Richie arrived on time for work on Tuesday, this time bringing his own lunch. He was tempted to 'forget' it to see if Tessa would make him another sandwich, but decided against it at the last minute. It's not her problem if I don't eat. Of course, telling himself that it wasn't his employers' responsibility to feed him only served to mask his fear of disappointment for when they saw that he was without food and then informed him that it wasn't their problem.
"Morning, Richie," Duncan greeted from behind the counter when Richie entered the store. He was going over the register totals.
"Morning," Richie answered back with a slight wave. His insides still hadn't recovered from the bus ride. Unfortunately, he didn't hide his discomfort well enough.
"You feeling ok?" Duncan asked in concern, this time fully looking up from his work to regard the teen.
"Fine," Richie lied easily but without making eye contact. "I'm not used to getting up this early two days in a row."
Duncan looked at his watch. "It's only ten thirty-two."
Richie nodded. "Which means that I've been up since nine."
"You call that early?" Duncan asked with a grin.
Richie resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "Let's just say that I'm more of a night owl, myself."
"So I noticed."
A slightly uncomfortable silence hung in the air after Duncan's offhand comment. Richie nodded slightly, looking slightly away.
"Well, you ready to get to work?" Duncan asked finally, realizing that nothing more was going to be said about their previous vein of conversation.
"As ready as I'll ever be to do work," Richie said with a slight sigh.
Duncan nodded. "The store room's unlocked; everything should be as you left it."
"Then I guess it's back to the salt mines," Richie said dismissively as he made his way to the door.
"You know," said Duncan, "if this is too torturous, we could always find—"
"No, no!" Richie interjected quickly, instantly regretting his comment. "It's fine, really. I—I'll just be getting to work now." He spoke through a forced grin as he retreated backwards rather quickly and disappeared through the back door.
Once in the sanctity of the storeroom he shut the door behind him and slunk to the ground slowly, resting his back against it. He took a few moments to silently berate himself for his mistake. He couldn't afford to blow this chance, and his often too smart a mouth once again went off without his permission and nearly jeopardized everything. That's the problem with defense mechanisms, they snap into place automatically.
Richie stayed on the ground until the ache in his side had subdued to a dull roar before standing up. With a heavy sigh he returned to the crate where he left the antique scarves and his notebook and pen. Dividing the new sheet into fours (as he had given Duncan his completed pages yesterday), Richie made ready to continue with his task. As an afterthought he opened the door part way. He didn't want his employers to have any (more) reasons to be suspicious of him.
Meanwhile, Duncan had finished changing over the register. Once the minimal amount remained in the register, Duncan took the rest of the money into his office to sort it. He was expecting Tessa to return from her hair appointment around noon. When she returned he could deposit the money in the bank. With a hopeful smile he thought of the possibility of one day being able to leave Richie in charge of the store so that he and Tessa wouldn't have to stagger their errands.
As promised, Tessa returned shortly before noon.
"Duncan?" She called once she entered the store.
"In here," he answered as he shut off his computer.
Tessa appeared in the doorway a moment later, holding a brown paper bag. "What's this?" She asked, holding it aloft.
"Oh," Duncan answered, standing and heading towards her around his desk. "That must be Richie's lunch." He reached over and took it from her, then quickly went to retrieve the briefcase from beside his desk. "I'll give it to him on my way out."
"You're just going to the bank?" Tessa asked.
"Yeah," he answered. "Unless you need me to run a few errands." He said this last part slightly sarcastically, his mouth twitching into a grin. He knew better than to not expect this.
"Just something for dinner," Tessa said with a light laugh. They kissed briefly and then parted. Duncan moved past her into the shop.
"I'll be back soon," he said as he walked through the door into Tessa's workshop.
"Forget something?" Duncan asked, sticking his head through the partially open door. Richie looked up from the ceramic bowl he was inspecting and gave Duncan a quizzical look. Duncan then held out the brown bag.
"Oh yeah," Richie said, blushing slightly as he took the bag from him.
"How's it coming?"
Richie showed off his three completed notebook pages with a smile. "I'm almost done with the forth shelf," he said happily. "As you go down, the boxes are filled with less and less."
Duncan nodded. "Keep up the good work."
