When Richie was released from the hospital, both Duncan and Tessa had insisted that he return to the loft. The coroner's report verified that Teo had died as a result of his injuries sustained during the blast, but there was still no word yet from the crime scene investigators. Therefore, Richie couldn't return to his shell of an apartment even if he wanted to, not even to collect what of his possessions had survived the blast.

The Highlander had another reason for the insistence as well: he was going to personally insure the teen's safety until the perpetrators were caught. And, given his confidence in Powell's desire to actually do something about the case, he feared that Richie's steps would be haunted for a long time yet.

For the third time, Richie Ryan was released from the hospital into the care of Duncan MacLeod and Tessa Noel. He returned to the loft as settled back in easily, not protesting when they told him that he wasn't to move from the couch until bedtime.

He spent two nights in this fashion: sleeping in the guest room, stumbling to the table for brunch, being directed to the couch, being joined for dinner in front of the TV, and then being ushered back to bed. He napped on the couch more often than he would have liked to admit, so the lack of cable television wasn't as annoying as it might have been. Other times he would renew the ritual of watching old movies with Tessa. Duncan, sensing that the teen might want a bit more variety, rented a few plot-deprived action movies. Richie, of course, was delighted, and Duncan was rewarded by being invited to share in the 'pleasure.' The Highlander accepted graciously, and even found himself enjoying some of the films in spite of himself.

On his third day out of the hospital, Richie was deemed well enough to be allowed to shower. Before that there was the fear of him collapsing from either the effort or the residual effects of the head wound. This day, already brightened by his newfound freedom, was improved upon even more when Powell called to inform them that Richie had been cleared of any and all wrong-doing in the matter and that he was now free to scour what remained of his apartment for things to salvage. What the CSI team removed could be picked up at the station.

The following day, Duncan took Richie to the precinct to pick up his belongings, of which there were four boxes, each item therein neatly tagged and stored in various plastic bags. These all fit in the trunk, albeit with not a lot of room to spare. Thus they returned to the loft to unload. Richie spent the remainder of his day going through those boxes and seeing exactly what the investigators had removed (and subsequently puzzling over their reasons why). It took much longer than necessary because Richie had to do so one-handedly.

Thankfully, most of those items were salvageable, though many required cleaning. Those that didn't Richie repacked with a heavy heart, the weight of all that had happened to him made all the more real. This was what remained of all his hard work, all his independence: slightly charred souvenirs of the best, and shortest, life he'd ever lead.

The art of going through the remains of his apartment was an all day affair, so it was left for the following Sunday. Richie looked forward to it with great anticipation. Not only did it mean seeing how the rest of his belongings faired, it meant the end of wearing Duncan's old clothes, which were considerably too big on him.

Sure enough, the three of them spent the entire day at the apartment, filling bags and boxes with what could be spared. Fortunately, most of the damage was contained to the kitchen and living room. The bedroom, being the farthest away, was mostly spared, save for the wall it shared with the kitchen that happened to also be the wall where the stove abutted. Thankfully, or rather, to Richie's gratefulness, that wasn't the wall that contained his closet, so everything therein was spared, and thus he retained at least half his wardrobe. Tessa couldn't help but feel disappointed, for all knew her less-than-voiced opinions on the teen's sense of fashion.

It required two trips in both the T-bird and the Mercedes, but eventually all that was salvageable that Richie cared to bring with him was removed from the burned out shell of an apartment. It was well, too, for the following Monday the city workers were set to arrive.

"I'm going to miss the place," said Richie rather wistfully as he gazed upon the brownstone that once held his apartment. He and Duncan were just about to depart with the last car load.

"It was the first place you lived in on your own," said Duncan. "You always remember a place like that more fondly than maybe it's due."

Richie nodded. "Do you miss your first place?"

Duncan couldn't stop the laugh as he was suddenly reminded of the shallow, drafty cave he spent his first winter in after being banished from his clan. He had lived there, and in similar places, until Connor found him many months later.

"Not really," he admitted truthfully. "But then, it was a cold-water flat in the highlands. Your first was much better than mine." It was a good-natured half-truth, for there was a stream just outside. Hot water didn't exist, and neither did electricity, or plumbing… It made Richie laugh though.

"Cold water eh?" Richie asked, trying to envision it.

"It was cheap," Duncan defended half-heartedly.

"I'll bet the neighborhood was better," Richie offered with mild sarcasm.

"It was," Duncan agreed. "But that's not saying much."

