"You remember that I will be out all day today at that meeting with the Gallery Curator?" Tessa asked, the next morning, over breakfast.
"You'd better take the car," Duncan spoke from behind his newspaper. "Looks like rain later on."
"Looks like rain?" Richie grinned around a mouthful of toast. "Is that some kind of medieval radar?"
"Actually, its science." Duncan retorted, turning the paper so Richie could see the page with the weather forecast.
"I didn't think science had been invented when you were a barn." Richie groused, good naturedly.
"That's bairn laddie." Duncan corrected. "As well you know."
"Whatever." Richie gulped his coffee and stood up, looking for his backpack.
"Maac." He grumbled.
"Its in the closet." Duncan told him. "Where it should be."
"It should be where I left it. Then I'd know where it is."
"You want a ride to School?" Duncan offered, folding up his newspaper and putting it aside.
"You don't have to," Richie looked awkward.
"I know I don't have to, I want to." Duncan said kindly.
"No, I mean you don't have to," Richie explained, "Marc's gonna swing by and pick me up."
"Oh, well. Good." Duncan tried to swallow his disappointment.
"This Marc is a safe driver, yes?" Tessa wanted to be sure.
"Sure Tess," Richie assured her. "He's had his licence for ages."
"Ages?" Duncan looked amused. "Is that six months, or a whole year?"
"Funny Mac," Richie rolled his eyes. "Ages as in nineteen, and the poster boy for Mr Responsible."
"He is so much older than you?" Tessa frowned. "He is not a student?"
"A year, isn't so much .." Richie shrugged. "He's working as a Teaching Assistant, apparently he missed out on some Sports Scholarship thing, or something this year, so his Dad's making him do this, until he makes the grade." Richie looked up at the sound of the approaching Renault.
"So, how did you meet him?" Duncan asked.
"His car broke down in the car park," Richie shrugged, heading towards the door. "I fixed it."
"Good luck, with your paper." Tessa called.
"He doesn't need luck," Duncan flashed a grin at the teen. "It's a literary masterpiece."
"Thanks Mac," Richie smiled. "Bye Tess." And he was gone.
"He had to fix this car?" Tessa frowned, as the Renault's engine screeched in protest, as its driver changed gear and pulled away.
"If Richie fixed it, it'll stay fixed." Duncan reassured her.
"Yes," Tessa wrinkled her brow. "But there are so many other parts which may also go wrong."
***
Richie grinned happily, as he stuffed his paper into his backpack and joined the jostling crowd of students, heading for lunch.
"So, how did your paper go?" Marc fell into step beside him.
"Julia Chan, thinks my accent is sexy," Richie boasted, with a grin. "She asked me out."
"So, I take it, you didn't embarrass yourself, by falling off the stage, mis-pronouncing some perfectly innocent word, so that you, in fact, invited the entire class to look at you naked, or any other of your nightmare premonitions?" Marc teased.
"Not even close," Richie beamed. "I got a A."
"That's great Rich," Marc grinned. "Your Dad's gotta be pretty pleased with that, huh?"
"Yeah," That thought made Richie feel warm inside. "He will, won't he?"
"Ah," Marc paused, looking at something up ahead. "Mine, on the other hand, is gonna be royally pissed, if he catches me chatting to you, before I've finished cleaning all the equipment for this afternoon."
"How will he know?" Richie wondered.
"Didn't I say?" Marc glanced over at him. "He teaches here and he runs the Fencing Club."
"No wonder you're so good." Richie gave a rueful grin.
"If that held true, I wouldn't have flunked French History," Marc made a face. "Not my most shining hour."
"He teaches History?" Richie laughed. "You'll have to get him together with Mac, he's a real History buff."
Marc gave him an odd look. "How come you call your Dad by his first name?"
"Its more of a family nick-name," Richie hedged. "And, I haven't lived with him that long. He's cool about it."
"My Dad would freak," Marc shook his head. "Young people need to know their place." He mimicked. "Whoa, he's coming. Gotta go, later, OK?"
He ducked back into the crowd so quickly, that he missed the way that all the colour had drained from Richie's face. It couldn't be. Could it?
"Was that my son Marc, I just saw you talking to?"
The brown oxford brogues that came into Richie's field of vision were not remotely familiar.
But he would have known that voice anywhere.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up to meet ice blue eyes.
"Hello, Dad."
***
Richie shivered inside his jacket, as he cast a baleful look at the overcast sky, it didn't look like the driving rain was going to let up anytime soon.
"I suppose this is some kinda cosmic punishment for cutting class, huh?" He muttered, to no-one in particular.
Turning his collar up, he dug his hands into his pockets, and squelched another couple of blocks in his sodden sneakers. Swearing fluently, when a passing car sent a wave of cold, wet, spray, in his direction.
"Great, just great!"
He blinked hard at the sudden, fierce burning behind his eyes. So, he was cold and wet and he had at least another three hours before he could reasonably be expected home from School. That didn't mean that he was gonna cry.
Ducking into a nearby doorway, he caught sight of the simple stone Church across the road and brightened slightly. Well, maybe someone was on his side.
At least it would be dry.
He wasn't sure how long he had spent, huddled miserably in the plain wooden pew. Although the Church provided shelter from the rain, it didn't boast such luxuries as heating, unless you counted the candles, which Richie did not, and the cold of the stone walls seemed to seep into his soul.