Richie flashed a broad smile at the unexpected praise.
"I'm going out," Duncan added. "Tessa's in the store if you need anything."
"Sure thing, Mr. MacLeod."
As soon as Duncan left, Richie decided to take that moment to eat his lunch. It was simply a peanut butter sandwich, made with the ends of the bread. It was the last sandwich Richie could make before going shopping again. The ends of the bread tasted cruddy, especially to someone who doesn't particularly care for crusts anyway, but still, it was lunch. With renewed motivation Richie returned to the task at hand, dreaming of the food he could buy with his first paycheck.
When six o'clock rolled around Richie wondered if he should just leave or if he should wait for either Duncan or Tessa to relieve him. He had finished six shelves, leaving only the bottom shelf and the crates on the floor to get through. He went back through his notations, feeling quite proud of himself, and decided to wait to be relieved of his post. He wouldn't open any new boxes, instead making it look like he was reviewing what he'd written down. That was his compromise.
"Do you know what time it is?" Duncan asked, sticking his head in the door.
Richie looked up from the notepad thankfully, but turned around to regard his employer with an innocent expression. "Miller time?"
Duncan smiled slightly. "It's six ten."
"Great!" Richie exclaimed, tearing off his completed notebook pages and handing them to Duncan. Duncan skimmed them, nodding in appreciation. He then folded the sheets into fours and stuck them in his pocket.
"Come on, I'll give you a ride."
This time Richie knew better than to argue, so he just nodded. "After you."
Duncan and Richie spent the drive back to Richie's apartment once again in comfortable silence.
"See you tomorrow," Richie said as he exited the T-bird.
"Tomorrow," Duncan echoed as he put the car in gear and drove off. Once again Richie watched the T-bird until it disappeared.
Later that evening Tessa came from her workshop and walked straight into Duncan's office.
"How's it coming?" He asked, looking up from the computer scene. Richie's pages were strewn about the top of his desk.
"I'm just polishing it now," said Tessa tiredly.
Duncan frowned. "I mean the bicentennial piece."
Tessa expression changed subtly. "Oh, that."
"Yeah, that." Duncan said, rising from his chair and crossing over to her.
Tessa sighed. "I'll have it done by the deadline, Duncan," she said. "Don't worry."
"Not if you keep putting it off."
"I've got the metal cut. I just need to shape it."
"I know what type of perfectionist you are," Duncan told her, putting his arms around her waist. "That's going to be the most grueling part."
Tessa sighed again and nodded. "I know. It's just…"
"Just what? You've had high profile commissions before."
"I know." Tessa hung her head briefly, biting her lip. Duncan was amazed at the vulnerability in her eyes when she looked up again. "It's just that, all my other commissions here have been for either private organizations or collectors. This is for the city."
"I don't understand," Duncan confessed, searching her expressive features for meaning.
"Those other works are sitting somewhere, on a shelf or in a corner by a plaque collecting dust. This will be going in the middle of the park for all the world to see."
At last Duncan nodded, finally understanding. "Its location doesn't automatically make it a better or worse piece than any of your others," he said softly.
The unsure look Tessa gave him made him quickly amend his statement.
"You have a phenomenal talent, Tess. And that's not just my saying that. You beat out dozens of others for this commission; the city council was obviously impressed."
"I was chosen because I studied at the Sorbonne," Tessa informed him plainly. "They think that makes me better than your average starving artist dans les Etats-Unis." Her incidental use of her native French telegraphed just how uncertain of her talents she really was.
"You think that they're expecting more from you simply because you're French?" Duncan asked. He wasn't expecting this to be the cause of her sudden self-doubt.
"Americans think that Europeans make better artists," she explained. "That's why French restaurants and designer labels are so expensive."
"Well who's to say they're right?" Duncan countered. "And even if they think that, you graduated in the top of your class at the Sorbonne, so that makes you the best of the best. And you didn't excel there because you're French, young lady."
Tessa smiled slightly and Duncan continued:
"You beat the competition because of your talent, not your nationality, and even if the council is so narrow minded to think otherwise, your own people declared you to be an artist of excellent standing."
"But does that make me worthy of this?" She asked with quiet honesty.