Richie shot the Highlander a mock-hurt glare, but then the two of them dissolved into laughter.

"C'mon," said Duncan, making his way back to the car. "Let's get you unpacked. Then I'm sure we can convince Tessa that she really isn't in the mood to cook tonight, and go out somewhere."

"Pizza?" Richie offered hopefully.

Duncan exaggerated a sigh. "Somewhere," he reiterated, and then the two drove back to the loft.

"What are your plans for a new place to live?" Tessa asked Richie. They were seated in a small booth in a cheap but quality diner, for Richie, although welcoming of the invitation to dine out, objected to them spending lots of money on him. That and the fact that he didn't want to go somewhere fancy wearing a pair of MacLeod's old sweats.

Richie shrugged in answer to the question.

"I suppose I should go apartment hunting," he said with a sigh. He was not looking forward to the prospect, especially since Romeo had made off with the last of his spending money and thus he couldn't afford a first and last month's rent deposit.

"There's no hurry," said Duncan.

Richie shifted his gaze to his employer. "What do you mean?"

"He means that you can stay in the loft until you find a place of your own," Tessa explained.

Richie blinked in surprise.

"Don't look so surprised," Duncan chided. "After all this time, did you really think that we'd kick you out when you've got nowhere to go?"

After a moment Richie returned to his senses. "Well, no," he stammered. "But I kinda figured you were getting sick of me by now. I mean, sick of me living in your guestroom and raiding your fridge and using all your hot water."

"Richie, I have never seen anyone take faster showers than you," Duncan said seriously. "Besides," he added, "you're handy to have around."

"You mean it?" Richie asked with childlike uncertainty. It was strange to him that the sentiment had such an affect, but then again he didn't care so long as it was true.

"Of course," the Highlander reassured.

"I like having my laundry done for me," said Tessa with a smile. "And you've been invaluable to me in my workshop."

Richie blushed at the sudden praise.

"And I really would like you to stay until you get that cast off," said Duncan with the guise of an offhand comment.

Richie immediately sobered and turned a fixed glare to his employer. "But that'll be three whole months!" He exclaimed in disbelief.

"Is it?" Duncan asked passively, not caring.

"Richie," Tessa said quickly, cutting off all comment. "Duncan and I have talked about this. We really would feel better if you stayed with us while you're healing."

"But I'm right-handed," Richie protested.

"What's that got to do with it?" Tessa asked, confused.

"It means I'm not helpless," he said rather hotly. While he had accepted their hospitality before, it had always been in the wake of a life-threatening injury or illness. This was just a broken bone!

"We never said you were," said Duncan matter-of-factly.

"Right handed or left," said Tessa, "it's easier when you've got two good ones, and right now you've only got one."

"So why not add four more?" Duncan asked with a smile.

Richie's piercing gaze darted back and forth between the two. Mac and Tessa had always treated him with respect. He felt that in their eyes, he was a respectable adult, capable of handling his responsibilities. It was the first time he had ever felt so, because it was the first time such reassurances came from people whose opinions he trusted and valued. It was the last thread of independence he had, this mature feeling. Was he to lose that too when insisted on mollycoddling him?

"I'm grateful for the offer," said Richie, making ready to turn it down.

"But?" Tessa interrupted in the pause Richie had unwillingly placed there.

Richie shook his head, unsure of how to proceed. "But it's just a broken bone," he said eventually. "It won't kill me."

Duncan bit his tongue against the thoughts he nearly voiced.

"And besides, I need my space, as I'm sure you two do, too," he finished, sounding more sure of himself than he truly was.

"Well, you're staying until you find an apartment," said Duncan firmly, but not harshly.

Richie didn't contest the point.

"Preferably one in a better neighborhood," Tessa added.

Richie snorted. "I'm not sure I could afford one in a better neighborhood."

Tessa and Duncan exchanged a glance.

"The longer you stay with us, the more money you could save," said Duncan.

"If I were you," said Tessa in a tone that only Duncan recognized, "then I would stay with us, hoarding all my paychecks, for as long as I could get away with it, until I could afford a decent apartment."

Richie smiled and shook his head, unable to ignore the logic.

"But, since you've got far better morals than Tessa had at your age, I know you wouldn't dream of doing such a thing," said Duncan with a devilish twinkle in his eye despite the mostly-playful slap Tessa gave his arm. Richie couldn't help but laugh. "But I'm sure it's within the bounds of your character to stay for a few months, rent free, hoarding your paychecks, because you were invited."

