AN- Thanks to my wonderful reviewers, and double thanks to SouthernChickie for the incidental beta'ing.
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Richie was supposed to help Duncan with getting the store ready the next morning, the arrangement being for nine o'clock. However, Richie really wasn't in the mood to get up early and spend hours around dusty old antiques (including MacLeod). Even though his alarm was set for eight, he kept hitting the 'snooze' button until eight forty-five. That's when Duncan knocked on his door… knocked, opened, and stuck his head in.
"You planning on getting up today?" He asked. Richie groaned and rolled over.
"What time is it?" He asked after a moment.
"Quarter of nine." Richie sighed and groaned again.
"Give me a few," he answered. Satisfied, Duncan shut the door again.
Richie didn't want to get out of bed. He was freezing, for one thing, and he woke up with the same headache that he'd gone to bed with. But he gave the man his word, so reluctantly he crawled out from under the covers. After dressing in a warm pair of sweats (and taking his sweet time about it), he stumbled from his room and made his way to the kitchen.
"Good morning," Tessa greeted warmly. She was on her way to refill her coffee mug.
"Morning," Richie responded blearily as he grabbed a mug of his own from the cabinet.
"Do you feel any better than you did last night?" The Frenchwoman asked. Richie ran his hand over his face, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.
"Yeah," he lied. "I'm just tired." Tessa frowned.
"Didn't you sleep well?"
"Fine," he lied again as he added plenty of cream and sugar to his coffee. His headache had kept him up most of the night. That and the chills. "Just need the pick-me-up." He emphasized this point by taking as long a sip as the hot coffee would allow.
"I thought you had given up coffee?" Tessa asked in curious amusement.
"Yeah, well, I'd also given up early mornings," he answered with a wry smile. Tessa laughed.
"Can I get you some breakfast?" She asked, remembering that he hadn't eaten any dinner the night before.
"No thanks, Tess," said Richie. "Mac's already downstairs waiting for me."
"You need to eat something, Richie," Tessa protested. "You didn't eat dinner last night." Richie frowned. He really wasn't all that hungry, despite how long it's been since his last meal. However, he was even less in the mood to argue the point.
"Ok," he acquiesced. "How 'bout some toast?" Tessa smiled.
"Sure. Why don't you go sit and drink your coffee while I make some." Richie laughed.
"You just have to put two slices of bread in the toaster. That's not exactly hard or time consuming."
"You go sit down with your coffee," Tessa directed. "I'll bring over your four pieces of toast when they're ready." Richie smirked and nodded tiredly before making his way to the kitchen table. He nearly fell asleep over his coffee before Tessa brought his toast over, strawberry jam lightly spread over the pieces, just the way he likes it.
"Thanks, Tess," he said, trying for a charming smile but not entirely succeeding.
"You're welcome." Tessa then proceeded to sit across from him. The six-slice toaster was put to good use as since she had decided to make two of her own. Of course, it only served to give her an excuse to sit and make sure Richie ate all of his own. It was the best way to see whether or not he was sick, since naturally he wouldn't tell them himself.
Richie was quite aware of this as he watched Tessa apply butter and cinnamon to her toast in a very 'methodical' way, taking her time, before savoring the slices unnecessarily. Not wanting to be confined to bed-rest on the assumption that he was ill, Richie ate each and every piece, crusts and all. He wasn't at all hungry, and being forced to eat like that was making him feel slightly sick, but he washed it all down with coffee and kept the fake smile plastered to his face until his breakfast was over with.
Tessa was well aware of this, but didn't care, because it meant that he was eating.
"Thanks for the toast," said Richie, falling just short of sincere, as he stood up from the table.
"You're welcome," Tessa responded, falling just short of casual. Richie made his way over to the coffee pot and poured himself a refill.
"Mac'll be expecting me downstairs," he said, and he made his way over to the foyer and down the stairs from the loft. Tessa just watched him go, her concern for the teen only mounting.
"Morning, Richie," Duncan greeted when Richie appeared in the store. The highlander was sitting in the middle of a maze of china and crystal, trying to simultaneously clean and catalogue the items.
"Morning," Richie answered. He still sounded tired, but not as much so thanks to the coffee.
"What'll it be?" The highlander asked. "Dusting, or cataloguing."
"Whichever you don't want," Richie answered neutrally. Duncan responded by tossing him the dust rag.
"Grab a seat," he said. Richie sat down on the floor on the outskirts of Duncan's surrounding city of breakables. "Everything behind me has already been done," he explained. "You dust, then pass it to me, and I'll catalogue it." Richie nodded.
