AN: okay, we're trying something new here. I've been told the bold was hard to read in such large quantities so here's the new set up. ##Past 1992## will be at the start of the flashback scenes. ##Present 1994## will be at the start of present set scenes.

##Past 1992##

Richie woke up and stretched with a soft groan. He was sore all over.

"Two an' a half months," he reminded himself struggling to sit up.

He went into the bathroom to check the damage; it was mostly it was mostly his chest and back, nothing a long sleeved shirt wouldn't cover. He went back into his small room and searched for something to cover the offending bruises and settled on a used-to-fit-but-now-it-was-getting-baggy sweatshirt. His stomach growled and he quietly made his way into the kitchen. He chose an apple and got a knife to cut it with. He hadn't heard or seen Jonathan yet, maybe he wasn't home. That would be nice; maybe then he could sneak some Advil or something. Gathering up what little courage he could muster, Richie cleaned up any traces of the missing apple in his hand and went into Jonathan's medicine chest.

"What do you think you are doing?" a voice snapped just as Richie's had closed around the bottle.

Richie whirled around. "I was just, ah... um, I was... uh..."

"Did I say you could do any of this?" Jonathan demanded snatching the apple pieces from Richie's hand.

"I didn't think you were here to ask," Richie defended.

"So you went ahead and did it?"

"I just... I was going to..."

"I don't care!" Jonathan screamed at him. "If I'm not here, what are you supposed to do?"

"Stay in my room," Richie mumbled.

"That's right. Now get the hell out of here. I don't want to see your face until ten tonight; you got that?"

. . . . . .

Richie wondered down the street trying to think of something to do. Something inside preferably; it looked like it was about to rain again. Richie shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk until abruptly he noticed he was back at the antique store. He peered through the window; nobody was there. Strangely, he felt disappointed. He wasn't sure why, but he was.

"What are you doing?" someone demanded from behind him.

"Chill, I know the owner," Richie snapped turning around. "Mac?" he grinned. "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"

"Will you settle for breakfast?" Duncan offered unlocking the door. "I was going to shower and go; would you like to join me?"

"Were you workin' out?" Richie asked following Duncan up the stairs.

"I run every morning. Is that a yes on breakfast?"

Richie paused and began fishing through his pockets. After half a minute, he produced less than a dollar. "Uh, I guess not. Thanks for the offer though."

Duncan frowned; his gut told him that Richie didn't get to eat much. "I'll tell you what. You dust for breakfast."

Richie looked skeptical. "That's it?"

"It's a big store," Duncan shrugged.

"Okay," he consented. "Deal."

"Okay, give me a couple minutes to get cleaned up."

"Take your time," Richie shrugged slowly lowering himself onto the couch.

"Are you okay?" Duncan asked.

"Just a little sore."

"You want some aspirin?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Duncan wasn't convinced. "Okay, I'll be back in a minute." He pretended to go down the hall but paused and watched Richie gently push up his sleeve and examine the bruises spotting his arms. Duncan frowned and decided not to give the boy anything too strenuous to do.

. . . . . .

"Get whatever you want," Duncan told Richie as the boy's eyes darted around the menu. "As long as you can eat it, you can get it."

"That'd be a hell of a bill," Richie laughed.

"I can see," Duncan looked the boy up and down. Even through the sweatshirt he could tell the boy was dangerously underfed. The waitress came by.

"You know what you want?" she smiled.

"Yes, spinach and mushroom omelet and bacon," Duncan answered.

"To drink?"

"Coffee."

"You?" She turned to Richie.

"Anything I want?" he asked Duncan.

"Anything you want."

"You're a witness," he told the waitress. "He said it."

"What do you want, sweetie?"

"Pancakes...with blueberries," he started.

"How many?"

Richie cast a glance at Duncan. "Five?" When Duncan didn't protest he continued. "Bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, two eggs... scrambled, and... an English muffin," he finished.

The waitress raised her eyebrows at Duncan who gave her a slight nod. "To drink?"

"Orange juice," Richie answered with a grin. He liked not being told what to order. "A big one."

Duncan watched as Richie stuffed the last of his pancakes into his mouth even as he still chewed the food already packed in his cheeks. "You must have quite a metabolism," he commented.

"A what?"

"Metabolism."

"Is that bad?" Richie asked finally swallowing and reaching for the ketchup and tobasco sauce.

"It just means you don't have to exercise a lot to keep your weight down," he explained. He had almost said to stay fit, but he doubted the boy was in any way physically fit.

"Well, I do walk around a lot," Richie commented drowning his hashbrowns in ketchup. "Does that count?" He squirted tobasco on them.

"That's probably part of it... Has anyone ever told you that you eat like a trucker?" Richie grinned and shook his head. "You do."

"Sorry." Richie's eyes scanned Duncan's plate. "How can you eat that?"

"What?"

Richie made a face. "Spinach."

"It's good for you."

"It's gross."

"Have you ever had it?" Duncan asked with a grin.

"No."

"Then maybe you should try it before you form your opinion." He pushed his plate towards Richie.

Slowly Richie reached over and cut a piece off the end and ate it. "That's not half bad," he commented in genuine surprise before he went back to the rest of his food. When he was finished, he eyed the last of Duncan's omelet.

"Do you want the rest?" Duncan offered. "I'm not going to finish it."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, it's all yours."

"Thanks," he chirped happily accepting the plate.

Once Richie finished, they went back to the store and Duncan put him to work dusting and sweeping. Richie seemed surprised when he invited him up for lunch. After lunch, Richie "helped" Duncan with some paperwork. He was more of a hindrance than anything, but judging by the boy's stiff movements and the bruises he saw before, Duncan wasn't about to send him home before he had to. So around seven when Richie started to wonder where he was going to go until ten o'clock, Duncan rushed for a way to keep him there.

