Richie was lucky enough to not be awakened by illness for the rest of the morning. He didn't rouse from his slumber until Tessa knocked on his door just after one p.m. If he was planning on eating anything before another eight hours of medically enforced starvation, he would need to do it soon.
"Petit?"
Tessa pushed the door open most of the way. When that got no response she tentatively crossed the threshold and entered the room. The tangled mass of covers that one could only assume served to cover a sleeping human form showed no signs of awareness to her intrusion.
"Richie?" She called again, slightly louder this time, as she took a few more steps forward. Once again there was no indication that she had been heard.
Steeling her resolve that she needed to awaken the teen Tessa walked the rest of the way to the bed and leaned forward. Her hands had barely begun the transference of body weight to the bed before her presence was discovered. Richie sat bolt upright, the covers falling off his upper body to reveal his head and shoulders. Tessa jumped back in surprise, and the additional movement was greeted by Richie's automatic response of shifting to a defensive position away from the potential threat while simultaneously snapping fully awake and alert eyes on his intruder.
"Tessa?"
Richie blinked hard and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Memories of the past few days, and of that morning, came flooding back. Any and all emotion showing on his face was deftly harnessed and pulled back, leaving one stoic but very awake teenager sitting on the bed tangled in the covers and staring up at his employer. Only when the jittery teen appeared to have settled down and all knee-jerk responses spent and thus leaving him in full command of his body again did Tessa deem it safe to even breathe in his presence.
"How are you feeling?" She asked. Her tone was guarded but hinted of concern.
"Better," Richie responded, nodding slightly. The earlier horrid protests of his stomach had quieted down considerably over the past few hours, but he was still left with a slight, queasy-uneasy feeling that takes away appetites more than generates illness.
"Do you want something to eat?" Tessa asked. "Remember you have the second pill to take tonight, so if you don't eat fairly soon you won't be able to at all today."
Richie nodded again, considering his options. "Well, what could I have?" He asked.
Tessa paused for consideration. "Nothing to heavy I should think. We have chicken noodle soup, and then there's toast, or some crackers."
"In other words nothing with flavor?" Richie interrupted, belatedly throwing a smile on his face to take the edge off the sarcasm.
Tessa forced herself to return the smile, hating feeling like she was constantly on eggshells around the teen. "I'm sure we could find something that suits your taste," she said, sounding harsher than she meant to.
Richie bit the inside of his lip. Why do I always have to mouth off?
"So," Tessa prompted, "are you hungry or not?"
Richie took a moment to wonder about that himself. It was a rare occasion when he wasn't hungry, but with the semblance of a truce between he and his stomach he was loathe to do something to upset the balance.
"Um, do you think I could shower first?" He asked, looking down and breaking eye contact. After a brief moment he looked up again.
"Sure, petit," Tessa said with a smile, genuine this time.
Richie responded with a broader one.
Richie knew that he most likely spent more than enough time in the shower, but the tub was so clean and luxurious, and the hot water felt so good, that he just couldn't tear himself away. He stayed in, just basking in the pleasant sensations, long after he'd finished washing. He finally turned off the faucet when he remembered that this was his employers' bathroom and running up their water bill would be extremely bad form.
Richie dried off and pulled at the duct tape that secured the Zip-lock bag over his stitches to keep the water off of them. He noted that the area wasn't hard and red anymore, nor were the stitches itching and burning. The bruising had all but faded. Wetting the end of his towel, Richie scrubbed at the duct tape residue remaining on his abdomen. This chore done, he got dressed and tidied up the bathroom, being sure to leave it exactly as he found it.
Richie put his dirty clothes back in his room, hidden in the closet out of site, and took out a plastic shopping bag from his overnight bag and stuffed Duncan's button-down shirt inside it to join the rest of the clothes the highlander had lent him. Remembering where the laundry room is, Richie exited his room only to run into Tessa in the hallway.
"Mrs.—Tessa!" He stammered, stopping short so as to not crash into her.
"Richie," she acknowledged, stepping back to give the teen some room. "Do you feel better for your shower?"
Richie nodded. "Much. Hospitals leave you feeling so dirty."
Tessa nodded, flashing a reminiscent smile. "I know what you mean," she said. "I felt the same way when I had my appendix taken out."
