" Richie yelled speeding up his pace a little.

. . . . . .

"Hey, John, wait up!" Richie called running to catch up with him outside the locker room.

"Sup, man?"

"What are people saying about me and Coach?" Richie asked slowing his stride to match his.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"I hear people are talking and I want to know what they are saying."

"Rich." he started slowly.

"Oh, man. What's the rumor?"

"That you didn't get in on talent but as a favor to your dad."

Richie's shoulders slumped a little. "Really?"

"Yeah, sorry man. Most of us are trying to discredit the idea. I mean, look at you, you're an awesome player! It's just. some of the seniors are pissed about having a junior captain. It's supposed to be a senior gig and they feel a little gypped, you know?"

"Look, I didn't ask to be captain!" Richie exploded.

"I know."

"It just happened. I was more than willing to wait my turn just like everyone else!"

"I know, Rich."

"And if they're too gutless to tell me themselves, they aren't captain material anyway!"

"I know, Richie!" John nearly shouted. "You asked so I told you. People just get suspicious at someone that moves through the ranks so quickly. You've been starting since you got here."

"It's not my fault I'm good. Would they rather I played dumb and passed the ball to the wrong team? It's not like I'm a ball hog. right?"

"Rich, the only thing sparking these rumors is jealousy," John assured him. "Anyone that knows you knows it's not true. The underclassmen just get swayed easily. Why are you letting this get to you, anyway?"

"I just have a lot on my mind." Richie mumbled. "I talked to Mac last night and now I feel like I'm being followed all the time, and Dad's planning on embarrassing me in front of Heather's parents, and someone told me this huge secret that I can't tell anyone, and I don't know. life is kinda tough all around right now. I didn't mean to blow my top. Sorry, dude."

"It's cool, no worries."

Richie looked at his watch. "I gotta get home and meet Dad. See you later."

"Bye, Rich! And don't listen to those stupid rumors!" John called after him.

"Excuse me," a tall man said politely approaching John. "Was that Richie Ryan?"

"Yeah, you a ball fan?"

"No, but my friend is. he keeps talking about that kid and I was wondering who he was. He doesn't look as tough as everyone makes him out to be," he added as if it were an afterthought.

"Don't let his appearance fool you," John told him with a smile. "I've lived with the guy going on three years now and he's hell fire. He does all sorts of martial arts and stuff. He even fences."

"Really? So do I. Maybe we can spar sometime."

"If you can ever get a hold of him. He's really busy-between school, work, ball and his girlfriend; he's always got something planned."

"I'm sure we can work something out. He's the captain, right?"

"Yeah," John answered.

"So he's at the team house, right?"

"Yeah, along with five other guys."

"Maybe I can leave a message for him there. It was nice talking to you." With that the stranger disappeared as quickly as he had shown up.

. . . . . .

"You should try the fried pickles," Heather told Richie as they settled next to each other at the restaurant.

"Fried pickles? Why would you fry a pickle?" he questioned looking over the menu.

"Because it's good."

"I'm not trying any fried pickles," Richie insisted.

"Don't be silly, of course you are," Melinda told him from across the table. "You'll like them."

"That's mixing my pleasures if you ask me."

"Just try one, Rich," Steven joined in. "You like okra, don't you?"

"What does okra have to do with pickles?" Richie asked, trying to hide his smile.

"Richie, it's not polite to argue with your hosts. Trying something new won't kill you and it's rude to act so immaturely," Greg cut in.

The good natured argument stopped mid-sentence and everyone looked at Greg.

"Dad," Richie hissed. "We were just." a stern fatherly look from Greg cut him off. "Yes, sir," he mumbled instead quickly hiding behind the menu to hide his quickly reddening cheeks. Heather patted his leg under the table. He had warned her that his father was really strict when the two had first met. This was her first live example of it.

"So, Greg, Richie was telling us he was adopted," Melinda started trying to make small talk.

"Yes, he is. But it's like he's been around forever," Greg said with a smiled. "What can I say, I love the little guy. I knew when he first showed up in my room in his Ninja Turtle pajamas crying because of the storm that I was going to keep him."

"Dad!" Richie groaned in protest when Greg reached over to ruffle his hair.

"That's so cute!" Heather giggled. "I can just picture it."

"Oh, storms were his biggest fear. that and the dark. He had a night light until he was ten."

"That's half your fault, you know," Richie shot back. "You and your weird punishments."

"What happened?" Steven asked. He had already started to decide that he didn't care much for Greg Masters and the last thing he wanted to hear was that he had mistreated Richie as a child.

"Richie was a huge Ninja Turtle fan," Greg started with a smile.

"Oh, no," Richie groaned slumping in his chair.

"What?" Heather asked.

"Michelangelo," he grumbled suddenly understanding his father's warning from the previous night.

"What?"

"He was obsessed," Greg continued flashing Richie a smile. "He watched the show everyday, had the movies, the action figures, lunchbox, everything. But the one thing he didn't have was the turtles themselves."

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked coming up to them.

"Yes!" Richie quickly answered. "Um, I mean. Are you guys ready?"

They all placed their orders and Melinda asked for a large order of fried pickles to start with. She flashed Richie a smile and he half smiled back. He was too busy being pre-embarrassed about the story that was about to be told.

"So you were saying?" Heather asked.

"He wanted real, live Ninja Turtles," Greg continued with a smile. "One day I went into his room to check on him because he was being really quiet. And with this guy, quiet is never a good sign; it means he's either sick or up to something. Well, this time he was up to something. I found him sitting on his bed with his finger paints to one side and a box on the other. He had a turtle in his hands and he was trying his best to coax it out of its shell. When I asked him what he was doing he explained to me. in all seriousness. that he wanted to make them the Ninja Turtles. He had three other turtles in the box and was trying to pain little masks and belts on them."

