AN – Thanks for the reviews, sorry for the long delay. Hopefully next chapter more quickly.

***

"C'mon Rich," Duncan squatted down so he could speak softly into his slumbering lad's ear. "Time to wake up now."

A slight pause.

"G'way," Richie snuggled a little closer to the pillow he was clutching and turned away from Duncan's voice. "M'sleepin."

"I can see that," Duncan bit back an amused smile, resisting the urge to shake him awake, knowing full well how dangerous that could be. "But I need you to wake up now. C'mon Tough Guy, you can't sleep here on the couch."

One blue eye opened to regard him curiously.

"Whatja call me?"

Duncan smiled. "It's a nickname. Its .. um .. what my Dad used to call me when I was your age." He improvised quickly.

"Oh," Richie sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, as he swung his legs around. "You probably don't oughta call me that then."

"Why ever not?" Duncan frowned, it was on the tip of his tongue to tell him that he loved that nickname.

"Cos, I'm a runt," Richie said matter of factly. "Everyone says so."

If Duncan had had any doubt about the wisdom of treating Richie as the twelve year old he presently believed himself to be, they vanished with that simple statement. Too much had been done to the lad, before he had had the raising of him to completely eradicate the insecurities that were embedded in his soul. Maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to lay some demons to rest.

"You're short a few good meals and no mistake," Duncan allowed fondly. "But we'll feed you up in no time."

Richie gave him a wary glance.

"I don't eat broccoli," He warned. "I'm allergic."

"Really?" Duncan queried, allowing just a hint of scepticism to creep into his voice.

This twelve year old version caved much more quickly than the teenage Richie ever had.

"OK, so I'm not like medically allergic," Richie admitted. "But I will barf all over your shoes."

"I'll try to remember that." Duncan smiled.

"So, where am I sleepin?"

***

Duncan threw open the door with a flourish and waited expectantly for Richie's reaction.

Connor had long since decreed this to be Richie's room, ever since the lad had come to visit that first Summer after they had got back from France. In the intervening years it had been decorated with Motorcycle prints and other paraphernalia guaranteed to make Richie feel at home.

So, Duncan was completely unprepared when the lad's face fell.

"What's wrong?"

"Where do I sleep when Uncle Connor's kid comes home from College?" Richie asked quietly.

Inwardly, Duncan cursed. Of course, Richie would think was a room for a much older person, it was.

"This is just for now," He tried to reassure. "You have your very own room at home."

"In Montana?" Richie eyed him shyly.

"That's right." Duncan smiled at him. 

"What colour is it?" Richie asked cautiously.

Duncan knew that before Richie had moved into the Store he had never had his own room before. At first, his meagre possessions had looked lost and empty in the large, brick walled "spare" room. In the early days it was Tessa who had looked out pictures to decorate the walls. And he who had, given the boy the television and video from their bedroom, that they hardly ever watched.

Of course, by the time they had moved to France things were different. He remembered the black walls with silver chrome Celtic effects that the teenage Richie had picked out for his room on the barge.

"I dunno," he had shook his head in amusement. "How are you ever going to get any sleep looking at that lot?"

 "Are you kidding?" Richie had laughed. "When I was fifteen, I spent six months sleeping  in a room that was Barbie pink with yellow sunflowers."

"Pink?" Duncan had raised a brow.

"Hey, definitely not my idea!" Richie had defended himself. "I never really stayed any place long enough to make it worth their while to change the décor."

As far as he was concerned the lad could paint his room any colour he liked.

How bad could it be?

"Really?" Richie's face blossomed into a smile when he told him so. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration. "Purple? With gold stars on the ceiling?" he suggested shyly.

 "If you like," Duncan agreed. "Just remember that you're the one who has to live with it for a year."

"Why a year?" Richie looked suddenly anxious, as if he feared his new found father might be about to disappear on him again.

"Because .." Duncan was quick to reassure. "I'm not changing it every other month. You can change it once a year, on your birthday. Deal?"

"Every year?" Richie blinked. "You mean until I'm eighteen?" He sounded awed.

"Actually, I meant, for the rest of your life."

"Get real," Richie's scoffed. "You're gonna want your space long before that. You'll get some girlfriend who decides her kid needs the room, or you'll get a lodger or something. You don't gotta worry about me. I can take care of myself. I have done for a real long time."

"Richie, come here." Duncan sat down on the bed.

"I didn't do nuthin'" Richie protested, backing up a step, and casting a quick, furtive look over his shoulder for an escape route. His face paling when he realised that the only window and door were on the other side of the formidable Scot.

"For God's sake Richie, when I have I ever spanked you?" Duncan protested unwittingly to the teenager he had known.

"Please, you don't gotta," Richie didn't appear to have heard him. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong .. you just gotta tell me what's right .. I mean at the Walkers .. they wanted me to call them Susie and Mark and I wasn't allowed to eat any meat .. at the Hendersons I had to call them Uncle Rod and Auntie Sarah and I had to do all my homework before I was allowed out .. I'll be good, I promise ..you just gotta tell me how."

"Richie ..lad," Duncan put all the compassion he could muster into his tone. "Come here, please. I give you ma word I'm no going to hurt you." His brogue thickened.

"Yeah, right, like I'm gonna trust that." Richie scoffed.

