My Professor LoriBelle (aka my beta) is out of town and so this is a un-"professionally" betaed chap. But my good friend Richiefic was kind enough to give it a once over (twice) and help me fix any glareing mistakes. Unfortunatly, neither one of us can spell...but it shouldn't be too bad. THANKS RICHIE FIC!!!
##PRESENT 1994##
Jonathan was waiting for him to say something. So, he said the first thing that came to mind:
"You spelled my name wrong."
"What?" Jonathan asked.
"You spelled my name wrong...in the letter. You put a 't' in it. There's no 't' in Richie; it's short for Richard and there's no 't' in that either."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose I wasn't paying attention when I wrote it."
"Guess not." He stepped out Jonathan's reach. "What do you want, anyway?"
Surprisingly, Jonathan blushed and looked away. "This isn't easy to do, kiddo."
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry...is it still Richie?"
"Yeah."
Jonathan took a deep breath and started studying Tessa's sculpture. "I want to apologize to you, Rich."
"Don't call me that, either."
"You don't like 'Rich'?"
"No, my friends call me that."
"Sorry," he said. "I'll try to remember that. But I really do want to apologize for what I did to you."
"That's it?" Richie scoffed. "You just say 'sorry, kiddo' and that makes it all better?"
"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Rich..Richie. I just want you to know how truly bad I feel when I think about I put you through."
"Apology not accepted."
"I understand." Jonathan nodded. "I don't deserve it."
Richie's eyes narrowed. "Don't deserve it? You think you deserve to be able to talk to me in a public place? You think you deserve to be out of prison after two years? You think you deserve to be allowed to walk the same streets as decent people?"
"No, I don't," Jonathan admitted, fingering a rosery hidden away in his pocket.
"You think you deserve the opportunity to start over as if you aren't the biggest ass hole on the face of the planet?"
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Richie," he said, reaching out and playing with one of the screws that attached the sculpture to its base.
"No," Richie insisted. "Don't touch that!" he added, slapping Jonathan's hand away from Tessa's sculpture.
"What'd I do? It's just a sculpture."
"You wouldn't say that if you knew the woman who created that and you were the one who helped her with it," Richie snapped.
"I'm sorry."
"Shut up. Just go away." Richie turned his back.
"I have something I want to give you," Jonathan said, taking something out of his jacket pocket.
##PAST 1992##
"Roll over," Dr. Murphy said taking a pair of sterile rubber gloves out of his jacket pocket.
Richie lay quietly on his stomach while the doctor inspected his healing bruises. He had been confined to his bed in the infirmary for the past ten days. It had been incredibly boring. Every now and then someone would come in to check on him, but for the most part he was left to himself to "heal in the peace and quiet" as the resident nurse put it. He had read four books and over twelve magazines in the peace and quiet. The only time he got any company was when Tamara came to visit him every three days. She was nice enough, and could tell him the important things like who won the ball game last night, but Richie was really beginning to miss Duncan and even Tessa.
He knew they were telling the truth when they told him they wanted to take him home. And he knew that a month and a few days was not enough time to get approved to become foster parents. He had spent a few hours wondering what it would be like to live with them. He'd get some attention that didn't involve yelling and hitting. Maybe a lecture or two when he did something wrong, but neither one of them seemed like the physical punishment type. Duncan was a great cook. Richie was sure he could grow those last few inches people were always promising him if he got to eat the meals Duncan always made.
Tessa seemed like a really nice person, too. She was a waste of mother potential. A woman like her needed a kid to look after. She seemed a bit snobby at first, but once you got to know her you could see she was just classy and not used to anything but the classiest. She was gentle, but blunt, beautiful, but natural, comforting, but demanding. She was the woman Richie had always wanted to move in with. The type he wanted to marry. He had caught himself getting a bit too excited more than once while day dreaming about her.
But, hormonal teenage fantasies aside, Tessa and Duncan were the kind of placement he had always dreamed of. They were that perfect balance between friends and parents. Richie didn't mind it when Duncan told him what to do or corrected his language. He was nice about it. And they both knew how to make a stupid teenager feel like his opinion, thoughts, ideas and feelings mattered.
"Richard? Did you hear what Dr. Murphy said?" Mrs. Higgins, the orphanage administrator asked.
"Um, no."
"I said," the gray haired doctor repeated with a kind smile. "That you are healing very nicely. And much more quickly than I would have expected after seeing you that first day. I think you'll be ready to move into a foster home by the end of the week."
"Great," Richie said less than enthusiastically.