Heather and Melinda burst into giggles and Steven shot an amused look at Richie, who tried his best to disappear.

"What does this have to do with you being scared of the dark?" Melinda asked.

"He decided to show me what the turtles felt like," Richie told her.

"How did he do that?"

"Go on, Rich, tell them," Greg said when Richie didn't answer.

Taking a deep breath and studying his coke intently Richie answered. "He emptied a box from the garage and sat me under it in the kitchen. Every couple minutes he's poke the box and scare the crap outta me. He left me under there in the dark for fifteen minutes."

"Oh, you poor thing. You must have been scared out of your mind," Heather cooed giving him a hug and kiss.

"I was," Richie admitted glumly.

"Heather used to wet her bed every time there was a storm," Melinda supplied. "She was scared to death of the thunder."

"Melinda!" Heather shrieked.

"When she was potty trained she wanted to tell everyone she saw that she could potty like a big girl," Steven added.

"She used to throw cheerios in church," Melinda continued.

"And ask older people if it hurt to be old."

"Dad!"

Richie tried not to laugh noticeably. "How about this? A truce. No more embarrassing kid stories for the rest of the night and I pick up the tab."

"Deal," the parents agreed.

"I like the idea of the kids taking the parents to dinner for a change," Steven smiled. "That's very kind of you to offer, Richie."

"Well, I was planning on it anyway. This way there won't be a fight over the bill at the end of dinner," Richie told him as the fried pickles arrived.

"Try one, Richie," Melinda smiled pushing the plate his way.

"No way!" Richie protested with a smile forgetting his father's earlier warning. They always 'forced' Richie to try new things; he never did it willingly.

"I'll give you a--" Heather started to bribe him but Greg interrupted.

"Richie, try one," he said sternly.

"Okay, geeze, I was gonna," Richie groaned taking a fried pickle slice off the plate and dunking it in the ranch dressing provided.

"Mind your attitude," Greg added.

"Sorry," Richie mumbled after he swallowed. He almost said it before but didn't want to get yelled at for talking with his mouth full.

"What do you think?" Steven asked trying his best not to glare at Greg; he was treating Richie like a child.

Richie almost answered 'They suck' like he usually did, but instead smiled and took another one. "Eh," he shrugged. "They're alright. if you like good southern cooking."

The rest of the meal passed with out incident. unless you count Greg taking Richie to the bathroom to lecture him on proper dinner conversation as an incident. Richie thought he was in the clear until the dessert tray came by.

"Now, Richie," Greg started with a smile. "Don't get any ideas. You're not."

"Dad!" Richie interrupted a little louder than he had meant to. The teasing was getting on his nerves. The waitress stood confusedly with the tray in her hands. "Sorry," Richie apologized. "Does anyone want some? On me."

To break the silence Heather ordered a piece of cheese cake to split with Richie and Steven and Melinda followed her lead. Greg ordered some apple pie before giving Richie a pointed look and promising him a little talk when they got home. When their desserts came, Greg tried to start his story again.

"I was ten and he promised me thirty bucks if I took something off the dessert tray on our way out of this fancy restaurant. I took the chocolate cake," Richie beat him to the punch in a more than slightly bitter tone.

"You paid him to do what?" Steven demanded having reached his limit with Greg. It seemed every couple minutes he had Richie apologizing for something or sinking uncomfortably into his chair.

"I didn't think the little stinker would do it," Greg laughed. "But he did without a second of hesitation."

"Of course he did it, you offered him thirty dollars!" Steven argued. "At ten, kids would do anything for thirty dollars! No wonder he did what he did! You started him!"

"What are you talking about?" Greg demanded.

"Dad, I told them. a long time ago," Richie admitted somewhat awkwardly.

"It's any wonder he turned into the great man he did," Steven continued. "Although I understand why he's so well mannered. You know, he's an adult, I think it's time you got off his back."

"Steven," Melinda hissed. "It's none of our business."

"Thank you," Greg told her. "He's my son and I will raise him as I see fit."

"Then maybe you need glasses; your vision seems a little off," Steven shot back.

"Dad!" Richie and Heather shouted in unison.

"I'm sorry, Richie," Steven apologized. "I didn't mean to loose my temper. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. both of you," he added looking at Heather.

"It's okay," Richie told him. "Don't worry about it."

"Richie," Greg said. "I think it's time we paid the bill and went home. You have a game tomorrow."

"Dad," Richie started to protest.

"Now," Greg ordered.

Richie sighed and looked apologetically at Steven and Melinda. "I'm sorry," he said. "But he's right, I do have a game tomorrow and I still have a lot of homework to do. We probably should get going."

He motioned the waitress for the check and gave her the credit card Mac had given him. He planned on sending Duncan a check in the morning.

"Is that MacLeod's?" Greg asked as the waitress left to run the card.

"Can we talk about it later?" Richie asked. He hadn't anticipated the evening to go so badly.

"You bet we will," came the cold reply.

"I'll call you later?" Richie asked Heather outside the restaurant.

"Yeah. I'll be at the game, too."

"We all will," Steven assured him.

"I'm sorry, you guys," Richie apologized again.

"Richie!" Greg called from across the parking lot.

"He's usually not."

"Richie!"

"Not like this at all. I don't ."

"Richie!"

"I'm coming! I'm really sorry. Don't."

"Richie! Get over here!" Greg's order was clear.

"I'm sorry," Richie said again.

"We'll see you tomorrow. And next Friday for dinner," Melinda gave him a hug. "Don't worry about tonight."

"Thanks," Richie said gratefully.

"Richard Ryan!"

"Oh, now I know I'm in trouble. I'll look for you tomorrow," he promised before nearly sprinting to his father.

Greg lectured him on manners and respect the entire way home.