Richie returned the smile and nodded back, feeling awkward. Then he remembered the bag in his hand. "Um, here's the clothes Mr. MacLeod lent me," he said, proffering the bag. "What should I do with them, they're dirty."
"Oh, I'll take them," Tessa answered, taking the bag. "I'll put them with the dirty clothes and wash them later." Then she disappeared into the walk in closet across the hall, returning a second later.
"Now, have you decided about what you want for lunch?"
Richie paused, considering. He had meant to think about eating whilst in the shower to see if his stomach would either get hungry, upset, or indifferent, but he was soon distracted and never recovered.
"Ah, did you say you could make toast?" He answered finally.
"Sure," Tessa said with a smile. She then led him down the hall into the kitchen. "I should probably make it on white bread since you're stomach's been upset," she said, not looking at him as she rummaged in the breadbox for the correct loaf. "How many slices do you want?" She looked over her shoulder at him this time.
Richie shrugged. "I dunno. Three I guess."
Tessa removed three slices of bread and put them into the four-slice toaster all together. After depressing the lever, she put the loaf away and grabbed a clean plate from the drying rack by the sink.
"Why don't you go watch television?" She suggested. "I'll call you when it's ready."
Richie made his way to the couch and turned on the television. After curling up under the afghan again he proceeded to flip through a few channels, only to be dismayed at the discovery that the loft doesn't have cable.
"I don't believe it," he said in astonishment. "You have a top of the line entertainment system set up in here, but you don't have cable!"
"Duncan and I don't watch a lot of television," came Tessa's reply from the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"
"Do you have any soda?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Uh, just some water then." Richie couldn't believe it. No cable and no soda... Then: "What do you use the entertainment center for if you don't watch TV?"
"Well we watch movies sometimes," Tessa answered from the kitchen. "But mostly we use it to play music."
Just then she brought over a plate of toast and a glass of water and set them on the kitchen table. Richie turned off the television so he could eat his perfectly golden and slightly buttered toast. The toast seemed to settle so afterwards Richie decided he was well enough to watch some television. However, he once again discovered the appalling lack of decent programming. Tessa was cleaning up in the kitchen when she saw him flipping through channels with a disgusted look on his face.
"You could try watching a movie," she offered, drying off a dish.
"Where do you keep them?" Richie asked, excitement evident in his voice.
"In the cabinet below the television."
Richie scrambled off the couch and over to the entertainment center. Upon opening the cabinet door he discovered their treasure-trove of movies. When Tessa entered the living room several minutes later Richie was still looking at the collection.
"Did you find something you like?" She asked.
"I haven't even heard of half of these," he said absently, still trying to make sense of some of the titles. Tessa crouched beside him to get a better view. "I can't even read half of these," he said as he withdrew one VHS tape. Tessa read the title over his shoulder.
"La Belle et La Bette," she said with a smile. "That was one of my favorites growing up."
"That's nice," said Richie, trying not to sound rude, "but what is it?"
"The original Beauty and the Beast." Suddenly the most obvious thought occurred to her. "It's in French."
Richie nodded in understanding as he put the tape back. "Are a lot of these in French?"
"Oh, a fair number, I should think. But we have some English ones, too."
"Yeah I saw that," said Richie. "I haven't heard of most of them though. And they're in black and white."
"What's wrong with black and white?"
"It's not color."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I dunno," Richie answered, trying to come up with valid reasons to back his opinions. "I've tried watching black and white flicks before, they're boring."
"I see," answered Tessa. "And if you were to watch a colored movie on a black and white television, it would be boring to you?"
"Well, no, but that's because it's supposed to be in color."
"What if you watched the colorized version of a black and white movie?"
Richie's brow furrowed momentarily in thought. Somehow his logic wasn't holding ground against the Frenchwoman's arguments.
"Yeah, I guess that would be ok," he answered at last.
Tessa smiled at him. "What about the movie changed to make it more interesting?"
Richie was afraid he was being lead into a verbal trap. "What do you mean?"
"Well you said black and white movies are boring, but their colorized versions are ok to watch. What does color do to make it more interesting? I'm afraid I don't understand."
Richie thought the better of answering right away. He wasn't sure he understood either. "I don't know," he answered at last. "It just does."