"Oh, you'll do just fine. But in case anything goes wrong I'll make sure your foster parents have my number on hand."
"Okay."
"Thank you, Dr. Murphy," Mrs. Higgins said, shaking his hand. "You've taken great care of him. And I'll put your number in his pertinent information file before I give it to the MacCaffries."
"Who are they?" Richie asked.
"They're who you'll be moving in with this Thursday."
"Where do they live?"
"We'll get into that later, Richard. Right now I have to see Dr. Murphy out and check on the other kids."
"Right." Richie rolled back over onto his back. He was getting brushed off...again. It wasn't as if his injuries were life threatening, but it would have been nice to have someone tell him what they hell they had planned for him on Thursday.
He was surprised to hear the door on the far side of the room open so soon after Mrs. Higgins and Dr. Murphy had left.
"Richie?" Tamara asked softly. "Are you awake?"
"Of course, its day time." Richie pushed himself up and leaned against the wall. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow."
"Well, I thought I should tell you as soon as possible about the good news."
"What good news?"
"I got a call today that you are going to be moved to a new foster home on Thursday."
"That's good news?"
Tamara smiled and pulled a chair up next to his bed. "I just came from the MacCaffries, Richie. I really think you're going to like it there."
"Where is it?"
"They live in a big house not very far from the beach. And they have a huge backyard with plenty of room to play ball and there's a hoop on the garage. It's even regulation height."
"Wahoo," he droned.
"There are plenty of boys there to play with. And they were really happy to hear that you like sports because with you there they will have enough to play four on four."
"Four on four?" Richie repeated. "There are seven other people in that house?"
"No, there are nine other people in that house. Seven of which are teenage boys who are looking forward to getting an eighth."
"They're putting me in a home with seven other kids?" Richie asked.
"Richie, the MacCaffries will be perfect for you. They specialize in teenage boys who need...special attention. Once they heard what was happening they jumped at the chance to take you."
"You told them?"
"Just Mr. and Mrs. MacCaffrie. The boys have no idea."
"How could you tell them?"
"Richie, one of them will have to be with you in court at all times."
"Aren't you supposed to be there?"
"I will be there when I can," she promised. "But I have other children I have to check in on. That's why this will be the perfect placement for you. He's a surgeon and she's a stay at home mom. She can stay with you in court and he'll be home not long after the boys get home from school."
"Don't you think the boys will figure it out?" Richie asked. "I mean, if they're mom is always with me and we're always off somewhere and not telling them where we're going."
"These boys might figure it out. But they will defiantly understand and respect your privacy."
"How do you know?"
"Because they're all just like you."
"What do you mean?" Richie asked.
"I can't tell you what happened to who, but I can tell you that the majority of them have experienced some sort of abuse in their past. You'll have plenty of sympathetic ears if you want to talk about it and plenty of people who understand if you don't."
"If you're telling me all about them, how can I believe that you didn't tell them all about me?"
"Because unless they tell you, save Malcolm who's their biological son, you won't be able to tell who was and who wasn't. They are all well behaved, well adjusted, normal boys. And a few months with them and you will be too. The MacCaffries are a very understanding, loving, and patient couple. They're exactly what you need."
"You've only known me a week, how do you know what I need?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"I've known you long enough to know that you don't like being treated like a child, you have a bit of a temper, you close yourself off, but when you get under the tough exterior you are a really nice, sweet boy."
"You figured all that out by just talking to me a few hours?" Richie asked.
"Well, I did have some help," Tamara admitted.
"Who?"
"Mr. MacLeod and Ms. Noel."
"You've talked to them?" Richie asked.
"Would you like to?"
"I don't think they want to talk to me," Richie mumbled picking at his blanket. "Not after the way I acted last time I saw them."
"Really? Then why would they be waiting outside to talk to you?" Tamara asked with a smile.
"They're here?" Richie perked up considerably.
"They've been wanting to check on you. Do you think it would be okay if I let them come in?"
"Yeah!"
A few minutes later Duncan and Tessa were by his side and Tamara promised to be right outside the door if they needed anything.
"How are you doing?" Tessa asked.
"I'm okay," Richie answered, suddenly getting very shy.
"You look at lot better," Duncan told him.
'Thanks."
"I hear you've started a bit of a growth spurt," he continued. "Half an inch since we last saw you?"
Richie smiled and blushed. "Almost."
"I think you have a good three inches left in you," Duncan told him, noting the boy's embarrassed pleasure at the attention.
"Why does everybody keep saying that?"
