AN- Oh wow, thanks for all the feedback. This super speedy update is for all of you and especially for Sara, who nagged so nicely!
***
Richie swallowed hard and tired to convince himself that the reason that he was feeling so sick, was the knock on the head, the motion of the car, or perhaps even the smell of blood.
Anything, but the fact that he was locked in the truck of Walker's car with a corpse.
"Oh man," he murmured. "How do I get myself into these things?"
Well, screw that. He knew exactly how.
+++
Walker turned to him, his eyes as hard as steel.
"You boy, are beginning to be more trouble than you are worth."
Richie looked straight down the barrel of the sleek black gun.
For one terrible moment he was afraid he was going to die. He was sorry that he wouldn't be able to save Tessa. He was sorry that he had never told Mac how much he loved him and he was sorry that he'd never get the chance to meet a girl and have the family with the white picket fence that he had always dreamed of.
But mostly, he was just scared.
Then Walker seemed to come to a decision.
"Do you want the woman to live?" he demanded.
"Yes." Richie said without hesitation.
Maybe he could salvage something out of this mess after all, and make Mac just a little bit proud of him.
"Then do exactly as I say."
To his surprise Tessa hadn't protested when Walker had ordered him to tie her up.
"Make the knots tighter," she had insisted.
"But I'll hurt you!" Richie hissed.
"I do not want that he should punish you because you have not done it properly, petit."
"Tess, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not that little."
"You are not as grown up as you think you should be either," Tessa scolded fondly. Then she turned serious. "Duncan will not rest until he brings you safely home. You know this? Yes?"
Richie closed his eyes at the absolute certainty in her tone.
"Tess, I killed someone." He said hollowly.
"And saved my life," Tessa reminded him. "The rest, we will deal with. As a family."
"Tell Mac," Richie swallowed over his dry throat, gathering his courage, "Tell him I love him, yeah?"
"That.." Tessa declared firmly. "You must tell him yourself."
"If I live that long." Richie hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"You must," Tessa had insisted. "You must do everything that you can to stay alive until Duncan finds you. Promise me."
"You know, you've been spending way too much time with Mac."
***
Suddenly the car lurched to a halt and moments later Richie squeezed his eyes tight shut as bright white torchlight, flooded the trunk.
"Get out." Walker indicated sharply with the gun.
Dazed and stiff Richie climbed out slowly, keeping one eye on the gun. The car was parked on some kind of wharf, surrounded by derelict and abandoned buildings.
"Nice place. Did you find it in the Michelin Guide?" Richie swallowed hard.
The Immortal had made him put on his coat and shoes before they left the barge. Surely, he wouldn't have done that if he was just going to kill him now?
"Don't even think about running," Walker warned, as he hefted Marc's body on his shoulder. "A bullet wound in the thigh shouldn't kill you, but without antibiotics and proper medical care these things are never certain."
"Gee. Thanks for the concern." Richie muttered.
Walker didn't appear to hear him, which was probably just as well.
"This way," The Immortal gestured towards a squat, stone cottage, carrying his gruesome bundle with exaggerated care.
Richie remembered a story Mac had told him about a Spanish Queen who, driven mad by grief after the death of her husband, had carried his corpse around with her for ages after his death. He really hoped Walker wasn't about to go the same way.
Despite its neglected exterior, inside the cottage was surprisingly well cared for. Electric lights blared into life, revealing plain but serviceable furniture. Richie hovered uncertainly as Walker laid Marc on the couch.
"Don't just stand there," The Immortal scolded, as he began to undress the body. "Get a fire started."
Richie looked helplessly at the bundles of kindling and stack of logs by the fireplace.
"Sure," He agreed sarcastically. "Just as soon as you tell me the magic word."
"Try matches," Walker spoke without looking up. "On the shelf over there."
"Oh," Even with the matches it took Richie a couple of tries to set a serviceable blaze in the old fireplace and by the time he turned back around Walker had dressed his dead son in a clean sweatshirt and was now calmly sitting in an armchair sipping a cup of tea.
Alright, Richie reasoned to himself. There's two possible explanations here. Either he's completely and utterly barking mad. Which is not a healthy trait in a kidnapper. Or ..
Suddenly, Marc Renard took a deep shuddering breath and sat up.
***
"Bed?" Richie blinked at Walker in amazement. "You're sending me to bed?"
"Its late," Walker was unmoved. "And Marc and I have a lot to talk about."
"Next thing, you'll be telling me it's a School night." Richie scoffed. "Except I'm guessing I'm not going to School tomorrow, am I?"
"Tomorrow is a Saturday." Walker pointed out calmly.
He opened a narrow door, that Richie had taken to be a cupboard, to reveal a steep wooden staircase.