"I guess I'll never understand American youth," said Tessa, shaking her head with a smile. Then: "Do you see anything that you want to watch?"
Richie weighed the options carefully. There was nothing on TV, so if he couldn't find a movie to watch he'd probably wind up going to bed, and he didn't feel like sleeping yet.
"Well I don't speak French, so unless some of those have subtitles I'll have to settle for something in English."
"Fair enough."
Richie began taking a more serious look at the titles he could read. None of them appeared very interesting.
"Hey," he said, picking up a tape and staring at the design on the case. "Who's the babe?"
Tessa smiled. He'd chosen another of her favorites. "That's Ingrid Bergman."
"Who's she?"
"An old time movie actress."
"She's pretty."
"That's a good movie, too."
Richie flipped the box over to read the summary on the back. "I always liked war movies," he mused. He'd flipped the box back over and was staring at Ingrid Bergman again.
"Do you want to watch it?"
"Sure, why not," he said with a grin. If it had guns and explosions, as a good war movie should, and the beautiful Ingrid Bergman on the cover as the leading lady, then Richie was fairly certain he could suffer through the black and white shading of the film.
Tessa took Casablanca from him and loaded it into the VCR. Richie scampered back to the couch and curled himself back under the covers. In a few moments the television changed, a map of the globe filling the screen. Tessa sat on the couch as well, as far away from Richie as possible so as to not make him uncomfortable, and prepared to share one of her all time favorite movies with the teen.
"Wow…" Said Richie two hours later when the film had ended. "That was depressing."
"Depressing?" Tessa asked. "How so?"
"Well, she's in love with Rick but married to Victor. They finally, you know, get to understand one another and forgive each other, and it looks like they're going to be together, but then he sends her away in the end and they don't get to be together."
"But they were able to reconcile."
"But they can't be together."
"But they'll always have Paris."
"But they can't be together."
Tessa just smiled and shook her head. "Did you like the film?"
"I would have liked it better if they got to be together."
Tessa tried hard not to laugh at Richie's almost pouting expressing. Then: "Was it boring?"
Richie felt his face flush remembering their earlier conversation. "No," he mumbled.
Tessa was tempted to make him repeat the answer but decided against it. "Good," she said instead. "I'm glad."
Then Richie let out a fierce yawn.
"Tired?"
"Yeah," he answered, stretching. "I think I'll take a nap."
After disentangling himself from the afghan Richie made his way down the hallway to his room. Tessa watched him go until the door shut quietly behind him. Then she rewound the tape and straightened up the living room with a smile on her face. She decided that Richie wasn't so bad to have as a houseguest.
Richie wound up sleeping through the rest of the afternoon. The toast didn't give him any stomach problems and he hoped that the trend would continue. It was put to the test around eight thirty when Duncan woke him up to take the next pill.
Once again Richie started, immediately awake, at the slightest touch from the Highlander, who had only placed a hand on the teen's shoulder so as to shake him gently awake. Richie practically jumped as soon as the slightest pressure was felt. Duncan backed away as Richie turned around and covered himself defensively the way he has done each and every other time he's been awakened.
"Mr. MacLeod?" Richie asked, confused but not surprised.
"It's time for your next pill," Duncan explained, gesturing to the nightstand where the pill, broken in half this time, sat company with two glasses of water.
Richie rubbed his eyes. "Already? What time is it? How long have I been asleep?" He asked in rapid succession.
"It's just after eight thirty, so I'd guess that means you've had a four hour nap," Duncan answered.
Richie groaned and sat up straighter to take the pills. "Funny, I don't feel rested," he said dejectedly as he grabbed the first pill half. He tossed it into the back of his throat and swallowed it with a generous swig of water.
"You're body's still recovering from the injury and infection," Duncan explained. "You'll be tired for a while."
Richie choked down the second half of the pill and finished off the water. "I hope these stay down better than the last one," he said when he was finished.
"Hopefully you'll get used to them," answered Duncan.
"Hopefully."
Duncan stood by the doorway, torn between feeling like he should leave and wanting to stay. He'd heard from Tessa that they had finally started getting along. All in all things were going quite well according to his hopeful plan. However, he was still nervous about Richie's feelings on the matter, and the teen's knee-jerk responses to being awakened in the night were far from comforting. He decided to at least try for some sense of conversation before saying goodnight to the teen.