Duncan shook his head. "No, your talent makes you worthy. You've been getting at least one commission a month for the past three years. That's better than most artists in this part of Les Etats-Unis." Duncan deliberately made light of Tessa's use of her native French a moment ago.
Tessa laughed for a moment and then went quiet again. "This will be my most public display," she said at length.
"What? That piece you did for the library last spring wasn't public enough?" Duncan asked, laughing slightly.
"More people go to the park than to the library, Duncan," Tessa replied seriously.
"And the people who go to the park aren't all educated art enthusiasts," Duncan concluded.
Tessa nodded.
"Are you honestly telling me that you're afraid of the layman's opinion?"
"If the public doesn't like it they can pressure the council to take it down," Tessa informed him.
Duncan honestly didn't understand this sudden worried self-doubting. "You worry too much," he said with a smile. "Since when has the general public protested anything that wasn't either religiously or sexually offensive? And even then, when have enough people protested to cause change?"
Tessa sighed, she couldn't argue with that. "I'm an artist. You think that I'd have learned to deal with rejection."
"Since when is winning the most important commission of your career a rejection?" Duncan asked with a laugh.
Once again Tessa couldn't refute the point.
"And if it's the laymen's opinions you're so worried about," he added, "well I'm a layman and personally I love your work."
"You, Duncan MacLeod, are certainly not a layman!" Tessa protested, finally returning Duncan's laughter. "And besides, you're biased."
This time it was Duncan who couldn't argue. "You're right," he said seriously. "I'm not an artist or a critic, but I know what I like and I've seen a lot of art. Believe me when I tell you that you are one of the most talented artists I've seen in my entire life. Now I may be biased because I love you, but if you recall I was taken by that sculpture in the Sorbonne gallery before I fell in love with you."
Tessa smiled, blushing slightly at the unexpected memory. The second time she had met Duncan was when he came to the annual showing of the Sorbonne's art school graduates.
"And you know I'm not the only one who feels that way," he finished, drawing her close and smiling down at her, their heads almost touching.
"I know," she conceded. "I know." When she looked up at him again, her expression was nearly back to normal, her irrational fears having been at least temporarily eased somewhat by this discussion.
"Besides, if you're truly worried about what the average American thinks," said Duncan with a sly grin, "just show some of your work to Richie."
Tessa laughed outright and shoved him away. "That boy doesn't know the first thing about art!"
"Probably not."
Suddenly Tessa realized what Duncan was doing and she shook her head. "Oh, you…" She drew him back into her arms. They kissed a few times before Duncan pulled away.
"Why don't you go wash up? I'll get dinner started."
"Ok." They kissed once more and then Tessa departed for the loft.
Duncan returned to the desk and gathered up Richie's note sheets. He filed them away with their other inventory notes and turned the office light off with ah air of satisfaction. So far Richie hadn't missed a thing. If he had stolen anything, he wouldn't have written down that they had it in the first place.
Richie arrived on time for work on Wednesday. This time for lunch he brought the jar of peanut butter and a spoon. There was hardly any left so he intended to finish it off. He concealed the items in another bag so as to disguise the meagerness of the meal.
The bus ride was still incredibly uncomfortable, but this time he forced his features to not betray his discomfort. He entered the antique shop to find Tessa explaining an antique doll to an elderly customer. Richie momentarily panicked. He knew that he wasn't dressed appropriately enough to be seen by the public as an employee here. He also wasn't sure if he should just walk past them through the back door so as to not interrupt a possible sale. Richie was unsure how Tessa would feel if he just blew her off and walked into the back like he owned the place.
The momentary panic was quelled when he suddenly heard Duncan's voice.
"In the office, Rich," he called out.
Richie breathed a sigh of relief and then went into the office.
"Good morning," Duncan greeted when he entered.
"Good morning," Richie said, showing his relief at yet another of Duncan's rescues.
"In the future you can just wave at Tessa to get her attention and then get to work."
"Sure thing Mr. MacLeod," said Richie, relieved to be given a sense of direction about the issue.
"Do you think you'll finish the store room today?" Duncan asked.
"I hope so," Richie answered. "I just have the last shelf to do, and then those crates on the floor."
Duncan nodded. "When you've finished the shelf come find me. Those crates are heavy, we'll do them together."
