AN – Thanks as ever for the reviews, sorry ff.net was being a pain again to all those who couldn't.

Some swearing. - Richie's still upset.

!!!

"Richie," Duncan insisted, when his enquiry was met with silence. "I want an answer. "

"Bite me, Macleod." Richie hissed between clenched teeth, as he, carefully, extricated himself from the Immortal's grasp and propped himself up aginst the bathtub.

"Well, I supposed that's progress of a sort." Duncan observed dryly, rocking back onto his heels.

"Huh?" Richie glanced up, his face still gaunt from the sudden pain.

"Well, last time you told me to .."

"Where were you, Macleod?" Richie tipped his head back aginst the cool porcelain of the bathtub and closed his eyes, refusing to look at the Immortal.

"You need to get out of those wet jeans."

Richie opened one eye a slit and treated the Immortal to a scornful glance. Duncan sighed, of course, that was exactly when the lad had been trying to do.

"Well then, you'll just have to cut them off."

"Like hell," Richie murmured, eyes again tightly shut. "I just bought these."

"For Lord's sake, Richie," Duncan began to lose patience. "You'll catch your death on this cold floor."

Without another word he stood up and strode into the kitchen, swearing softly as he rummaged around in a kitchen drawer full of string and pens and assorted junk, until his hand closed around the scissors. In the bathroom Richie hadn't moved.

"Cut them off," Duncan ordered, holding out the scissors, handle first, to the teen. "I'll buy you a new pair."

Blue eyes, bright and brittle, snapped out to regard him with an unreadable look.

"That's your answer? You think your money can solve this? You'll just buy me a new pair and everything will be all better?"

"Well, you won't be freezing to death for a start!" Duncan protested hotly. He had no idea what had got into the lad.

"You bastard, Macleod!" Richie reached out and knocked the scissors out of Duncan's hand, sending them skittering into a corner. "I don't know what I saw in you. I thought you were different. But you're just like the rest of them. Well, fuck you! I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

"Alright," Duncan swatted down in front of the teenager and  reached out and grasped his jaw firmly in one large hand. "That is ENOUGH!"

Richie's eyes went very wide and very blue.

Then completely flat.

"Go on then," he sneered. "You know, you want to."

"A little tip for the future, Richard," Duncan's tone was low and dangerous as he pressed his fingers firmly into the lad's jaw. "Know your enemy and don't let your mouth make threats your body can't keep."

"No, please." Richie all but whimpered, struggling helplessly in his grasp.

"Richie?" Reflexively, Duncan let go, looking at the visibly shaken teen in dismay, cursing himself for a fool. How could he know what he did about the lad and yet treat him so thoughtlessly? "Ach, no. I'm sorry lad, I dinna mean to .."

"Please," Richie's voice was thin and quiet. "Don't call me Richard. Just .. don't."

"I won't," Duncan promised, his tone gentle. "What do you say we get you warmed up, huh?"

"I'm .. " Richie wrapped his arms around his bare chest. "I'm OK."

"Sure you are," Duncan scoffed fondly. Standing up, slowly, he went over and retrieved the scissors from the corner. "C'mon, Tough Guy."

Richie looked from the Immortal's sincere gaze to blink at his out stretched hand.

"You cut yourself."

Duncan glanced down at the dried blood on his hand. He vaguely remembered the blade biting into his flesh as Richie sent the scissors flying across the room. It hadn't seemed important then, it certainly wasn't important now. Unmoving, he continued to offer the scissors. With a sigh, Richie took them, he was cold, he'd pretty much proved he couldn't get the jeans off the conventional way and he was dammed if he was gonna ask Macleod to help.

"A little privacy?" he challenged.

He saw the indecision flash across the Immortal's face and for a moment he thought the Scot was going to refuse. When Duncan nodded curtly and turned away Richie felt oddly disappointed. Sure, he could take care of himself. Been doing it for a good long time. Still, that didn't mean he didn't miss feeling cared about. With a heavy heart he turned his attention to the wet material.

!!!

Moving more slowly this time he had got himself out of the jeans and into the shower, without further incident, and was resting on the bed in a large T-shirt and a pair of lose sweats, when the Immortal returned with a tray.

"How bad is it?" Duncan asked, as he set the tray down on the bedside cabinet.

"I'll live."