"How does your stomach feel?" He asked, knowing it sounded obligatory.
"The stitches are annoying," Richie answered truthfully. "But it doesn't hurt like it did."
Duncan nodded. "Good."
Silence threatened to resume, but Richie intervened, much to Duncan's relief.
"When can I get them out?" He asked.
"I'm supposed to take you back to the hospital the day after tomorrow to get them examined. They'll tell you then."
Richie nodded. "I hope it's soon. I can hardly move right with them!"
Duncan laughed slightly. "We'll know soon enough," he said. Then, deciding not to press his luck: "Get some rest."
"Good night, Mr. MacLeod."
"Good night."
Duncan exited the bedroom, turning the lights off as he went. Things were definitely looking up. It was too soon to hope for anything just yet, but Richie seemed to be doing very well in his new environment. He and Tessa seemed to have found a way around their awkward mistrust and incidental slighting, and some semblance of trust and rapport was beginning to develop. That's the first step towards friendship, and friendship is the first step towards everything else.
Richie's stomach seemed to cooperate for the rest of the night. He had woken up around ten feeling slightly nauseous, but not enough so that he wanted to get out of bed, and he still had the saucepan Tessa had given him the night before, just in case. After an hour or so of tossing and turning in misery, Richie was finally able to fall back asleep. He slept fitfully the rest of the night, waking by happenstance only just before Duncan came to give him the next pill at five in the morning.
Duncan pushed the door open, letting the hallway light slink into the room. The two water glasses and two pill halves were precariously balanced in his large hands.
"Is it time already?" Richie asked. His back was to the door but he was obviously awake.
"It's five a.m." Duncan answered, keeping the surprise from his voice at having found Richie awake.
Richie turned over to face the Highlander just as he set the water and pills down on the nightstand. When he turned on the lamp Richie flinched at the sudden brightness.
"No normal people are ever up this early," Richie moaned as he sat up to take the pills.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Duncan. He thought about using a stronger counterargument, but then again he himself was not exactly 'normal.'
Richie swallowed both pills obediently and drank all the water that came with them.
"It's barely light out," Richie observed, staring at the dim grayness seeping through the slats in the Venetian blinds.
"The sun hasn't quite risen yet," said the Highlander. "But the pre-dawn mist has its own merits."
Richie eyed his employer skeptically, but the man was clearly lost in some distant memory. Richie decided not to press the issue. It was then he noticed that MacLeod was fully dressed, wearing sweats.
"Where are you going?" Richie asked innocently before it occurred to him that it was none of his business.
"Just out for a jog."
Richie nodded. It was easy enough to believe that this was a natural occurrence for his employer. After all, one must keep in shape in order to wield a sword with the proficiency his employed did. Richie tensed involuntarily at the memory, and it wasn't unnoticed by Duncan.
"Do you do this every morning?" Richie asked, trying to relieve the brief span of awkward silence.
"Most mornings," Duncan admitted with a nod.
Richie nodded back.
"You should probably get some sleep."
"Are you kidding, I've just slept for…" Richie paused to work out the math in his head, "fourteen hours! I don't think I could sleep if I wanted to."
Duncan laughed. "You could go watch TV then, just keep the volume low so you don't wake Tessa."
Richie frowned. "There's nothing but news and infomercials on now."
Duncan laughed again. "You could try watching the news," he said. "You might learn something."
Richie tensed again and looked away.
Duncan sensed that it wasn't a good idea to continue with this line of conversation, so he abandoned it and saved his unanswered questions for another day. "Or you could watch a movie," he offered instead.
Richie seemed to relax a little, grateful the previous subject had been dropped. The matter of his education wasn't one he wanted to discuss.
"Perhaps," he answered absently, his mind still on other things.
Duncan felt that the conversation was drifting into uneasiness, and he didn't like the trend at all.
"I heard Tess introduced you to Casablanca yesterday," he offered, grasping at straws.
Fortunately it worked.
"Yeah," Richie answered, finally renewing eye contact.
"What'd you think?"
"It was pretty good," Richie admitted in the way one is forced to fess up when proven wrong. "Tessa had to fill me in on a lot of the background history stuff though."
Duncan saw Richie blush even as he averted his eyes.
"French history not your forte?"