"Have you seen your feet, Rich? They're huge," he teased.
"It's not my fault," Richie protested.
Tessa smiled. "No. But boys are like puppies; they have to grow into their feet. And you could probably wear Duncan's shoes. So, you're going to be around his height."
"Is that really how it works?"
Duncan grinned at him. "Why do you think teenage boys are so klutzy? They're all feet."
"Can we change the subject?" Richie asked. "I don't know how much longer I can talk about my feet without feeling like an idiot."
"Okay. What do you want to talk about?" Tessa asked, impulsively straightening his covers.
"You aren't mad at me, are you?" he asked shyly. "I mean, after what I did at the police station..."
"Should we be mad?" she asked.
"I would be. I was a total jerk. Just because I couldn't get my way I acted like a total baby."
"Richie, you were under a lot of stress," Tessa told him. "You had to take it out on someone."
"We know you didn't mean it, Rich," Duncan added. "You were stressed, tired, and scared. Sometimes our emotions get the best of us." He put his hand on Richie's knee. "I can't tell you how many times I've said or done things I regretted because I was under pressure."
"Richie, are you okay? Do you want us to call the nurse?" Tessa asked when she noticed Richie was crying. "Are you hurt?"
"No," he sniffed. "It's these stupid pills they keep giving me...they make me act funny." The truth was, while his medication did seem to play around with his emotions, he wasn't used to adults not only understanding him but getting down on his level and admitting that they've made the same mistakes. He had been raised in a world of "do as I say, not as I do". This "hey we all make mistakes" stuff was a bit overwhelming at times.
"So, what have to been up to?" Duncan asked looking at the pile of books, magazines and papers on his night stand. "Writing the great American novel?"
"Naw, just reading. The only thing I can do in here."
"Well, you'll be out and about soon enough."
"Thursday."
"What's Thursday?" Tessa asked.
"I'm moving."
"Where?"
"They won't tell me."
##PRESENT 1994##
"Hey!" Richie stepped back. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Relax, Richie. I just wanted to give you this." He pulled out an envelope. "That should cover all the child support checks I never spent on you. And there's a little extra for the birthday and Christmas presents I never gave you."
Richie was at a loss for what to say. So far this meeting had yet to go the slightest bit the way he had expected it. He wasn't even sure what he had been expecting, but an apology and a check were nowhere near the list.
"Hopefully now we're a bit more even."
Richie snatched the envelope out of Jonathan's hand. "Even? You think a few bucks is going to make us even?"
"A little more than we were before. Richie, I know there isn't anything I can do to make this up to you. I made your life hell for almost a year and a half. For no reason other than I couldn't control my anger and addictions. But I'm clean and sober and I plan on continuing to be from here on out."
"Fat lotta good that does me," Richie snapped.
"There's nothing I can do to make this just the slightest bit right for you, is there?"
"Short of going back in time and stopping yourself, no."
"I can't do that."
"Then I guess you can't do anything."
"Tell me how you really feel," Jonathan quipped.
"I don't think you want that," Richie warned him.
. . . . . .
Duncan was surprised to see Richie sitting, quietly on the couch staring at their on going chess game when he got home from Joe's. Richie usually took off for parts unknown when he got upset.
"Rich? You okay?" Duncan asked.
"I guess," he mumbled.
"How did it go?"
"I'm surprised you weren't hiding in the bushes somewhere."
"Joe talked me out of it."
Richie cracked a smile. "Figures."
"What happened? Did you get to tell him off?"
"Yup."
"What did you tell him?"
"That his decaying carcass wasn't fit to be eaten by starving sewer rats in a third world country," Richie reported.
"Are you serious?"
"Practically word for word."
"What did he say to that?" Duncan sat down next him on the couch.
"He agreed with me...stupid jerk."
Duncan had heard the extent of Richie's explicit vocabulary. 'Stupid jerk' was not what he had expected to hear when Richie talked about Jonathan Cooper.
"He agreed with you?"
"It was so weird, Mac. He agreed with every rotten thing I said about him. He said he didn't deserve for me to forgive him."
"Well, for the first time I agree with him," Duncan said. "He doesn't deserve much of anything as far as I'm concerned."
"Him too!" Richie blurted. "It was awful! I had all these things planned out to tell him. I was gonna finally tell him off and really let him have it. But he made it impossible."
"How?"
"Because he just sat there and agreed with everything! He was like this perfect, calm....stupid jerk! I knew I was mad at him and I still am, it was just hard to tell him when he was just standing there taking it."
"What did you want him to do, Rich? Get mad and start hitting you?"