Once again Richie shifted his gaze between his two employers, not able to stop his quiet laughter. After a time he finally nodded.

"Alright, alright," he acquiesced at last, though there was a hint of defeat in his voice. "I'll stay—but just 'til I get this damn cast off."

Duncan and Tessa smiled and the three returned to eating. Richie, once again, felt like he had just been played. These two always had a way of making him do things he normally wouldn't do. It was a late realization that he was starting to not mind so much.

And so Richie moved back into the loft for what was set up to be a gestation of three more months. He had all of his personal effects with him this time, however. Slowly but surely, and with permission, he decorated his room accordingly. Other than the few items he displayed, and his clothes in the closet and dresser, everything else remained in boxes stacked in Tessa's workshop.

Richie insisted on keeping busy, but his work was rather limited with the use of only one arm. He could still dust anything and everything in the shop, and keep the windows spotless. He typed the expense reports into the computer, grateful for once for the chore because it took him longer typing one-handed. He even insisted on continuing to do the laundry, dragging the baskets back and forth with his good arm, or kicking them when no one was looking.

Richie was bound and determined to prove that he could take care of himself, even with the broken arm. After all he had lost, he would fight to the death to retain his independence… and the respect Duncan and Tessa had offered him, which was perceived to be a partial result of that independence.

And in this fashion a month slipped by. Richie took their advice and began hoarding his paychecks, however this time Duncan took him to the bank and he opened a savings account, complete with the direct deposit of his checks. Richie had managed to save an even thousand dollars by the end of that month, being paid two fifty a week and not spending a penny of it.

In the wake of teaching the teen all about proper banking, Duncan also took the time to explain the finer workings of income tax form evaluation. Tessa stealthily left the room, lest in her mirth she let slip that her lover would be a better teacher in the art of income tax evasion. She still caught the sound of laughter, however, when Richie remarked at the irony of how his taxes had probably saved his life.

That day, such as those that followed, was progressing much like the others. This particular day, Richie had opened the store with Duncan, but had been given leave for lunch and wasn't due back downstairs for an hour yet. Tessa was in her workshop, obsessing over her bicentennial sculpture, or at least she was, before she reentered the loft.

"What are you doing?" She asked Richie, who was seated at the kitchen table, an empty plate shoved aside in favor of the morning paper.

"Oh, hi Tess," He greeted warmly, looking up. "I didn't hear you come up."

"Obviously not," she said with a smile as she took his empty plate and put it in the dishwasher.

"How's your sculpture?"

Tessa sighed audibly as she retrieved the orange juice from the fridge. "I can't stand to look at it any more today," she said, her tone clipped in a very French manner.

"So don't" Richie offered neutrally. "You've been at it every day this week. You should take a break."

Tessa sighed again, pouring her juice. "I suppose you're right," she said. "You want any?"

"No thanks," he said, returning his attentions to the newspaper.

"You never did answer my question," said Tessa, leaving the kitchen for the dining area. Richie looked up at her questioningly. "What are you doing?" She asked again.

"Oh," he said with an embarrassed laugh. "Just pricing apartments."

Tessa frowned. "That anxious to be out of here?"

"No," he answered quickly. "I just wanna find out which neighborhoods are charging what and for what types of places, ya know?"

Tessa nodded, a slightly disbelieving smile gracing her fair features. "Mmm-hmm," she answered knowingly.

"Hey," Richie defended. "You're the one who wanted me to find a better place. How can I do that if I don't know where to look?"

Tessa laughed at Richie's stricken expression. He still hadn't grown quite used to her European sense of humor. Her expression, however, finally conveyed its meaning and Richie laughed too, all thoughts of offense forgotten.

"I just want you to find a safer place than your old one," she said, suddenly serious.

"Hey, it was plenty safe! I brought Romeo's gang there, not my apartment."

Tessa nodded, a strange expression on her face that Richie couldn't place. He couldn't know that Tessa was thinking the same things about her loft right now. It was a safe place too; Duncan was the unsafe element. Suddenly she wondered if Richie would truly be safe staying there with them. Surely it was no more or less dangerous than any other place Richie was looking to move?

"Safe neighborhood or not," she said at last, dismissively, "you should at least find a place that doesn't try to kill you itself. You were very lucky last time, Richie," she finished seriously.

Richie's face darkened as his smile faded. "A kid died," he said softly. "How is that lucky?"