"I was never very good at history," Richie admitted.
"That's ok," said Duncan. "Neither was I."
Richie seemed to perk up a bit at this. "Really? But, you sell antiques."
Duncan smiled. Bingo!
"I didn't start to really study history until I got older."
"College?"
"Not exactly," Duncan answered with a sly grin. He'd taken numerous college classes over the years in many different countries, but he'd never earned an actual degree. "Through travel mostly. Learning about the people and places I was visiting." Living through their history…
"Like France?"
"Like France."
Richie nodded. This seemed to make him feel better, but Duncan wasn't entirely sure why. Surely he wasn't intellectually intimidating to the boy?
"Actually, I was kinda figuring as much," said Richie, much to Duncan's surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"Well you have all these photos on the wall of far off places," Richie explained, passively gesturing about the room. Duncan laughed at the obviousness of it. "Like that one over there," Richie said, pointing. "Is that China?"
Duncan tried hard not to laugh. "Chinatown, actually. That's New York City."
Richie's eyes opened wide. "New York? Man, I've always wanted to go there!" Duncan finally released the laugh. "Maybe you will someday," he said.
"Yeah, maybe," Richie answered dismissively. "Who's that in the picture with you?"
"Don't you recognize him?" Duncan asked, trying once more to tone down the laughter. Richie sat up straighter to scrutinize the photo more closely. Sure enough that was Sir Lancelot himself staring out at him.
"No way!" Richie exclaimed, finally recognizing the man who had his arm wrapped around his employer in a masculine sidearm hug for the camera. "It's your cousin!"
"Yep," Duncan confirmed. He remembered when that picture was taken, shortly after Connor had killed the Kurgan. The mirth was bittersweet at the memory. After all, Connor had just been deflated from thinking he'd won the prize. His girlfriend Brenda had taken the photo. She was dead now.
"That's a nice picture of you two," Richie added, his thoughts escaping elsewhere momentarily, bit he quickly recovered. "What about the one next to it?"
Duncan smiled wide. "The Scottish Highlands."
Richie shared the smile. "They're pretty," he said.
"Aye," said Duncan, absentmindedly slipping back slightly into his brogue.
"You from there?" Richie asked, detecting the changed.
"Born and raised, not ten miles from where that picture was taken." The photo was blown up and nicely framed, a gift from Hugh Fitzcairn just shortly before he met Tessa.
"I wish where I was from was so pretty," said Richie, his emotions unreadable in his voice.
"Home is always colored by your memories of it," Duncan observed.
Richie nodded. "I guess," he said. "But I don't see any pictures of Seacouver."
"Oh we have some," Duncan reassured, hoping that he was right in case Richie made him prove it. "Just none in here."
"What's that one there?" Richie asked, changing the subject.
Duncan then took him on a virtual tour through all the photographs hanging on the walls of the spare room. There was a picture of the Aquitaine vineyards in France, tulip fields in Holland, the London skyline at night, a Siberian landscape at sunrise, and sailboats off the French Riviera.
Richie let out a whistle. "And you've been to all these places?" He asked and Duncan nodded. "Wow. I wish I could see the world one day."
"Perhaps you will," Duncan encouraged.
"Who, me?" Asked Richie, serious yet slightly sarcastic. "I doubt it."
"Why not?"
Richie laughed but it came out as a scoff. "Well for one thing I'll never have the money."
"You don't need all that much money to travel," Duncan told him, "if you do it right."
"Yeah," said Richie wistfully. "I've heard how people backpack across the Alps and stuff, staying in hostels for almost no money."
"So why not do that?"
Richie paused, but it wasn't because he didn't know the answer. It was because he was ashamed to say it. He was just barely getting used to living paycheck to paycheck, which was a dramatic improvement in his situation. He would never be able to afford to not work and still make rent somewhere. Regardless of how much traveling actually costs, the cost of not working would always be greater.
"I want to, eventually," Richie answered instead. It was hard ogling things that he was certain he would never have.
"You know you can do anything that you put your mind to," said Duncan.
"You sound like my old social worker," Richie answered with a laugh.
Duncan smiled. "Well if enough people say it then it must be true."
Richie grinned devilishly. "Like how everyone used to say the world was flat?"
Duncan laughed outright. "Ok," he conceded. "Good point. But don't sell yourself out yet. No one can see their future."