"I'm just saying it would have been easier if he had... if he hadn't... I don't know. I'm so confused. I know Jonathan Cooper. I lived with him for sixteen months. That wasn't him!"
"So he really did change?" Duncan asked.
"He was...nice," Richie said in disgust.
"Well, are you really surprised?"
"Wadaya mean?"
"Where did they send him?"
"What?"
"What prison did they send him to?" Duncan prompted.
"The state pen in Cliffston. You know that."
"I also know it is on the top ten list for the most violent prisons in the country."
"So? He deserved it," Richie insisted.
"Look at the statistics, Rich. Who gets attacked most frequently in prisons?"
"The cute blondes... at least that's what everyone always told me."
"Okay, I'll give you that," Duncan said. "But I mean violently."
Richie thought about it. "You got me," he shrugged.
"The ones who hurt kids."
"How do you figure?"
"It's a statistic, Richie."
"You're telling me in a building full of murderers, rapists and psychos they gang up on the guy who beat up his kid?"
"I think it makes perfect sense," Duncan said as he got up and headed to the kitchen.
"You gonna let me in on your line of logic?" Richie got up and followed him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools.
"How many people in prison do you think were beaten up by their parents at some time?" He searched the refrigerator for something to make for dinner.
Richie shrugged. "Majority, I guess."
"And how happy do you think they are to give an innocent kid some prison yard justice for something their own parents got away with?" He opened up the freezer.
"They get their personal revenge by avenging a stranger?"
"Exactly." There was no food in the loft. "Do you want to go out and get some dinner?"
Richie grinned. "Check the script, Mac. That's my line."
Duncan chuckled. "We can still talk about Jonathan if you have more to say. I'm not trying to shut you up."
"Sure you aren't."
"I just haven't eaten all day. I've been too anxious."
Richie got up off his stool and headed to the coat rack. "I was the one who had to meet him."
"I was the one with no idea what was happening while you were gone." Duncan put on his coat.
"You're such a mother, MacLeod."
"I'm sorry if I worry about you sometimes," Duncan said. "But I think I've earned the right to."
"There's one more thing, Mac," Richie said, as Duncan opened the lift grate.
"What?"
"This." He handed him the envelope.
Duncan quirked an eyebrow, then opened it up. "Rich... this is a cashier's check for almost eight thousand dollars."
"I know."
"Where did you get this?"
"Jonathan. It's back child support."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know."
##PAST 1992##
Richie hated not knowing what was happening to him. That was the worst part of being a foster child. You got moved to new homes with little to no warning. And you never knew where you were going until you got there. Richie watched out the window as the nondescript government issue sedan drove him to his new foster home.
This was defiantly a much nicer part of town than they usually took him to. There were houses instead of dilapidated apartment buildings, huge green lawns separated the houses, and there were kids out in the streets playing ball and rollerblading.
"I'm going to live here?" Richie asked as the car pulled to a stop in front of a large, red brick near mansion.
"Until the trial is over," Tamara told him helping him get his bag out of the trunk.
"Do I have to?"
"I promise, Richie, you'll like it here." Tamara smoothed back a stray curl from Richie's face.
"What if they don't like me?"
"Just be yourself and you'll fit in like perfectly. Are you ready?" Richie nodded. "Okay. Time to meet your new parents." Tamara rang the door bell.
##PRESENT 1994##
Jonathan was waiting for him to say something. So, he said the first thing that came to mind:
"You spelled my name wrong."
"What?" Jonathan asked.
"You spelled my name wrong...in the letter. You put a 't' in it. There's no 't' in Richie; it's short for Richard and there's no 't' in that either."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose I wasn't paying attention when I wrote it."
"Guess not." He stepped out Jonathan's reach. "What do you want, anyway?"
Surprisingly, Jonathan blushed and looked away. "This isn't easy to do, kiddo."
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry...is it still Richie?"
"Yeah."
Jonathan took a deep breath and started studying Tessa's sculpture. "I want to apologize to you, Rich."
"Don't call me that, either."
"You don't like 'Rich'?"
"No, my friends call me that."
"Sorry," he said. "I'll try to remember that. But I really do want to apologize for what I did to you."
"That's it?" Richie scoffed. "You just say 'sorry, kiddo' and that makes it all better?"
"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Rich..Richie. I just want you to know how truly bad I feel when I think about I put you through."
"Apology not accepted."
"I understand." Jonathan nodded. "I don't deserve it."