Tessa opened her mouth as if to say that he is lucky because he still lives, but the look on Richie's face made her lose all conviction in the matter. Richie sensed her awkward reaction, knowing that she didn't know what to say to answer him, and he regretted his words.

"I'll go with electric next time," he said finally, striving to lighten the mood.

Tessa rewarded his efforts with a relieved smile before making her excuses and heading for a much-needed shower.

Across town in the warehouse district, a lone figure was making his way down the alley. He stopped in front of a small side door and knocked first three times and then twice more. Several seconds later the door swung open.

"Well?" Romeo asked from his seat on a ragged couch cushion. The warehouse had several such adornments, as well as a broken table and numerous flashlights. Several six packs, in various states of consumption, as well as random drug paraphernalia, also littered the make-shift hideout.

"No trace of the cops," said Edward with a proud grin.

"They just leave you alone cuz you're white," said Julio irritably.

Edward flipped him off for his troubles.

"And?" Romeo prompted.

"And Ryan's back livin' in the antique store," said Edward. Several of the gang members groaned.

"How we s'pos'd ta get him now?" Ricardo asked, or rather, whined.

"Why don't we just stake the place out and jump him when he leaves?" Snake offered.

"Brilliant," said Julio sarcastically. "Attack him in the rich neighborhood in broad daylight, when the cops is already looking for us? Man, you gots'ta lay off the weed, man. It's making you fucked."

Snake growled, but said nothing.

"And I don't wanna go near that other dude, neither," said Ricardo, reminding everyone of their ineffectiveness against MacLeod.

"Totally," Edward agreed. "Guy must be, like, ex-military, or something."

The others nodded.

"Well I want him," said Romeo, his voice menacing.

"But why?" Julio asked. "It's Richie's fault Teo died."

"If that man hadn't shown up, Teo wouldn't have gone into the apartment in the first place."

The others accepted the logic.

"But, we all would have been up there." Ricardo pointed out. Unfortunately, he was seated closest to Romeo, who didn't take kindly to the comment. Before Ricardo knew what hit him, he was sprawled back on the floor, his lip split open and bleeding freely from the force of Romeo's punch.

"I don't care about that!" He practically roared. "All that matters is Teo's dead, and Richie and that man are to blame!"

Edward rolled a cigarette over to Romeo in a silent gesture telling him to calm down. Romeo was still fuming, but he took and lit the cigarette anyway. It took several long drags for him to relax again.

"I want them both dead," he said finally, his voice low and deadly.

Everyone else nodded solemnly.

Richie was wiping the display cases again, one handedly, singing softly to himself to ease the boredom. Tessa had gone to meet with the bicentennial committee to show them Polaroids of her sculpture and MacLeod was out running errands. Richie was left to himself to mind the store. It was approaching five p.m., and since it was already approaching late fall, the sky had already turned to twilight as the sun was setting unseen in this overcast day.

MacLeod had left nearly twenty minutes ago. Enough time for the boy shadowing the antique store to be certain that he wasn't coming back. Now he knew that Richie was all alone in the store, and he walked over to the payphone down the street and placed a call.

"Ai, Romeo… Yeah… Yeah he's alone… Right… On my way." Edward hung up the phone and swiftly—but not so much as would attract attention—and began the long trek back across town to the warehouse. Being the only Caucasian gang member, he was the ideal choice for their stakeout. The cops wouldn't think twice about the presence of one of their own in that neighborhood, especially if he was dressed presentably. His task complete, Edward now hurried to be in time for part two.

Across town, Romeo just hung up the payphone by the warehouse. Someone had jacked it years ago to make it accept incoming calls. Now it was time for part two, and Romeo fumbled around in his pockets for a quarter. Smiling at the thought of how the antique store phone number was listed in the yellow pages, he unfolded a piece of scrap paper and dialed the number written there.

Richie answered the phone on the third ring.

"MacLeod and Noel Antiques, this is Richie." His professional greeting was met with subdued, malicious laughter.

"Nice new place, Ryan," came a familiar voice, and Richie's blood ran cold. "I see you're moving up in the world, eh? Good for you."

"What do you want, Romeo?" Richie asked through clenched teeth.

"You've got a nice new family, Ryan," said Romeo, speaking as though he hadn't heard Richie's question. I bet they're the kind that plaster their faces on Christmas cards. Especially the lady." If possibly, Richie blanched even further as he felt his heart stop in his chest.

"Tessa…"

"She's a mighty fine woman, Richie," Romeo continued, enjoying every minute of this.