"Now you sound like a fortune cookie," said Richie with the barest hint of a whine. He didn't like all this positive attitude wishful thinking nonsense. All it served was getting his hopes up. The lower your hopes the easier the inevitable disappointments are to bear.
Fortunately Duncan just laughed it off. "Confucius say, go watch TV," he said. "I'm going for a run."
"Actually, I think I'll shower," said Richie. "If you don't think that'll wake up Tessa?"
"No, go ahead. It'll be fine," said Duncan. "Just don't use all the hot water or there'll be hell to pay."
"Yes, sir," Richie answered, reacting to the Highlander's words more so than his tone of voice.
Duncan chided himself, hearing Richie's acknowledgement after he had turned to leave. Well there was nothing to be done about it now. He would just have to be more careful of his wording in the future.
Once MacLeod had gone, Richie grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he carefully duct taped the zip lock bag over his stitches so that no water could get in. He made sure to take a lightning-fast shower, heedful of the Highlander's words.
After showering and dressing, Richie returned his bag and all his belongings to his room. It wasn't even six o'clock yet, and Richie figured that at six the cartoons would start. He made his bed and then tiptoed into the living room. Once again he curled up under the afghan and turned on the television, turning the volume way down to the point where he could barely hear it. After flipping through a few channels he discovered an episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, one of his favorites, and settled down to make a genuine sick day out of it.
Richie heard the shower going around seven, just after he'd flipped a few channels over to watch The Smurfs. Before the episode was over Tessa emerged, fully dressed and made up and ready to start her day.
"Good morning, Richie," she greeted with a smile. Richie marveled at how awake some people were at such ungodly hours of the morning.
"Good morning, Tessa," Richie returned with a genuine smile. He had overcome his earlier trepidations about the woman. She was quite all right if given the chance. She liked old movies, especially French ones, and preferred to be called by name. Richie had her pegged enough to figure out how to at least stay on her good side if not how to shamelessly suck up to her, and he presumed that groveling for this woman might not be as bad as previously thought.
"Watching cartoons?" She asked, coming to stand behind the couch as she fastened an earring.
Richie grinned up at her over his shoulder. "I'm sick, so I might as well enjoy some of the perks."
"Why do I get the feeling you've done this before?" She asked in amusement.
Richie blushed. "Hey, no one has perfect health," he answered, sharing in her amusement. "Every kid is entitled to watch cartoons when he's sick enough to stay home from school. Besides, my TV reception was never this good."
Tessa just laughed slightly and shook her head, stuck on how Richie had carelessly used the word 'home.'
"I have to open the store today," she said, changing the subject. "Help yourself to all the water you want, but that's all you can have until this afternoon. Duncan should be back soon."
Richie nodded. "Ok."
Tessa watched as he resituated himself beneath the blanket and got sucked back into his cartoon. She shook her head with a sad smile and headed for the stairs to the antique store, affected by Richie's phrasing more than she deemed to be a good thing.
After the requisite half hour his Smurfs cartoon ended. Richie felt his stomach growl. Knowing that he'd better stay away from real food, he stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. After checking a few cabinets Richie finally located the glasses. He heard someone coming up the stairs into the loft as he was filling the glass with tap water.
"Mrs. Noel?" He called out, not sure who it was.
From the top of the stairs Duncan cursed in Gaelic. It was his custom to bring his sword with him on his runs, leaving it in the car of course since he had to drive to the park where he preferred to run. He had assumed that Richie would still be asleep, and now he was caught, sword in hand, and Richie in the kitchen. There was no way he could sneak into the master bedroom and he didn't know of anyplace else he could stash the katana without Richie seeing him with it. Explaining it away once was difficult enough, he didn't want to think of the implications of being caught with it yet again. Quickly tucking it under his arm, the blade conforming along his back, Duncan hoped that the teen would simply fail to notice its presence.
"It's just me, Richie," he answered, finally entering the apartment. Richie made his way from the kitchen back into the living room. "I didn't expect to find you up, are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah," Richie answered readily. "Well, I'm kinda hungry, but other than that…"
"I'm sorry Rich," Duncan answred. "It can't be helped. Just get through today and tomorrow and you can start eating normal meals again."
Richie nodded. "How was your run?"
