"What kind of a Hotel doesn't have room service?" Methos scowled at the phone in disgust.
"You'll be wanting a mini bar, one of those trouser presses and those little chocolates on your pillow, as well, I'll warrant." Connor didn't look up from his book.
"I just want something to eat," Methos sighed. "Dinner was rudely interrupted if you recall."
"So, call for takeout."
"Apparently, there's only one restaurant in town and they don't deliver."
"Better put your coat on then" Connor suggested. "Its cold out."
"Are you sure you don't want to go?" Methos offered. "You Scots types like your bracing fresh air?"
"Scottish," Connor corrected absently. "Bring plenty. I'm sure the lad will be fit to eat a horse when he wakes up."
"Maybe, I should stay with him." Methos looked over at the sleeping Immortal. "I am his teacher, after all."
"I'm sure I can manage a spot of baby sitting," Connor smirked. "Even our Richie can't get into that much trouble when he's asleep."
"Fine, I'm going then," Methos huffed, shrugging into his coat. "I'll probably be gone for hours."
In fact, it only took him five minutes to get to the restaurant, where the pretty, dark haired waitress and their excellent wine list made the trip almost worthwhile.
Less then thirty minutes later he was back at the Motel, laden down with food and wine enough for an army, only to find the door wide open and Connor lying in a pool of blood.
Richie was no-where to be seen.
"Connor?" Methos demanded, as the Immortal gasped back to life.
"Richie," Connor growled.
"Not here," Methos said flatly. "They must have taken him."
"There was no they," Connor spat. "Your student ran me through."
"Richie killed you?" Methos smirked. "Oh, wait till I tell Mac."
"Duncan warned me to be careful when waking him from a nightmare," Connor grumbled, climbing to his feet. "But I dinna think he would react that badly."
"He had a nightmare?" Methos frowned.
"A bad one." Connor nodded curtly, pulling on his coat.
"He hadn't had a nightmare in months," Methos followed him out into the car lot.
"Well, he had one tonight," Connor looked around. "We have the advantage. He can't have got far on foot."
"Um. Wasn't there a Corvette here earlier?" Methos wondered.
Connor swore fluently in Gaelic.
"Is that possible?" Methos wondered.
"Wait till we find the lad and I'll show you." Connor promised grimly.
They'd only gone about five miles when the car headlights picked out the crumpled body of a Corvette, wrapped around a tree and teetering on the edge of a cliff.
"It could have been worse," Methos shrugged, as he got out. "It could have fallen off the cliff."
"It still might," Connor went over and pulled open the drivers door and reached over to unbuckle the seatbelt, before he realised that Methos was just watching.
"Were you planning on helping?"
"Helping. Yes. Falling down the cliff. No." Methos crossed his arms.
"Its not like the fall can kill you."
Connor lifted Richie's body over his shoulder and staggered away from the car.
"No. But it still hurts. And how am I going to get to play Doctor if I'm all the way down there?"
Connor considered pointing out that the lad was Immortal, and didn't actually need a Doctor. Except that he really didn't look at all well.
They sat him on the curb, Connor supporting him on his right, whilst Methos knelt in front of him and took his head in his hands.
"Richie?" Methos asked, as he tilted his head up to check his pupils.
Richie stared blankly back at him.
"C'mon kid, I know you're not dead." Methos teased, patting his cheeks. "Talk to me."
Richie looked groggily up at him.
"I wrecked my car." He slurred.
"Well, technically, you didn't." Connor told him dryly.
"Iss OK?" Richie gave him a happy, grin, trying to twist around in Methos' grip to inspect the car.
His face fell.
"Iss wrecked." He looked at Connor with an accusing pout. "You said it was OK."
"I said it wasn't your car, bonnie lad." Connor corrected.
"Iss not?" Richie considered this. "So, is my car OK?" he asked hopefully.
"In my experience," Methos murmured, frowning at something he saw in Richie's pupils, "A scolding is usually more effective if the scoldee is actually coherent enough to understand what you are saying."
"Thank you for the tip, Dr Spock," Connor rolled his eyes.
He watched Methos critically for a moment. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure," Methos murmured. "Did you pack your X-ray vision?"
"I'm afraid to ask."
"He's got a nasty cut up here, its healing. But without the benefit of modern technology, I can't be sure that he hasn't got some metal, or glass stuck in there."
"Wouldn't that just get expelled as the body repairs itself?" Connor wondered.
"Generally," Methos acknowledged. "Not always."
"My head hurts." Richie protested softly.
"That's because you have a bloody great hole in it," Methos told him, rubbing his back comfortingly. "It'll pass."
"We should probably get out of here," Connor suggested. "Before we attract too much unwanted attention."
"In the circumstances I think we should get out of dodge altogether," Methos considered. "You can leave a cheque to cove the car."
"Me?" Connor spluttered. "Why me?"
"Because you were the designated adult," Methos pointed out. "You should probably leave something to cover the Motel carpet, as well."
"Fine, I'll just take it out of the lad's allowance for the next thousand years." Connor grumbled..
"Like I'm ever gonna live that long." Richie scoffed.
"Oh, I don't know," Methos helped him to stand. "Think how proud Mac will be when he finds out you bested your Uncle Connor."
"Which one of you is Mac?" Richie slurred.
"I think someone is a little concussed." Methos chuckled.
"Are you taking me to jail?" Richie asked, as Methos steered him towards the car.
"Don't tempt me." Connor growled.
"We're just going to take you home Rich." Methos soothed.
"So, you ain't gonna call the Cops, right" Richie asked anxiously.
"Why would we call the police?" Connor wondered.
"Cause, I'm not old enough to drive, stupid." Richie told him.
"Richie?" Methos asked carefully, "How old are you?"
"I'm twelve." Richie told him. "How old are you?"