"When's your curfew?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Ten," Richie shrugged.

"How about you go get a movie," Duncan suggested handing Richie ten dollars. "And I'll order a pizza for dinner?"

Richie grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Pick whatever you want. You should have enough for popcorn, too, if you want."

"Cool," Richie grinned again and headed for the door.

"What do you like on your pizza?" Duncan called after him.

"Anything!"

"Anchovies?" Duncan offered with a grin.

"Sure!" came the serious reply.

Duncan ordered a large black olive, mushroom, onion and tomato pizza and decided to make Richie eat a salad before he could have any. Richie returned fifteen minutes later with "The Terminator," popcorn and Junior Mints.

"Here," he tried to hand Duncan his change.

"Keep it, it's a tip."

He made a confused face but made no argument as he pocketed the $3.56. "Thanks."

They started the movie when the pizza came and to Duncan's surprise, Richie plowed through two salads before he even looked at the pizza. His body must have been craving some real nutrition. By the time the end credits started, there was just enough time to drive Richie home by curfew. Duncan pulled to a stop in font of the apartment building.

"If you're not doing anything tomorrow, I could use your help at the store."

"Maybe," Richie shrugged.

"I'll make it worth your while. How does twenty bucks plus meals and a movie sound?"

The boy grinned. "What time?"

"10:30."

"I'll be there." Richie got out of the car and ran into the building.

Luckily, Jonathan wasn't home so he slipped in, took the dog out, cleaned up the mess Max had made and was sitting quietly in his room when Jonathan got back.

There was a knock at Richie's bedroom door.

"Come in, Amy." Amy was the only person who ever knocked. Jonathan just barged in.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You didn't come home last night."

"I went to this guy's place. I'm fine."

"Okay. As long as nothing happened to you."

"Is Jonathan here?" Richie asked.

"He will be in a few minutes, he's parking the car."

Richie sighed. "Great."

Amy gave him a reassuring smile and put her hand on his cheek. "Just keep quiet. He'll leave you alone tonight. It's our anniversary."

"Why do you go out with him, Amy? You deserve a lot better."

"When you're in love, you'll understand."

##Present 1994##

The next morning, Richie stumbled down the stairs in the loft just in time to make some toast to eat on his way down to the dojo. Duncan was already down stairs working out.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"So that's a no."

"Mac, leave me alone." Richie shut himself in the office.

"What's wrong with the kid?" Charlie asked, coming up behind Duncan.

"He didn't sleep well."

Two hours later, Richie was still in the office having refused to speak to anyone. Finally, Duncan went in.

"I don't wanna talk," Richie said not looking up from the computer.

"I wasn't going to ask. I was just wondering how you were doing on the accounts."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I have no idea."

"Want me to look it over?" Duncan asked.

"I doubt it makes any sense. Mac, I can't think straight. I've gone over the same deposits eight times. I came up with eight different totals."

"You seem a little tired."

"I don't think I slept at all."

"Why don't we take the day off? We can just go somewhere and relax," Duncan suggested. "How does that sound?"

"I'm not feeling very social right now, Mac."

"Then you take a day off. Just go upstairs and sleep, or go out, just get your mind off this."

"Okay," Richie consented. "Thanks."

"Just go take some time to get yourself together. If you're up for it, we can go get some dinner tonight."

"Maybe."

Duncan took Richie's seat at the computer and tried to make sense out of what he had been doing.

"Hey, Rich, how about that rematch?" Charlie offered as Richie passed him on the way to the elevator.

"No, thanks, man, I'm not really in the mood."

"You seem like you need it, though."

"I'm fine, Charlie."

"You sure don't look it."

"Look, it's personal." Richie glanced at Duncan sitting in the office. "It's nothing that won't be handled."

"You and MacLeod having problems?"

"It's nothing, Charlie. See you around."

"Sure... see ya." Charlie went into the office. "What's going on?"

"I already told you, Charlie, he's just tired. I gave him the day off."

"He just seems flustered."

"He's fine. Just leave him alone."

"It just seems like he's hiding something."

"It's none of your business."

Richie called around six to say that he was out of town and wouldn't be able to meet for dinner. He came home just before nine that night.

"Did you get your head cleared?" Duncan asked him.

"Not really. Everywhere I went reminded me of it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I went back to the apartments..."

"Why did you go there, Richie?" Duncan asked pouring them both a glass of wine.

"That's just where I ended up."

"No wonder it didn't work."

"It's not like I stayed there all day." He took the offered drink.

"Where else did you go?"

"The park. Then I just got on the highway and went east until it got dark, then I turned around." Duncan nodded silently, knowing more was about to come out. "I'm just so mad. They said five years, Mac."

"Parole after three," Duncan reminded him.

"It's barely been two."

"Sit down." He gestured to the couch. "Things don't always happen as they should, Rich. And there's nothing we can do about it."

"I know, I know, it's just... I don't know."

"You don't feel like its fair?" Duncan supplied.

"After everything he did to me? No. No, it's not fair."

"And part of you is angry and part of you is scared."

"Yeah."

"And you don't know how you're supposed to feel."

"No."

"I'm sorry, Rich. But you just have to figure this all out on your own. There's nothing anyone can do to help you."

Richie paused to think about it. "I guess not."

"Richie... if I could I would," Duncan told him.

"Do what?"

"Make it all go away, as if it never happened. Tell you how to handle this. Help you."

"Thanks, Mac."

He reached over to squeeze the younger immortal's shoulder. "I am here, though. If there is anything I can do."

"I know. I think I'm just going to turn in, though. I'm not in the mood to be around anybody."

"Alright. Good night, Rich."

"Night, Mac."