"Pretty good," Duncan answered, surprised that the teen would ask. "Nice weather for it, not too cold."
"Why do I get the feeling that you run even in cold weather," said Richie, his eyes suddenly being drawn to the highlander's right hand.
"Exercise is good for the soul," Duncan answered, trying to sound casual. He had noticed the drift of Richie's eyes. "I'm going to go take a shower."
Duncan made to leave, but unfortunately Richie didn't. He was effectively blocking the way to the hallway, forcing Duncan to have to move around him if he desired. Richie didn't seem to notice, however. He was busy staring at the dragonhead hilt of the katana. Realizing there was no way around it, Duncan swung the blade around and held it out away from his body, blade pointing straight down: a warrior's telegraph that he poses no threat. Richie flinched slightly to see the blade move so fast, but his feet didn't move with his upper body and he nearly stumbled, but recovered quickly. He stood wide-eyed, staring at the katana and not enjoying his proximity to it, the memory of that night in the store still fresh in his mind. Yet he couldn't manage to tear himself away.
"I was polishing it in Tessa's workshop the other day," Duncan lied, as convincingly as he could. "I'm just bringing it back upstairs where it belongs."
There was a brief moment of intense pause before Richie nodded slowly. Tessa worked with metals, so the explanation was plausible. "
It's going back in our bedroom where it belongs," Duncan added.
Richie still looked frightfully uneasy. After all, it was a murder weapon, no matter how justified the homicide was. After a few more tense seconds though, he seemed to come back to himself. He relaxed a little, but not completely, and the color seemed to return to his face (which was Duncan's clue that it had previously drained).
Suddenly Richie's hand crept forward slightly. "Do you th—I mean, er, could I…" He stammered, his hand hovering, creeping farther forward.
Duncan knew what he was asking: Richie wanted to hold the sword.
The implications of this were far greater than a teenager wanting to hold a sword, however. The sword was Duncan's katana, the gift of a samurai, and like a samurai he had made it part of him. Letting anyone else touch it never sat well with him. Also, if he was going to keep Richie alive until he was physically ready to enter the game, then having him handle swords in the presence of another immortal is like sending up bright red signals to the enemy. It also could be a sign of promoting similar risky behaviors, which was definitely counterproductive to the goal. No, if Richie is going to survive, he still needs to fear swords and avoid people wielding them at all costs. It was the safest way.
Still, Duncan paused before answering. He didn't necessarily want Richie afraid of his sword, which the teen obvious still was. Duncan doesn't want Richie to be afraid of him, because how can friendship and trust develop in the face of such fear?
Once. He could just let Richie handle the sword this one time, effectively removing the stigma and fear surrounding that particular blade and the man who carries it. Then never again until it becomes necessary that he learns how to use one. Duncan sighed, trying to stifle it before it became a groan. He extended his arm, keeping the sword still pointed straight down. Richie's eyes lit up, but he seemed hesitant to even touch it.
"Only touch the handle, never the blade," Duncan instructed, gesturing for Richie to take it.
The teen's hand crept forward uneasily until his arm was nearly perpendicular to his body. His knuckles barely grazing the carved dragon, Richie shifted his fingers slowly, cautiously, until his hand was clasped completely around the hilt. His gaze shifted to Duncan, hesitant and uneasy.
"You got it?" Duncan asked once he made eye contact, and Richie nodded. "I'm going to let go now," he continued. "Careful, it's heavier than it looks."
Duncan had to mentally pry his fingers away, letting go his grip by sheer force of will. Richie's arm dropped downwards from the sudden unexpected weight of it. The blade dropped a good six inches and nearly scraped the floor before Richie recovered. Duncan had thrust his hand out to save the fall, but the gesture wasn't needed after all. Once Richie had control of the weapon he looked back to Duncan, grinning as though a strict father had just placed the car keys in his hand.
"Use your other hand," Duncan suggested, a slight laugh escaping unbidden from his lips, which Richie awkwardly returned. He brought his other hand around and placed it on the hilt, shifting the weight of it in his grip. Duncan noticed how Richie automatically widened his stance and shifted his weight on his legs, his dominant leg leading just slightly. These natural instincts were an encouraging sign.
The blade still pointed straight down.
"Woah..." Richie uttered absently, staring down at the sword in his hand, transfixed.