Richie blinked in surprise. "Yeah, sure," he said. "Whatever you say Mr. MacLeod."
Richie returned to the storeroom and regarded it with a mixture of relief and trepidation. He would be glad to finally finish his detail in the closet, but in order to do that he'd have to work alongside MacLeod, and that thought didn't exactly thrill him. Also, once this particular task is complete, Richie didn't know for certain that they would have other work for him to do. He knew that they'd be paying him for what he's done so far (minus a percent to cover his damages), but what else would they have him do, if anything?
Richie returned to his work mechanically, both looking forward and not looking forward to completing the task. He worked methodically and tried to allow his mind to become engrossed in the task at hand. However, by eleven thirty he was done with the shelf, and that meant that it was time to face his employer and what was to come. Resigned, he walked back into the antique store and found Duncan still in his office. Mercifully, Tessa wasn't in the store. Richie knocked twice on the office's open door.
"Hey Richie," Duncan greeted as he placed the last stamp on an envelope.
"Mr. MacLeod, I've finished the shelves," Richie informed him.
"Great," said Duncan with a smile as he gathered up his stack of sealed envelops that contained this months bills and invoices. "I have to run to the post office to buy stamps so I can mail these. Why don't you come with me? We can get lunch and then come back here and deal with the crates."
Richie quickly schooled his face to repress the sudden surge of different emotional responses. Duncan noticed him pale slightly, but other than that there was no evidence of the war between surprise, delight, suspicion, and fear going on inside Richie's head at the moment.
"Uh, I brought my lunch today," Richie said neutrally.
"So have it for dinner when you get home," Duncan said with a grin as he stood up and grabbed his coat.
"I don't have enough money," Richie protested without making eye contact. He was ashamed to say that, but he couldn't possibly afford to buy lunch and he wasn't going to spring that fact on MacLeod when the bill came.
"My treat," Duncan said lightly.
That won Richie over. He hadn't had a decent meal since the illegal cheeseburger in the hospital (if nuked TV dinners don't count). Sure he was nervous at the prolonged voluntary contact with his slightly intimidating employer, but his need for sustenance won out and he agreed to the offer.
"Sure, ok then," Richie stuttered.
Duncan smiled at him and they headed back through Tessa's workshop into the ally, Duncan pausing momentarily to yell to Tessa to cover the store while he and Richie ran errands. He waved goodbye to her once she appeared at the top of the stares. Richie made certain to not even look at her.
The first stop was the post office. Richie remained in the car while Duncan went in to buy more stamps and mail the bills. Ten minutes later they were on their way to lunch.
"So where do you want to eat?" Duncan asked.
Richie shrugged. "I dunno," he said dismissively. "You're paying, you choose."
"Alright."
Another ten minutes and they stopped in front of a moderately priced family style restaurant called 'Juno's.' Richie had only been here a few times, but he liked the food. However, that didn't stop him from wanting to protest the choice when they could have just as easily gone to a cheaper fast food joint. In the end he decided that it wasn't his place to question MacLeod's judgment so he would compensate by ordering one of the cheapest things on the menu.
They were seated in a booth and sat in silence perusing the menus until the waitress came over to take their drink orders. Duncan ordered a coffee and was surprised when Richie ordered the same.
"I didn't know you like coffee," said Duncan.
"This is Washington State," said Richie. "Doesn't everyone drink coffee?" Duncan laughed at that.
"What are you getting?" Duncan asked casually, mostly for the sake of conversation.
However, Richie took the motivation to be the price. "Oh, I dunno," he said, trying to sound equally casual. "Probably the BLT. You?"
Duncan returned his gaze to the menu. He failed to notice that BLTs were one of the cheapest sandwiches on the menu.
"The chicken potpie looks tempting," Duncan said absently, still looking over the menu.
Richie turned to the appropriate menu page. They do look tempting, at that. However, Richie did notice that the pie was nearly two dollars more expensive than the BLT he was planning on. In Richie's mind, two dollars was still a lot of money, so he decided to stick with his sandwich.
Just then the waitress returned with their coffees and to take their orders. Duncan ordered the chicken potpie and Richie ordered the BLT. The waitress jotted the orders and then departed. Duncan added barely half a container of half and half to his coffee and only one sugar, but watched in amusement as Richie dumped three half and half containers and four sugars into his own coffee.
