AN- Thanks to Jen for pointing out that in attempting to explain that this is set in the same universe as The Quickening, I mistakenly gave the impression that Methos and Connor were supposed to be in Montana, when I was actually thinking of them being at Connor's place in New York. Sorry for any confusion.
***
"You bring the lad," Connor started towards the bathroom. "I'll run the bath."
"Why don't you bring the lad and I'll run the bath?" Methos countered.
"Because this was your idea." Connor called back.
"But, what if he comes around?" Methos complained.
"Then you'll probably get a black eye," Connor gave a dry little chuckle. "Or two."
"If he's been paying any attention to what I've been teaching him, a black eye would be the least of my worries." Methos muttered sourly.
Gently, he lifted the unconscious Immortal into his arms and carried him into the bathroom.
Almost gagging on the sickly sweet perfume that filled the air.
"What in the name of all the gods is that smell?" he protested.
Connor looked at the bottle of bubble bath. "Strawberry and Coconut concoction." He read.
"He's going to kill us." Methos grinned tightly, lowering his student into the bath, so the warm water could set to work.
"I thought it would suit him," Connor shrugged innocently. "The lad is a strawberry blonde, after all"
"I didn't know Immortals could be colour blind." Methos commented.
"Pardon?" Connor frowned.
"This," Methos tugged at a lock, "Is red hair."
"Really?" Connor reached over and seized another curl. "Well, this, is strawberry blonde."
"Ouch," Richie protested softly, his hands coming up to ward off whatever was attacking his head.
"Easy, Risteard," Connor captured his hands, and brought them back down to his chest.
"Connor?" Richie managed.
"Aye lad?" Connor inspected the bottles of shampoo, choosing one that claimed to control bounce.
Lord knows, the lad could use a dose or two of that.
"Why am I all wet?" Richie slurred.
"Because you're taking a bath." Connor told him.
"But I still have all my clothes on." Richie protested groggily.
"Not for long," From somewhere around his person, Methos produced a dangerous looking stiletto dagger.
"Have a lot of haberdashery emergencies do you?" Connor said disapprovingly.
"There's nothing in the rules that says I can't carry it." Methos retorted, leaning over to cut through Richie's jeans.
"Hey!" Richie scooted back so quickly, a wave of water sloshed over the edge of the bath. "Watch where you are pointing that thing!"
"You'd be much less likely to get cut if you'd just keep still." Methos told him.
"I'd be much less likely to get cut if you'd put that thing away." Richie retorted.
"I have done this before you know."
"What?" Richie was still pressed up at the end of the bath, as far away from Methos as he could get. "Made eunuchs out of people?"
"Don't tempt me," Methos warmed. "What happened to Adelaide anyway?"
"Her name was Adina, and we broke up." Richie told him.
"Before or after?" Methos waved his knife at Richie's wounds, who scowled sourly at him.
"After. Connor, make him put that thing down."
"I could use the Katana if you prefer." Connor offered.
"Fine. Whatever." Richie said tightly, feeling the tears of helplessness burn at the back of his eyes.
He shut his eyes tight, so the two elder Immortals, wouldn't see his humiliation and lay back in the water, welcoming its blessed warmth after days of being chilled to the bone.
"Here, drink."
The scent of whiskey, encouraged him to open his eyes.
Methos, was offering the glass, his eyes warm with compassion. His hand, strong and gentle, supporting the back of his head, reminding Richie, painfully of Mac.
He gulped at the glass, feeling the familiar burn of a fine vintage slide down his throat.
"Better?" Methos asked softly.
"Yeah, sorry." Richie apologised.
"Ditto." Methos made a face.
Richie laughed, constantly surprised by the depth of compassion and affection that the ancient Immortal was still capable of
Only to be doused, with a shower of warm water, as Connor rinsed the shampoo away.
"Sorry," Connor grinned, unrepentantly as he waved the shower head, "My aim slipped."
"The last time my aim slipped," Richie reminded him. "You sliced me open so that all my insides were on the outside."
"Did you know that you have glitter in your hair?" Connor wondered. "Purple glitter at that."
"Yes." Richie said, in a tone that brooked no discussion.
"Alright." Methos told him, making one last cut. "Lift up."
"Huh?" Richie turned towards him. Shifting his weight just enough to allow his teacher to remove the last shredded remnants of his clothes.
It took Richie a full three seconds to realise that he was completely naked.
"Hey" he protested, curling up into a ball so fast that Methos was hit by a small tidal wade. "What's the big idea?"
"You were the one who complained about wearing all your clothes." Connor pointed out, pouring some conditioner onto the wild curls.
"And it is customary to remove your clothes when taking a bath." Methos reminded him.
"Well, I don't know what it was like back in the Dark Ages," Richie protested. "But us normal people usually like our privacy."
"Oh please," Methos paused in the act of squeezing liquid soap onto a cloth, "Are you telling me no-body has ever given you a bath before?"
Richie used his expanding Gaelic vocabulary to tell him what he could do with his cloth.
"Maybe you should wash his mouth out as well." Connor murmured.
"And what about the man who taught him?" Methos countered. "Because, I'd bet my beer tab, that the Boy Scout didn't teach him to curse like that."
"Aren't you done yet?" Connor asked testily. "How long can it take to wash a bairn his size?"
"I don't know about him," Richie warned, eying Methos' cloth warily. "But I'm not even started yet."
"If you can tell me, honestly, that you've never been given a bath before," Methos allowed. "I'll leave you to it."
"Well," Richie blushed. "Some of my girlfriends liked all the all the candles and stuff."
"I meant a proper bath. As in washing?" Methos clarified.
"I guess Emily must have done," Richie looked away. "I don't remember."
"More's the pity." Connor murmured, suspiciously washing the conditioner from his hair, without so much as a splash on his face.
"I was thinking of more recently?" Methos arched a brow.
"Mac, once or twice," Richie admitted softly. "When I was sick, or hurting."
"You want me to call him?" Methos asked gently.
"He's in France," Richie said woodenly. "Don't you think the water will get a bit cold?"
Methos caught Connor's eye.
There was more going on here than they knew.
"You know," Methos said conversationally. "When I was young, there was a rumour that I was raised by wolves."
"You're kidding, right?"
Not for the first time, Methos blessed Richie's mercurial attention span.
"I wouldn't know, I don't remember much about my childhood," Methos admitted. "Although, I assume I had one. Most people do."
"Don't you miss that?" Richie asked.
"Families can be overrated," Methos dismissed lightly. "Look at Cain and Abel. Are you getting out of there?"
"That depends," Richie said warily. "Are you going to try and wash me some more?"
"I don't need to," Methos said smugly. "You've been in there so long, all the cuts have healed."
"Figures." Richie sighed and began to rise.
"Um. You're not thinking of patting me dry are you?"