"Bring the tip up," Duncan instructed.
Richie obeyed, but the movement was jerky. He possessed none of the fluid grace of the Highlander even though he tried to emulate the seemingly easy swing of the blade. The sword was perfectly balanced, but Richie had no knowledge of such things and wasn't expecting the precise distribution of weight. It seemed to advance ahead of his grip and his look flashed to one of sudden fear. Eventually he regained control of the katana, his knuckles going white from the intensity of his grip.
During this ordeal Duncan just stood and stared, his earlier encouragement at Richie's instincts firmly slapped back into reality. The teen had no real idea how to use a sword and all would do well to remember it. However, these thoughts preoccupied him at precisely the wrong moment. He didn't react quickly enough when the blade swung up awkwardly in his direction. It caught him in a glancing strike up across the abdomen, slicing clean through his sweatshirt and into the skin. He hissed involuntarily at the sudden sting, lurching back and out of the way just in time to save major injury.
"Oh God!" Richie cried, dropping the katana unceremoniously from his hands.
Duncan had pivoted in attempt to skirt the blade and had mostly his back to the teen. Quickly and unobtrusively he examined the cut. The thin red line bled slightly then shimmered in the quickening as the blue sparks healed it quickly and without trouble. The remaining smear of blood he wiped away on the inside of his sweatshirt, which had a good eight-inch slice through it.
The wound finished healing only seconds after Richie dropped the blade. Duncan turned back around and nearly plowed right into the teen, who had closed the distance between them unnoticed in his concern for the Highlander. He blanched when he saw the tear in Duncan's sweatshirt.
"No-no," Duncan reassured quickly, spreading the tear to expose his (now) uninjured flesh. "There's no cut, see? I'm ok."
Richie moved his mouth a few times as if he would speak, but no sound came out. "Oh man," he croaked out at last. "I thought for sure I'd stabbed you."
"Well my shirt's done for," said Duncan, purposely trying to make light of the situation. "But I'm not hurt."
"That was close," said Richie, shaking his head. The color still hadn't returned to his complexion.
"But no harm done," Duncan reassured, stooping down to pick up his fallen katana.
Richie backed up a few paces automatically, his eyes wide with fear as the Highlander brought the tip of the blade up.
"It's heavy, but it's balanced," Duncan continued, balancing the blade by the guard on two fingers. Richie stared at the sword, which swayed slightly like a seesaw but didn't fall. Duncan then rolled his wrist and the sword slid off his fingers. He caught it deftly in his hand again in another seamless motion and angled the blade downward like before.
"It never looked that heavy," Richie mused absently. He had backed up a few more paces, eyes never leaving the blade.
"That's because I know how to use it," said Duncan evenly, immediately thinking the better of it when he saw the fear in Richie's eyes. He knew what the teen was afraid of: retribution.
"I know," Richie acknowledged softly, his mind on another time and place. Then: "It looks like I owe you another shirt."
"Don't worry about it," said Duncan with a laugh, but the humor wasn't returned. There were a few moments of intense pause before Richie spoke again.
"I think I—er, I'm... a nap. I'm going to take a nap," he stammered, backing away out of long arm's reach of the blade before he turned around, his eyes the last to face the new direction. He then walked quickly, very nearly at a run, through the dining area, living room, and hallway until he reached his room. He shut the door quickly and deliberately, just shy of slamming it.
Duncan just stood there, sword in hand, staring after the teen. This was NOT the outcome he'd planned on when he decided to let Richie hold the sword and he chastised himself for his own carelessness. He had nearly revealed his immortality to the teen, an event that was to be avoided at all costs hopefully until Richie himself entered the game. On top of that, Richie's fears of the katana and the man who wielded it were renewed if not stronger than before. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Richie was fully expecting to be punished for his slipup by the business end of the blade. The Highlander cursed himself vehemently as he made his way down the hallway after Richie and stowed the sword safely in the master bedroom out of sight. He then thought of talking to Richie, but decided it was best to wait a while, or at any rate to wait until after he'd showered.
Duncan showered quickly, as was his custom, and put on fresh clothes. He decided to wait until Richie reemerged from his room before talking to him. But Richie did not reemerge. For better or worse, Duncan did not see him again for the rest of the day.