"Some coffee with your sugar and cream?" He asked lightly.
"I don't particularly like the taste of coffee," Richie said as he stirred the contents of his cup with his spoon. The coffee looked nearly white.
"Then why'd you order it?" Duncan asked.
Richie suddenly realized his mistake. "Well I found that if I add enough cream and sugar to it then it doesn't taste that bad," he said. "And I was in the mood for something hot," he added as an afterthought, knowing that the excuse of 'it was cheaper than soda' wouldn't be appropriate.
Duncan just smiled and shook his head. Then they sat in a silence that hovered somewhere between companionable and awkward for a time.
"Are you cold?" Duncan asked, finally tired of seeing Richie hunched down with his hands wrapped around his coffee mug.
"Just a little," Richie answered. "I'll warm up eventually."
"Don't you have a jacket? It's not all that warm out."
"I know," Richie agreed. "My old one still needs to be washed and sewn."
"The black and green one?" Duncan asked in shock.
Richie nodded.
"But it's been sliced through and it's covered in blood!"
Richie nodded again. "Like I said, I haven't gotten around to washing and patching it yet."
"Well if you haven't washed it by now, the bloodstains are never coming out of it," Duncan told him.
"Not out of the lining," Richie agreed, "but the stain hit mostly the black part of the outside so once I sew it up it won't be all that noticeable."
Duncan shook his head. "I'd invest in a new jacket if I were you."
Richie bit the inside of his lip. He couldn't afford to eat let alone drop forty bucks for a decent jacket. "It's on my to-do list," he said to his coffee.
Duncan realized his mistake too late, and regretted making the statement.
"Right up there with the mop and hall lamp?" He asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Richie smiled a bit but still didn't look up. "Somewhere in there, yeah," he said. "It'll be good as new before winter though, so don't worry about it."
Duncan wanted to reassure the boy that he wasn't worried, but that wasn't at all the case. He guessed that Richie didn't heat his apartment very much to save money, and the thought of him not having a jacket didn't set too well with the Highlander.
"What good does that do you now?" He asked Richie instead.
This time Richie did look up. "Oh, I've got a long sleeve tee on under this," he said, lifting his sweatshirt to reveal the shirt underneath. "If it gets really cold I'll just add another layer."
Duncan nodded. At least Richie was smart enough to layer up. Just then the waitress returned with their food and the same silence resumed as they ate. Eventually Duncan decided to break the silence.
"Why were those boys chasing you?" He asked, trying not to sound like he was interrogating the teen.
Richie covered for his lack of a ready-made lie by taking a sip of his coffee.
"They're a gang," he said at last. "Maybe they just wanted my shoes."
"But you said they had already gotten your wallet," Duncan reminded him.
"Well if you're gonna rob someone, it makes sense to take their wallet," Richie said with mock seriousness.
"But why you?" Duncan persisted.
Richie shrugged, his mind working overtime to come up with a decent cover story. "How do I know how gangs choose their victims?" He returned. "I might have just seemed like an easy mark."
Somehow Duncan doubted that. "You knew the boy who stabbed you," he said. "And Powell said that you used to run with them."
Richie couldn't stifle the laugh. "Yeah I bet he did," he said disdainfully. "I used to live in their territory off and on, and in the foster home before my apartment. Of course Powell would assume that."
Duncan had to accept that such an assumption was just like Powell.
"So you were never a member of the gang?" He asked.
Richie regarded him critically, as though gauging the consequences of telling him the truth. "I knew who they were," he said at last. "I would see them in school when we were younger. We were friendly, but I was never initiated into the gang."
After momentary debate Duncan decided that Richie was telling the truth about that.
"If you were friendly then why'd they try to kill you in a robbery?" He asked.
Richie shrugged and took another bit of his sandwich as his mind worked to formulate the next domino lie. "I moved out of their territory, and they had long since dropped out of school so I hardly ever saw them before I moved anyway." Richie didn't bother to mention that he too dropped out of high school. He should have graduated last spring, but he dropped out around Thanksgiving of senior year.
"But I thought you said you were friendly?"