"The bathroom is straight ahead. Your room is on the right. Go and brush your teeth, I'll be up in a few minutes."
"You want me to brush my teeth?" Richie's jaw dropped.
"I don't want you getting cavities," Walker looked him up and down. "There are some clean pyjamas in the dresser in the bedroom as well. They're Marc's so they might be a little big on you. But they'll be better than those rags."
"Tessa bought me these." Richie suddenly felt absurdly loyal to the ugly striped pyjamas.
"I'll be up in two minutes," Walker told him. "I expect to find you ready for bed." The or else hung clearly in the air.
Remembering his promise to Tessa, Richie bit his tongue and did as he was told.
To his dismay all the windows upstairs were so tiny, even a six year old would struggle to squeeze through them, and the stout, stone walls were so thick it would take centuries to make an escape.
"I thought I told you to be in bed?" Walker's stern voice from behind him made Richie jump.
"I was. I am." Richie quickly made his words true.
"You didn't change." Walker frowned.
"Um, I couldn't find them." Richie lied.
Walker narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment. Coming closer he leant over to tuck Richie in, and, to the teen's immense surprise, dropped a solemn kiss on his forehead.
"We'll talk in the morning."
Richie wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise.
"Oh, and in case you were thinking of leaving?" Walker raised a brow. "Don't. You'll have noticed that the only way out is through the living room and I'll be sleeping on the couch. In case you've forgotten, I'm a very light sleeper."
Richie considered his less than stellar track record of sneaking up on Immortal types and decided he'd better stay put.
For now.
***
The click of the latch woke Richie from a restless sleep. He sat up as the door softly opened. Without speaking Marc settled himself on the floor between the two beds, and tipped his head back, his eyes firmly shut.
"You OK?" Richie asked sympathetically.
Just because his Dad was an arsehole didn't mean that Richie had to take his current situation out on his friend.
After all, it was at least partly his fault that Marc was now an Immortal.
"You better not let Dad catch you still awake," Marc spoke without opening his eyes, "He'll be pissed."
"Then I won't let him catch me," Richie rolled over onto one elbow. "Want to talk about it?"
"You knew, already, didn't you?" Marc squinted at him through one eye.
"Not about you. But about Immortals. Yeah." Richie agreed. "I got a little too curious for my own good and saw some things I shouldn't."
"So, I'll never age? I'll always look nineteen?"
"Well, I suppose you could cut your hair or grow a beard, or something." Richie suggested. "But essentially, yeah."
"It's a good job I've always had a thing for older women." Marc smirked.
"You have no idea," Richie grinned, thinking of Amanda.
"And I can't get sick?"
"Well, you can get sick," Richie corrected. "You just can't die of it. And over time you get pretty good immunity."
"And the wounds? They always heal?"
"Always," Richie nodded. "How fast depends on how bad the wound is, how old you are, how many Quickenings you've taken. This was your first death so it took a while."
"So, I'll get better with practice?" Marc laughed. "Maybe, I should take up a new hobby, like skydiving, - without a parachute!"
"You seem to be taking this well," Richie observed. "Are you sure you're not, like in shock or something?"
"Well, I gotta admit it was a little weird at first, but hey," Marc grinned, "What's not to like?"
Then he opened his other eye.
"Rich, what's a Quickening?"
***
"What do you mean, I have to chop off people's heads!" Marc exclaimed.
"Will you keep your voice down?" Richie hissed, looking at the door.
"How could he forget to tell me something as important as that?" Marc demanded in a hoarse whisper.
"I'm guessing he didn't forget," Richie pointed out. "That guy is definitely working to his own agenda."
He'd meant to keep his tone light and sarcastic, but they both heard the edge of fear underlying his words.
"I'm sure he doesn't want to hurt you." Marc said softly.
"So, what exactly does he want?" Richie demanded.
"You think he'd tell me?" Marc scoffed lightly. "Maybe it has something to do with you being Immortal."
Richie stilled.
"What?"
"You being like us," Marc repeated. He frowned. "You didn't know?"
"I don't think so," Richie shook his head. "The whole, not healing thing, is a bit of a giveaway."
"Rich, I can sense you," Marc was sincere. "I mean, its not as strong as with Dad, but its there. You're an Immortal. Or rather, you will be."
Richie swallowed hard. Unwilling to believe what Marc was trying to tell him.
"You're snowing me, right?"
"When I was twelve I fell out of a tree and broke my leg. I had X-rays and everything. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. I don't think it works before you die."
"No, there must have been something," Richie insisted desperately. "Some sign that you weren't like other people."
Marc looked at him.
"Do you know who your parents are? I mean, your real parents?"
Richie went sheet white.
"I take it that's a no." Marc said, not unkindly.
"No, it can't be," Richie swallowed hard. "Mac would have told me. I know he would."