"Do you need a Doctor?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" The Immortal pressed. "Seemed like you might have cracked a couple of ribs?"

"Its my body. I know if I'm OK or not."

Sadly, Duncan judged that was probably the truth. The lad doubtless had more experience than most at cataloguing the severity of his injuries.

"Here." Duncan offered a thick earthenware bowl and a spoon.

Richie cast a brief glance at the warm soup. His pride wanted to refuse but his stomach gave an audible growl.

"Want me to feed you?" Duncan asked lightly.

Casting a sour look at the Immortal, Richie took the bowl and started to eat. Duncan watched him for a few moments, before breaking the silence.

"Who did that to you, Richie?"

Richie gave a silent snort as he buried his head in the bowl and continued to eat, avoiding eye contact with the Immortal. If Mac was gonna avoid his questions, well two could play at that game. It didn't take centuries to learn how to be stubborn.

"You owe me for those boots, by the way."

The toneless announcement brought Richie's head up in shock. "Hey, that's not fair!" he protested. "I wouldn't even have been walking home if you had been there like you said you would be. I only took the damn short cut down that alley, because I was trying to keep away from trouble, who knew Huey, Duey and Louie, were already there."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realised exactly how the Immortal had played him. Maybe those few extra centuries did give him something of an advantage after all, he thought ruefully.

"So, the Triplets jumped you and took your boots," Duncan surmised. "And the Helmet too?"

"Yeah," Richie figured he might as well cave. It wouldn't take Macleod all that long to piece it all together and he was too tired and sore to dance around the topic any longer. At least he didn't seem to be mad.

"They left you the jacket though," Something that was definitely amusement tugged at the corner of Duncan's mouth. "I'd have paid them to take that away."

"Hey!" Richie protested, surprised. "I like that jacket!"

"Really?" Duncan quirked a brow. "Such a nice shade of green."

"OK, so maybe I wouldn't have picked those colours," Richie admitted. The guy was definitely being pretty cool about all this. "But it's a proper racing jacket. Its saved my skin more than once."

"Those must have been some pretty serious boots, to leave a mark." Duncan agreed.

"Yeah, steel toes," Richie made a face. "Look, I'm sorry about your stuff, OK? I'll pay you back."

"Now who thinks money can make everything all better?" Duncan chided. "Putting aside the fact that it was your stuff. We gave it to you. I don't care about the bloody boots. I do care that you got hurt trying to hang onto them."

Richie felt the guilty flush rise in his face before he could open his mouth to deny it. Damn. "You know, you being right about everything, could get pretty annoying after a while."

"So, I've been told," Duncan took the now empty bowl from him and replaced it with a mug of hot chocolate. "Leave it alone, Richie."

"Hey," Richie swallowed his mouthful of chocolate so fast he scaled the back of his throat. "I never said I was going after them. Those guys are real bad news."

"So, you do know who they are then?" Duncan asked innocently.

Richie opened his mouth. Closed it. Scowled.

"Alright, then. You're so smart, you tell me something."

"What?" Duncan picked up his own drink and took a sip.

"Where the hell were you, Mac?"

He was proud of how casually it came out. Alright, so it might have been more satisfying if the Immortal had choked on his drink or something, but he'd take what he could get.

"I .. um .." An unaccustomedly abashed look passed over the Immortal's face. "I was meeting a friend."

"A friend?" Richie echoed, trying to swallow his disappointment. He'd hoped that he and the Immortal were becoming friends, but maybe his employer didn't see it that way. "You never said."

"I didn't know," Duncan shrugged. "They just got into town this morning."

"Oh well," Richie felt awkward, it wasn't like he had any special claim over the Scot's time. "Did you guys have fun?"

"We caught up," Duncan hedged. "We hadn't seen each other in a while."

Richie's eyes narrowed. He might not have the Immortal's centuries of experience but he had had enough practice with people trying to hide things from him to know that while the Immortal wasn't exactly lying he was definitely not telling the whole truth.

"So, was she pretty?" he quipped.

It was a joke. A stupid joke. He knew how much Mac and Tessa adored each other. He expected the Immortal to ruffle his hair and tell him to mind his manners. Instead, the flash of guilt in the Immortal's eyes told its own story.

Richie felt sick to his stomach.

"It was a date?" He spluttered. "Tessa goes outta town and the first thing you do is stand me up for a date?"