"We used to be when we were younger," Richie admitted. "But I guess that didn't count for much. Like I said, I don't know how gangs choose their victims, especially the civvies."
Duncan had to accept what Richie told him as fact. He could sense that there was more to the story than Richie was letting on, but he doubted that Richie was lying in what he was saying. After all, the victim doesn't need to know the reason for the attack.
"I guess it doesn't," Duncan agreed. His highland morality hated the gang members even more if that's how they treat their so-called friends, provided of course that there was no ulterior motive for their attacking Richie, which Duncan was almost certain there was.
Silence resumed once more, Duncan momentarily satisfied with Richie's explanation and Richie relieved that Duncan had bought into his obfuscations. I didn't lie, he told himself. I just didn't tell the truth.
When the waitress came by with the bill Richie made a grab for it, intending to note how much he owed so he could pay Duncan back when he had the money, but Duncan beat him to it.
"My treat, remember," he said as he glanced at the bill to make sure everything was in order. Then he pulled out his wallet and placed a credit card in the leather folder with the bill. The waitress came by immediately to take it.
"Thanks, Mr. MacLeod," Richie said sincerely. "I'll pay you back when I get the chance."
"What part of 'my treat' don't you understand?" Duncan asked with a laugh.
"You really don't have to," Richie protested. "I can pay you back eventually."
Duncan sighed. Richie's inability to accept random acts of kindness was starting to both simultaneously irritate and depress him.
"Well consider it your birthday present," he said as the waitress came back with the charge slip. Duncan filled in the tip and signed the slip and stuck it back in the leather folder so Richie couldn't see it.
"Wasn't saving my life a birthday present? Or the job offer?" Richie asked, confused.
"Richie, I didn't know you'd just had a birthday when I helped you," Duncan explained patiently. "And I would have done that anyway. As for the job offer," he continued with a grin, "why should a present to you help me?"
Richie didn't have an answer to that.
"Thank you," he said at last, with quiet sincerity, into his empty coffee mug.
"You're welcome," Duncan answered, matching Richie's tone.
They left the restaurant and went back to the antique store to inventory the packing crates. In all honesty they had just been inventoried so Duncan already knew what was in each one. He wasn't about to tell Richie that, however. He wanted Richie to think that he trusted him, which even though was deceitful had served its purpose. Richie was proving that he could be both a trustworthy and diligent employee with the manner in which he tackled the inventory assignment. Duncan was very pleased with the quality of Richie's work, and with the discovery that the teen could in fact be trusted.
More importantly, displaying trust is the fastest way to earn it in return, and Duncan desperately wanted Richie to trust him. He knew that the teen wasn't the lost cause Powell claimed him to be, and if given half a chance he might prove to be decent human being and productive member of society, and everything else he was automatically denied the chance at by those in authority that had already judged him.
Also, as a pre-immortal in the time of the gathering, Duncan knew that Richie would need every advantage in order to survive for at least one lifetime. Teaching Richie to survive in the game would be much easier if he could coax him to do and be more than what's defined for him by others' sub-standard expectations. It also might help him live a little longer beforehand, and every added year of mortal life would make him that much stronger and more capable as an immortal.
The drive back to the antique store was completed in the same silence, which by now was beginning to feel comfortable for the routine of it if nothing else. Richie was unsure if he felt better from having gotten lunch with his employer or not. He was glad that Duncan bought his explanation of Romeo's attack and rather touched at his concern over his lack of a jacket. However, as Duncan mentally noted, others' random acts of kindness and displays of altruistic concern were practically foreign to the teenager. His mind was still trying to find Duncan's ulterior motives because he had absolutely no reason to be this nice to him.
He was of course unaware of his pre-immortality, and nor would he ever be able to guess at that, so as far as he was concerned his employer was just as big a mystery as ever. This gave him mixed feelings of actually working with the man (as opposed to simply for him). His mind was still searching for a reason, which made him curious, but there was also the intimidation factor of working alongside your boss. Especially when said boss carries a big sword and already knows you to be a thief.
Regardless of his feelings on the matter, however, the event was inevitable. The T-bird pulled in behind the store and Richie was resigned to face the music. He just hoped that he wouldn't say or do anything that might jeopardize his job, and ergo he was hoping that MacLeod wouldn't ask him any more difficult questions.