"Can I be of any assistance?" The priest's gentle enquiry made Richie jump.
"Um, sorry," he apologised, blushing at how he had dripped all over the floor and the seat. "I'll get out of your way."
"You don't have to," the priest held up a placating hand. "I just wondered if I could be of any help?"
"That depends," Richie made a face. "Do you speak English? My French isn't that good yet."
"My English may not be that good either," The priest switched languages with a smooth fluency, that belied his depreciating words. "But we can muddle along."
Richie hesitated. "Can I talk to you? Like you were a priest?"
"Since I am a priest, I think that would be acceptable." He smiled kindly.
"Its kinda a moral dilemma type thing." Richie admitted.
"Ah," the priest nodded. "Would this have to do with why you are not in School?" he arched a brow.
"Not exactly," Richie shrugged. Then shot the priest an anxious look. "Um, should it?"
"Why don't you just tell me what brings you here?"
"Aren't you supposed to say something first?" Richie wondered. "Like bless me and stuff?"
"You want to make confession?" the priest looked mildly surprised.
"That makes it secret, right?" Richie clarified. "You can't tell anyone. Even if I'd killed someone, which I haven't, I mean there was this guy in Seacouver, but he wasn't dead .. not really ..."
"What if I give you my word that this will be just between the three of us?" the Priest soothed.
"Three?" Richie squeaked, looking anxiously behind him.
"Ah, I meant, you me and Him." The priest nodded at the altar.
"Oh," Richie realised. "Well, its kinda like this .."
***
"What do you think you should do?" the Priest asked when he was finished.
"That's your idea of advice?" Richie gave him a look. "I thought you guys were supposed to have divine inspiration or something."
"What are you most afraid of?" the priest pushed gently.
Richie looked around and took strength from the ancient stillness of this Holy place.
"That Mac won't want me around anymore." He managed.
"And if you tell him of this, do you think he will reject you?"
"Its happened before." Richie admitted.
"But you have already said that this Mac, is not like other men." The priest nudged.
"Ain't that the truth." Richie managed a fleeting smile.
"Do you trust him?"
"With my life," Richie said instantly. The Immortal would protect him, he knew that, no matter what.
"But not your soul?"
Richie took a sharp, shuddering breath. "I'm afraid of loosing his friendship, his good opinion, Mac doesn't choose his friends lightly. I don't want to be a disappointment to him."
"And what do you think is most likely to cause that to happen?"
"If I lie to him." Richie realised.
"So, now what do you think you should do?" the priest smiled.
"If I don't tell him, I'll definitely loose him." Richie made a face. "If I do tell him, I only might loose him."
"And if someone came to your friend with a problem, would him blame them for their foolishness, or would he do his utmost to help him?" the priest asked mildly.
"Oh Mac would help," Richie nodded. "He's a real Knight in shining armour type."
"If he will do as much for a stranger, why would he do any less for one that he loves?" the priest enquired.
"I never said that Mac loves me." Richie looked away.
"Indeed, you did." The priest gave him a knowing glance. "Every time you speak of him."
***
Duncan looked up in surprise at the faint buzz of a pre-immortal. Richie wasn't due home from School for a good few hours yet.
"Mac," the teen hovered in the doorway, white as chalk, and seemingly oblivious to the rivulets of water pouring off him onto the floor.
"Richie," Duncan was on his feet in a instant, pressing a hand to the lad's brow. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"
"No, I just needed to come home." Despite his words, Richie shuddered in his grasp, even as he clamped his jaw tight shut, to keep his teeth from chattering.
"C'mon," he took the teen's arm in a firm grip and propelled him towards the bathroom. "Shower, now."
Richie let himself be led, only balking, when he realised the Immortal intended to come into the bathroom with him.
"Mac, I know how to take a shower."
"Really? Because you clearly don't know enough to get yourself out of the rain before you catch your death." Duncan gently pushed him down on the closed toilet lid as he bent to unlace his tennis shoes.
"I was thinking," Richie defended himself.
"And you couldn't have done this inside?" The knots were shrunk and twisted, so Duncan just snapped the laces.
Richie made a face. "I guess I wasn't thinking about that."
"So, what were you thinking about?" Duncan peeled the sodden jacket off the shivering lad.
"How much it rains in Paris." Richie grumbled.
"Or you could tell me how you got this wet just walking home from School?" Duncan suggested mildly.
"I got kinda lost." Richie admitted.
It was the truth, even if he didn't entirely mean it in the geographical sense.
"Several hours worth of lost, unless I'm much mistaken," Duncan said dryly, tugging Richie's wet T-shirt over his head. "And here was I, thinking School didn't finish until three."
"I .. um didn't actually go to School today."
Duncan's expression darkened even as hands froze in the act of moving to help Richie out of his jeans. "Not at all?"
"Well, I guess I was there for about an hour." The teen joked nervously.
The Immortal's icy expression didn't even waver.
"Does the reason that you left have anything to do with this?" Duncan's eyes were locked on a point above his left elbow.
Surprised, the teenager looked down to stare at the bracelet of black bruises, encircling his upper arm.
"Oh, that." Richie swallowed.