"Gotcha." The two working in amicable silence for a while, Richie dusting, Duncan cataloguing. Slowly but surely, there were more items behind the highlander than in front of him. He noticed that Richie was more lethargic than usual, but then he wasn't used to getting up early, either. Since there was no store to open in Paris, the teen had been afforded the luxury of keeping whatever hours he wanted—provided he wasn't disturbing anyone.
All in all, the system worked rather well. If he wanted to stay up later than Mac and Tessa, he would simply head above deck and read, or listen to music. Tessa would leave early for work in the mornings to beat the traffic, and Duncan would usually go for a run. Richie didn't usually stir until after the highlander had returned, and that was sometime late morning.
Of course, that meant that having to get up at eight this morning (or even quarter of nine), was cruel and unusual punishment for the teen, so Richie's subdued nature was totally understandable.
Had this been later on in the day, Duncan would have been a bit more worried. And if Richie wasn't dusting, the cough that he developed as they worked would have worried him, too.
"Do you have any plans this evening?" Duncan asked, finally breaking their silence. Richie started at the sudden voice, nearly dropping the vase he was dusting.
"Huh?" Duncan fought the urge to laugh. The teen was obviously lost in thought.
"I asked if you had any plans for tonight."
"You mean for when I'm done with this?" Richie asked with a sarcastic grin. He didn't think that he was going to be paroled any time soon.
"Well Tessa wanted me to go grocery shopping so we can have something decent for dinner tonight," said Duncan. "So I won't be keeping you here too late." Richie nodded, considering this new information. Then he shrugged.
"I had nothing special planned," he said non-committed, afraid that the highlander was about to ask for company. "Why?"
"I was just wondering if you were going to see your friends tonight," said Duncan. "You've been home nearly two weeks and I haven't heard you mention anything about it." Richie flinched inwardly at Duncan's mention of being home. Paris was home. This was just where he grew up.
"Well we were kinda busy the first week," Richie defended with a wry grin. Duncan laughed, somehow managing to keep the sadness from it.
"True," he admitted. "But like I said, it's been more than a week." Richie sighed.
"I've thought about it," he admitted. "But we were gone for nine months. That's a long time for my friends and me. Lots can change."
"Like what?" Richie inwardly flinched again, contemplating the possibilities.
"Well, for one thing, I know that they move a lot," he answered eventually, deciding that that was the safest answer he could give. Duncan nodded; it was true that lower income families tended to change addresses more frequently. "I don't want to call their number and have some stranger answer the phone." Or have their relative tell me that they're in prison, or worse…
"Only one way to find out," said Duncan, matter-of-factly.
"Right…" Richie agreed, but he was still lost in his own morbid thoughts. The conversation lapsed into silence from there.
Duncan and Richie worked side by side doing much of the same thing until three o'clock that afternoon, when the highlander decided that he couldn't postpone grocery shopping any longer. Richie was relieved that the manual labor part of his day was over. He was tired and achy and just wanted his sleep. Also, he was more than relieved to escape MacLeod. It wasn't because of any animosity or other ulterior motive; Richie just had a severe craving for solitude, and it seemed that everything Mac and Tessa did was too encroaching or too smothering. He felt stifled in their presence for some reason, though at this point he couldn't quite place why. At three o'clock when Duncan had called it quits for the day, and Richie felt like jumping for joy... figuratively speaking since he doubted that he had the energy for it.
Duncan, being the less covered in dust from his position as cataloguer, decided that he could leave straight away for the store and shower when he got back. That left Richie alone in the loft with Tessa. All he wanted was a hot shower to ease his aches and pains, a few Tylenol, and a nice long nap. Of course, that meant that he needed to stealthily avoid the Frenchwoman whom he was certain was hell-bent on intruding upon his well-laid plans.
"How are you feeling, Richie?" The teen silently cursed. He had made it almost to the bathroom before being discovered. Unfortunately, that's when Tessa emerged from the master bedroom.
"Dusty," he answered plainly. "I'm gonna grab shower." Tessa smiled; Richie's flippant answer meant that he was feeling more like himself again.
"Dinner won't be for another few hours," she said. "You should probably eat something. You missed lunch." Richie fought the urge to groan.
"Shower first," he said, hoping that if she agreed, she would have forgotten all about it by the time he was through. Her thoughtful expression dashed that hope.
"Why don't you tell me what you want so that I can have it ready for you when you come out?" Richie took a slow, deep breath to keep himself from snapping at her that he just wanted to be left alone. She's just looking out for me…
"Just heat up the leftovers that I didn't eat last night," he said finally. Tessa frowned.