"What have you done to her you bastard!" Richie demanded, once he finally regained the ability to speak.

"Come to the warehouse district and find out for yourself. Building thirty four."

"If you've hurt her, I swear—"

"You're in no place to threaten me, Ryan," Romeo growled fiercely. "Come alone, and no cops! If I so much as smell a pig near you, all you'll have left of that pretty blond are happy little memories."

"Ok, ok!" Richie hurriedly reassured. "I'll be there. Just… just let me talk to her." Romeo laughed, harder this time.

"Well I would, my friend, but Snake here has her pretty mouth otherwise engaged." Romeo had to cover the receiver just then so that the laughter of his comrades didn't reach Richie on the other end. Of course they didn't have Tessa, but with her gone, Richie had no way of knowing that.

"You are so going to regret this," said Richie threateningly, envisioning MacLeod's katana dealing with those who dared to harm his lover. However, Romeo didn't hear him as he was preoccupied holding the phone away.

"Hurry up, Ryan. I won't wait all day for you… and neither will the boys." A click and a dial tone, and Richie was left holding a humming receiver.

It took him nearly a minute before he regained enough of his senses to put the phone down. His next thought was to dial 911, but Romeo had said no cops, and Richie knew that he wasn't lying. Besides, calling the police would inevitably involve Sergeant Powell, and that would only delay matters. And Tessa didn't have that kind of time.

Richie had no choice: he had to head to the warehouse. Alone.

However, Romeo didn't say anything about not telling MacLeod.

Richie ran into the office and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled a note to MacLeod, telling him everything that Romeo had said. Hopefully Mac wouldn't be too long with his errands and Richie could buy enough time for him to arrive with the cavalry.

It was the only hope he had.

Richie arrived at the warehouse district in just under twenty minutes. Not bad timing considering he had to hoof it all the way on foot. He paused within site of building thirty four to catch his breath and try to come up with the best course of action. He just needed to stall them; to keep them from hurting Tessa (and himself) until MacLeod arrived with the cavalry. With these thoughts in mind, Richie slowly made his way over to number thirty four, trying to stop his mind from conjuring the potential horrors that he would find lurking inside.

Richie found the front door easily enough; it was the trailer hatch large enough to drive through. However, Richie didn't think that blindly strolling forward and knocking on the door would be a good idea, so instead he made his way to one of the many windows.

They were dirty, both inside and out, and he could barely see inside. What he did manage to see was three gang members seated on partially broken chairs and solitary couch cushions. He couldn't make out who they were from here, but he knew that at least two others were unaccounted for. His stomach flip-flopped when he rationalized that they were somewhere else, most likely with Tessa.

He also saw a side door at the other end of the warehouse and decided that it would be the best place to go knocking. However, he was torn as to if he should wait a while longer to give MacLeod more time, or if he should go in now because the longer Romeo had to wait for him, the more likely he would be to take out his frustrations on his hostage. As far as Richie was concerned, it was a lose-lose situation.

After a few agonizing moments of indecision, Richie finally decided that the best course of action was to simply get this over with. Hopefully they would let Tessa go as soon as they had him. After all, she had absolutely nothing to do with this. He made his way around the perimeter as stealthily as he could and soon found himself standing in front of the access door on the far side. He couldn't stop the slight laugh that escaped his lips as he brought his hand up to rap on the hard metal door.

Duncan arrived back at the loft only seconds after Tessa did. He met her in her workshop as she was putting her presentation materials back in their proper place.

"How'd it go?" Duncan asked.

Tessa turned to him and smiled. "They seemed pleased with my progress," she answered. "They still want me to complete it."

Duncan returned her smile as he walked over to where she stood. "See," he said, draping his arms over her shoulders and drawing their heads closer together. "I told you they'd love it."

Tessa frowned slightly. "I didn't say they loved it," she corrected, the worry and self-doubt showing in her eyes as well as her voice. "I just said that they want me to finish it."

Duncan suppressed the urge to sigh, instead choosing to widen his smile. "Well they must be impressed with what you've shown them," he said rationally, "or else they would have repealed your commission."

Tessa's frown contorted into a more thoughtful expression. "I suppose," she answered finally.

"Or else they're just morbidly curious," Duncan added with a cheeky grin that earned him a playful smack.

They lingered in each other's company for a moment longer and then Duncan forced himself to pry away. He had receipts that needed to be filed before he forgot about them. With a quick kiss, Tessa let him go and returned her attentions to her folio.