Then went white as a sheet as he realised he had actually said that out loud.

Duncan sighed. The child watching him take Slan's head hadn't looked as scared as the frightened figure before him now.

Well, he had won Richie's trust before. He could do it again.

***
When Duncan didn't return Connor went upstairs in search of him. Standing in the doorway of Richie's room he smiled. Duncan had evidently finally succumbed to his exhaustion, having simply shrugged off his coat and kicked off his boots, before sprawling fully clothed across the bedcovers, leaving the marks of hard travel on the cream sheets. Richie, was tucked protectively under his right arm, his blonde head pillowed on Duncan's chest.

"Is that for me?" Duncan's brown eyes were suddenly open, regarding him steadily.

Connor looked down at the cut glass in his hand, filled with a generous measure of warm amber liquid. Even after all these centuries, the teacher in Connor couldn't help but feel a tad proud, that Duncan was instantly wide wake and wary at the touch of an Immortal. Richie too, Connor noted approvingly, had stirred at the approach of another, but, amnesia or no, a soft word from Duncan was enough to set him slumbering again.

"Not on an empty stomach, cousin," Connor held onto his glass. "How's the lad doing?"

"He's still Richie." Duncan shrugged.

"Is that good or bad?" Connor wondered.

"I scared him Connor. Duncan admitted softly. "I'd forgotten, how hard it was in the beginning not to say or do something that he'd take wrong. I'd hoped .."

Connor knew all too well what Duncan had hoped. That at twelve Richie might have been, as yet, untouched, by the forces which had led him down the path to crime and lawlessness. Hearing the child speak so blithely of joy riding and prostitution made that seem unlikely. Connor found himself wondering, not for the first time, what kind of childhood, if any, Richie had known.

"He looks content enough now." Connor observed, as Richie slept peacefully on.

"I do have some experience of soothing his ruffled feathers." Duncan pointed out.

"Not to mention he's so tired he probably fell asleep on his feet before he could finish his sentence."

"That too," Duncan agreed. "Also, right now, I'm the Prodigal Father .."

He paused.

"Which reminds me whose bright idea was it to make me a spy?"

"Guess." Connor inclined his head in the direct of the sleeping young immortal.

"Oh .. of course," Duncan remembered. "The carton of milk."

"Pardon?" Connor frowned.

"It's a long story," Duncan sighed. "But Richie never gave up hope that his father would come for him. So, right now, he's overjoyed to see him .. or rather me .. but .." he trailed off.

"But you think he'll have some hard questions, once the novelty wears off?" Connor surmised.

"Oh, I know he'll have questions," Duncan scrubbed at his face. "I just wish I could think of the answers."

"You'd think better on a full stomach." Connor suggested.

"I don't want to leave him .." Duncan worried.

 "He's safe enough here, Duncan. I have a very good security system. And Methos is right next door. Also .." Connor held up a hand to forestall any further protests. "You're no good to the lad if you're wasting away. Come and eat something."

That last wasn't exactly a request.

"Seeing as you put it like that," Duncan grumbled. He wondered, fondly, if this was how Richie felt when he nagged at him. At once irritated at the overbearing attitude and grateful that the elder Immortal cared enough to insist.

He gently eased himself out from underneath Richie, replacing the spot where he had been with a pillow so the lad wouldn't wake. Pausing only to tuck the covers a little more warmly around him and drop a soft kiss on his cheek, he murmured a benediction.

"Sleep well, my bonnie lad."

Padding silently across the room in his stocking feet, he checked to make sure that the door was left ajar, so the light from the hallway spilled into the room, before following  Connor downstairs.

"Oh and by the way," Connor looked back over his shoulder as he went down. "You owe me a new set of sheets."

***
Duncan hadn't realised how hungry he was until the platter of bread and cheese was set before him. Without waiting for the soup, he tore a hunk off the bread and cut a wedge of cheese, attempting to stuff both into his mouth at once.

"Decided you're a mite peckish after all, have you?" Connor smirked, as he brought two bowls of soup to the table.

"You know," Duncan reached for the soup. "You're not always right. I can think of at least  two occasions in the last four hundred years when you've been wrong."

"Oh aye?" Connor arched a brow. "Name them."

"Sarah and Fiona Whittaker." Duncan smirked, digging into his soup.

The spoon never made it to his mouth.

Instead, it fell from his suddenly lifeless hand, leaving a trail of bright orange across the thick grey carpet, as the sound of fearful cries cut through the apartment.

"Richie." Duncan's expression blanched, as he almost knocked over his chair in his haste to get upstairs.

"Another nightmare?" Connor was at his heels.

"Evidently," Duncan managed, between gritted teeth.

This was his fault. It had to be. Richie had been fine just a moment ago. He should never have left him.

They skidded to a halt outside Richie's bedroom door, arriving at the same instant as Methos, who had not even paused to put on a robe over his boxers in his haste, only to pause in horrified disbelief.

Richie's bedroom door was closed.

Methos found his voice first.

"Who the bloody hell closed the door and left the kid all alone in the bloody dark?" he seethed.

Joe, arriving more slowly, from the direction of the bathroom, paled visibly.

"Ah, that would be me." He admitted uncomfortably

Just as the piercing screams died away, to be replaced by a silence that was even more ominous.