"I'm sorry Richie. I had that for lunch." This time Richie didn't try and cover the sigh.
"Grab some cold cuts and make me a sandwich then," he said, impatience seeping into his voice.
"Roast beef or turkey?"
"Whichever," Richie said, even more impatiently. "Just pick one, or use both, I don't care."
"Ok," Tessa agreed, failing at keeping the hurt out of her voice just as Richie failed at the exasperation. Richie cursed himself and forced his warmest smile to his face.
"I'm tired, and I just want to get cleaned up," he said, indicating his formerly black but now dusty brown-gray sweats. It really was a lame excuse for his behavior, but he wasn't about to say anything further, not without risking saying something he'd surely regret. Tessa smiled back, however weakly. She couldn't keep the concern from showing through, either.
Richie stayed in the shower a lot longer than usual, soaking every square inch of ache in streams of hot water, especially his head. He blamed the increased headache on the dust wreaking havoc with his sinuses. When he finally emerged, he was wearing sweats and a tee shirt, but he still felt oddly chilled. He figured that the best thing for him would be to choke down the sandwich Tessa had waiting for him (since his appetite still hadn't returned) and crawl under the covers and stay in bed until they nagged him to come out for dinner. If he was lucky, he'd be asleep by then, and they'd leave him be.
"Feel better?" Tessa asked him when he entered the kitchen. Richie nodded.
"Everyone feels better after a hot shower." Truthfully, he only felt better because he felt cleaner, but at least he didn't lie…
"Your sandwich is on the counter," said Tessa. She had made it when she heard the water turn off, so it wasn't sitting for long.
"Thanks," he said, trying to sound sincere and not sarcastic. It came out as neutral. Richie grabbed the plate and headed for the table, noticing that she had chosen turkey.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Tessa asked. Richie intellectually knew that she was just being polite, but he still found himself biting his tongue against a rude rebuttal.
"Water's fine," he said instead, hoping that it would take care of the irritation in the back of his throat from breathing dust for hours. Tessa grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water, then placed it on the table in front of him. Richie took a generous gulp before redirecting his attention to the sandwich.
Tessa was seated across from him again, presumably reading the newspaper but actually standing guard and making sure that he ate all of his sandwich. He silently cursed her as he took bite after agonizing bite, washing it down with plenty of water.
"Thanks Tess," he said, once again falling just short of sincere, as he stood and took his plate to the sink.
"You're welcome," Tessa answered, once again falling just short of casual. Richie rinsed his plate and replaced it in the cabinet. Then he grabbed his glass and refilled it.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Tessa asked him as he took a swig of water. She already knew what his answer would be, but she decided that she didn't like how pale he looked, nor how sluggishly he was moving.
"Positive," he answered, plastering a fake smile on his face that at that moment he didn't care if Tessa saw through. True to form, she fixed him with a soft yet disbelieving stare. "Really Tessa," he reassured. "I'm just tired. Six hours of manual labor will do that to you."
"I suppose it will." Tessa agreed that he was tired—and had the right to be. But that didn't mean that she believed that fatigue was all that was wrong.
"I'm gonna go take a nap," said Richie after a moment's pause. "Call me when dinner's ready," he added for her benefit. Secretly he wished that they would just let him sleep.
"Ça va," Tessa agreed, sighing herself. She had expected as much.
Richie took his glass of water with him, stopping off in the bathroom to get some Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. He went for two Extra Strength this time.
After taking the pills, Richie made his way into his bedroom, his feet dragging more and more with every step. When he finally made it to his bedside, he placed the half empty glass of water on his nightstand before allowing himself to flop forward. Richie hit his bed lengthwise with a thud and a slight reverberating bounce. He stayed in that position for a few moments, just grateful to be off his feet, and finally granted some privacy, before shifting his body position around so that he way lying correctly. From there, he spent the last ounces of his energy maneuvering himself under the covers at last.
As he settled in and got comfortable, Richie's thoughts drifted back to that conversation he had with MacLeod. He was curious to find out how his friends were doing… curious and slightly worried. A lot can happen in nine months. After brief consideration he decided that the best way to find out would be to head over to the homeless shelter where Angie worked when he got up tomorrow. She could fill him in on all that he's missed since he went away. And if she wasn't there anymore, then there would be someone who could at least point him in the right direction.
Richie burrowed into the covers until only the top of his strawberry blond curls were sticking out. He was still cold, but that would soon change, he thought with a grin.
How right he was.