When Tessa entered the antique store a few minutes later, she found Duncan standing in the office holding a notepad.

"Duncan?" She asked as she came to stand in the doorway. Suddenly alerted to her presence, he looked up at her, and his expression frightened her. "What's wrong?" She asked fearfully. "An immortal?" He handed her the notepad, and she entered the office and took it from him.

Then she read Richie's note.

Mac,
Romeo called. He's got Tessa. Warehouse 34. They want me alone, no cops. I'm going over there to stall them. Call the cops AS SOON AS YOU READ THIS!
Richie

"Oh my God…" Tessa exclaimed, rereading the note again and again. "He didn't leave a time."

"It had to have been in the last hour or so," said Duncan, snapping out of the seeming trance he was in. "I wasn't gone all that long."

"What are you going to do?" She asked, and instinctively the Highlander felt the weight of his katana in the hidden pocket of his duster that he hadn't taken off yet.

"Call the police," he said. "Tell them what happened. I'm going over there."

Tessa nodded. "But Mac, Powell—"

"I don't care about Powell!" He yelled suddenly. "Just—just call them." With that he brushed past her, stopping only to hastily plant a kiss on her cheek.

Tessa turned and watched him hurry through the door to the workshop as he made his way out back to his T-bird. When he was gone, she ran to the phone on the desk and hastily called 911.

If it were happening to someone else, Richie might have found it humorous. Everything about the situation screamed 'TRAP!' But Tessa was in there… or so he'd been told. Even still, he couldn't afford to take the chance. Tessa was hands down the nicest person he'd met in a long, long time. And there were so few nice people in the world… and even fewer that Richie was fortunate enough to meet. He couldn't gamble that Romeo was lying, even though it very likely meant that he was in for worlds and worlds of pain. The guilt would be worse… it always was.

Knock

They call it 'survivor guilt.'

Knock

Worse is 'helplessness guilt.'

KNOCK!

Worse still is the guilt of never having tried.

Richie's hand was raised to knock again, loud enough that he knew that his knuckles would bruise. His hand was raised just slightly in the motion of knocking when the door suddenly swung open violently from the inside. Richie's raised forearm caught most of the blow, but the force still sent him hurtling backwards.

Those few precious moments of lost balance were enough though. He didn't see the familiar bat getting ready to hit another grand slam against his skull, but in the half-second before the wood connected, his flailing arms deflected most of the blow. The bat slammed into his cast and his arm erupted in pain, causing the world to tilt even more violently as red spots tinged his vision and nausea overcame him.

Richie dropped to his knees, in too much pain to suddenly cry out, even though his throat strove for that effect. Being thusly positioned and already mostly incapacitated, he was defenseless against the quick kick to his head that sent him straight into oblivion.

The first thing that Richie was aware of was a strange itching in his good arm. Sadly this piqued his curiosity, and when his muddled mind strove for a higher plain of consciousness the rest of his senses kicked in. His head swam in a dizziness unlike anything he'd ever felt. And he felt warm, almost sickeningly so. He couldn't feel the sweat that made his clothes cling to his body, but he could smell it. Or rather, it was the putrid scent of salt mixed with other… things. After trying to ponder this cacophony of smell, it suddenly occurred to him that his hearing had returned. However, upon closer inspection it seemed to him that it had never left in the first place. Everything sounded muffled and underwater, and he hadn't the foggiest clues as to why.

He thought of opening his eyes, but thought better of it. If he were this dizzy now, just imagine what actually seeing the room spin would do!

At a complete loss as to what was happening and how he came to be in this position, suddenly the most frightening of realizations came to him: he couldn't move! He had no real feeling in his arms and legs, aside from the warmth and slight itch. They felt like lead and tingled slightly, almost in a pins-and-needles fashion.

Being so immobilized scared him into full alertness.

Then the memories came back.

Tessa!

His mind screamed at him. The underwater sounds shifted dramatically, growing louder. It then occurred to Richie to wonder if he had just spoken out loud. He didn't feel it in his throat if he did.

He needed answers, and he needed them now! What had they done to him? Why couldn't he move? Where was Tessa? These questions were enough motivation for him to strive to open his eyes. He did so cautiously, first one eye, then the other, then both together, slowly. The light was bright to the point of painfulness, and with that pain came nausea and a pounding headache.

He remembered his concussion and had the mind to groan, but again he couldn't tell if he managed it corporeally or if it remained in his head. The sounds in his ears made no sense and he couldn't tell if they changed any.

Finally things came into focus. Slowly but surely, his vision cleared enough for him to be able to at least make out his surroundings. Everything seemed pitched slightly, and fuzzy around the edges, like the seeing the world through someone else's glasses.

It was clear enough for him to be able to discern Romeo's face staring down at him maliciously. Richie opened his mouth as if to speak, but since he couldn't feel his throat at all, he just had to trust that he was indeed speaking aloud.

"Tessa?" He asked. His voice was raspy and tired, but indeed it reached Romeo's ears, and the gang banger laughed. That was the indication that Richie had been heard.

It was also the indication that his hearing was improving. There was still a slight ringing to everything, but at least he could distinguish amongst various sounds.

From the tone of Romeo's laughter, Richie nearly wished he couldn't.

After hearing came smell and touch. And both combined to make Richie nauseous. He recognized the smells surrounding him now, and they shamed him. He felt the sickly slickness of his own skin, and how his tee shirt clung to him with sweat. He felt the heat of his body, and the heavy weighted sensations that seemed to stop at his neck, for somehow his head was floating. He knew that he couldn't move. Sure he could wiggle his fingers and toes, for that's how he knew that his limbs were still attached. But he couldn't get up if his life depended on it.

He had figured that it probably did, and he still hadn't been able to move.

It was only then, in the midst of the whiplash sounds of Romeo's laughter, did Richie realize that he didn't feel pain aside from the throbbing in his head. He remembered being struck in his injured arm, and yet he couldn't feel it.

A sickening sense of dread washed over him. Dread brought on by the sudden flash of memory. Remove the smells and the other touch sensations and the body feels exactly the same.

Only that strange itching coming from his right arm is placed too high. It's in the crook of his elbow. It should be in his hand, connected to an IV.

Morphine.

Or, in gang territory, the next best thing. Richie closed his eyes, the pain of realization upping his nausea ten-fold, even as the sounds of sadistic laughter died away. He didn't need to turn his head to see the needle in his arm, or to ask Romeo for verification as to what the syringe contained.

They had drugged him, with heroin.

Duncan arrived at the warehouse in record time, having violated every traffic law along the way. He knew this section of warehouses, for he often sparred or took challenges in them. Number thirty four had two trailer doors and various side entrances. It also had roof access, even though the fire escape had long since rusted and fallen away.

Duncan quickly made his way to the windows and peered inside. He saw five gang members standing around something on the floor. He couldn't tell what it was but he guessed it to be Richie and his stomach lurched. He didn't feel the pre-immortal buzz.

Despite the immediate allure of busting down the door and charging in like some form of clichéd cowboy hero, Duncan knew that his best chances lay in surprise. Warehouse forty was just as tall as warehouse thirty four, and only ten feet away across the back ally. And forty had roof access. He could climb the fire escape, for it was miraculously still in tact, and then jump across to warehouse thirty four. Then he could enter through the roof onto the catwalk and hopefully get the drop on the gang members from above.

It was the best plan he could think of.

Richie could hear the gang members taunting him, but when he realized his fate he was somehow able to dull his hearing again. At least, he hoped that it was a conscious choice to do so. He also felt odd pressure sensations along his body, and spent most of his energy trying to discern what they meant. It's a good thing he couldn't feel pain, or else he'd be aware of Romeo kicking him mercilessly while the other boys watched and laughed.

His eyes were half opened, for as tired as he was, he was afraid to close them. However, since he was quite immobilized, he couldn't move his head to turn and look anywhere but the ceiling.

That's when his vision spotted something moving on the catwalk above him.

At first it appeared to be a shadow, but then gradually he was able to focus better and the shadow took shape and became a person. He tried to squint, attempting to bring whoever it was into clearer focus, but his eyelids wouldn't obey his commands.

That was probably a good thing, or else Romeo would have been curious to see what Richie saw. This way, the entire gang was caught unawares by the Highlander's surprise entrance.

It may have been a bit melodramatic, even for Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, but he had bigger things to worry about. Once inside the warehouse, he was spurred on by the sensation of Richie's pre-immortality, signaling that the teen was in fact still alive. However, from the looks of the punishment Romeo's steel-toed boots were doling out, he might not be for very much longer.

So MacLeod didn't chance the stairs. Instead he dropped down the thirty or so feet to the ground. However, even an immortal is susceptible to injury from falls from that height, so MacLeod made sure to land on the gawking gang members.

The entire scenario played out in exaggerated slow motion for Richie from his spot on the floor. He saw the person falling… falling… falling. Then he landed and strange sounds were heard as the gang members cried out. Romeo spun around in surprise.

Duncan had hit his mark and succeeded in knocking two gang members out cold with his fall. That left three, including Romeo. They abandoned Richie, and staggered away from each other preparing for the attack. Snake grabbed his baseball bat while Julio whipped out his knife.

"Mac…" Richie managed to breathe, but none heard him. Duncan saw the effort though, and that just motivated him further.

Snake attacked first, swinging his bat violently but without form or reason. The Highlander easily ducked under one blow, sidestepped another, and was able to get up under Snake's range. He caught the bat with both hands as it came at him from the side, and he held it tightly. Snake found himself jammed momentarily, but that was all the moment Duncan needed. He stomped on Snake's foot and the thug let go of the bat as he jumped back in surprise.

As soon as the Highlander had control of the weapon he flipped it into the proper grip and then swung in fiercely into Snake's stomach. Snake double over in pain and Duncan brought the bat down on his back, sending the thug crashing unconscious to the floor. Killing them, though sorely tempting, wouldn't sit with his Highland sense of honor at all, even in self defense, for he was immortal and they were mere children.

Julio came at him then with the knife, but the movements were awkward for his fear of the bat. Duncan was able to hit the knife out of his hand, probably breaking bones. When Julio brought his hand quickly and protectively against his chest, Duncan dropped the bat and punched kid in the jaw.

The sound of his fist connecting with flesh was incorrect, however. It took the Highlander a second to come to his senses and recognize the sound.

A gunshot.

Julio tumbled forward awkwardly, the force of the punch sending him backwards while the force of a bullet sent him forwards. He hit the floor and Duncan saw the blood pouring out to stain the concrete in ever-increasing circles.

In the heat of the moment, Duncan had forgotten about Romeo.

And apparently Romeo had managed to get a gun.

Duncan didn't have long to dwell on this fact, however. With Julio down, Romeo now had a clean shot. He fired once… twice… three times at Duncan, hitting him in the shoulder, chest, and abdomen.

Three times Richie saw Duncan's body shudder with the force of impact, bright crimson stains erupting on his clothes. The Highlander stumbled backwards and fell to one knee.

It was all slow motion for Richie. He saw MacLeod gunned down. The murderer murdered. He suddenly remembered Tessa's face, and his fears for her. His fear of the guilt. Survivor guilt. Helplessness guilt. The guilt of not having tried.

Tessa's face changed to Duncan's and Richie remembered what they all felt like.

He also remembered what came with that guilt. Anger is the much more powerful emotion. With it comes adrenaline, and adrenaline is what Richie needed.

Romeo had advanced on Duncan, who was leaning back, gripping at his wounds and resigning himself to the knowledge that he'd lost the fight. He would revive, and so would Richie. And then Romeo would pay dearly. But later, after the final shot that Romeo was preparing to fire.

The shot rang out loud and clear.

Duncan never felt the impact.

The Highlander snapped his eyes open to see Richie on top of Romeo, pinning him down. Richie, drugged as he was, weak and injured as he was, wasn't going to sit back and watch another murder. How he had gotten to Romeo in time he'd never know, but he made it. He threw himself into the gang-leader's back and Romeo tumbled forward, his shot missing its mark in the process. Richie was now pinning Romeo down and the two were struggling for the gun. Another shot rang out, ricocheting loudly in the ceiling.

One for Julio, three for Duncan, two in error. Now the gun was out of bullets.

Richie then managed to get the upper hand. He grabbed Romeo by the hair and slammed his head into the concrete floor. Twice and Romeo was unconscious. Twice more for good measure. The gang-leader lay unconscious with Richie sitting on his chest.

The adrenaline that served him so well was tapering off now. With his last bit of strength, he crawled off of Romeo and dragged himself, elbows and knees, the ten feet or so to where Duncan was now lying awkwardly with his knees bent underneath him.

Richie felt himself losing consciousness and he braced himself against the Highlander's chest, his hand making a soft squishing sound in the blood on MacLeod's sweater. Duncan too was losing consciousness as death was slowly stealing him. His sad eyes met Richie. Sad for having to die in front of him, and sad for not protecting him better.

Richie, propped up as he was, felt MacLeod's chest fall in a last hissing exhale and then lay still. They held eye contact until the Highlander's glazed over in death, and the realization that MacLeod was dead was the last thought Richie had before the darkness claimed him.

In the distance, there were sirens.