Richie's eyes narrowed. "Don't deserve it? You think you deserve to be able to talk to me in a public place? You think you deserve to be out of prison after two years? You think you deserve to be allowed to walk the same streets as decent people?"
"No, I don't," Jonathan admitted, fingering a rosery hidden away in his pocket.
"You think you deserve the opportunity to start over as if you aren't the biggest ass hole on the face of the planet?"
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Richie," he said, reaching out and playing with one of the screws that attached the sculpture to its base.
"No," Richie insisted. "Don't touch that!" he added, slapping Jonathan's hand away from Tessa's sculpture.
"What'd I do? It's just a sculpture."
"You wouldn't say that if you knew the woman who created that and you were the one who helped her with it," Richie snapped.
"I'm sorry."
"Shut up. Just go away." Richie turned his back.
"I have something I want to give you," Jonathan said, taking something out of his jacket pocket.
##PAST 1992##
"Roll over," Dr. Murphy said taking a pair of sterile rubber gloves out of his jacket pocket.
Richie lay quietly on his stomach while the doctor inspected his healing bruises. He had been confined to his bed in the infirmary for the past ten days. It had been incredibly boring. Every now and then someone would come in to check on him, but for the most part he was left to himself to "heal in the peace and quiet" as the resident nurse put it. He had read four books and over twelve magazines in the peace and quiet. The only time he got any company was when Tamara came to visit him every three days. She was nice enough, and could tell him the important things like who won the ball game last night, but Richie was really beginning to miss Duncan and even Tessa.
He knew they were telling the truth when they told him they wanted to take him home. And he knew that a month and a few days was not enough time to get approved to become foster parents. He had spent a few hours wondering what it would be like to live with them. He'd get some attention that didn't involve yelling and hitting. Maybe a lecture or two when he did something wrong, but neither one of them seemed like the physical punishment type. Duncan was a great cook. Richie was sure he could grow those last few inches people were always promising him if he got to eat the meals Duncan always made.
Tessa seemed like a really nice person, too. She was a waste of mother potential. A woman like her needed a kid to look after. She seemed a bit snobby at first, but once you got to know her you could see she was just classy and not used to anything but the classiest. She was gentle, but blunt, beautiful, but natural, comforting, but demanding. She was the woman Richie had always wanted to move in with. The type he wanted to marry. He had caught himself getting a bit too excited more than once while day dreaming about her.
But, hormonal teenage fantasies aside, Tessa and Duncan were the kind of placement he had always dreamed of. They were that perfect balance between friends and parents. Richie didn't mind it when Duncan told him what to do or corrected his language. He was nice about it. And they both knew how to make a stupid teenager feel like his opinion, thoughts, ideas and feelings mattered.
"Richard? Did you hear what Dr. Murphy said?" Mrs. Higgins, the orphanage administrator asked.
"Um, no."
"I said," the gray haired doctor repeated with a kind smile. "That you are healing very nicely. And much more quickly than I would have expected after seeing you that first day. I think you'll be ready to move into a foster home by the end of the week."
"Great," Richie said less than enthusiastically.
"Oh, you'll do just fine. But in case anything goes wrong I'll make sure your foster parents have my number on hand."
"Okay."
"Thank you, Dr. Murphy," Mrs. Higgins said, shaking his hand. "You've taken great care of him. And I'll put your number in his pertinent information file before I give it to the MacCaffries."
"Who are they?" Richie asked.
"They're who you'll be moving in with this Thursday."
"Where do they live?"
"We'll get into that later, Richard. Right now I have to see Dr. Murphy out and check on the other kids."
"Right." Richie rolled back over onto his back. He was getting brushed off...again. It wasn't as if his injuries were life threatening, but it would have been nice to have someone tell him what they hell they had planned for him on Thursday.
He was surprised to hear the door on the far side of the room open so soon after Mrs. Higgins and Dr. Murphy had left.
"Richie?" Tamara asked softly. "Are you awake?"
"Of course, its day time." Richie pushed himself up and leaned against the wall. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow."
"Well, I thought I should tell you as soon as possible about the good news."
"What good news?"
"I got a call today that you are going to be moved to a new foster home on Thursday."
"That's good news?"
Tamara smiled and pulled a chair up next to his bed. "I just came from the MacCaffries, Richie. I really think you're going to like it there."
"Where is it?"
"They live in a big house not very far from the beach. And they have a huge backyard with plenty of room to play ball and there's a hoop on the garage. It's even regulation height."
"Wahoo," he droned.
"There are plenty of boys there to play with. And they were really happy to hear that you like sports because with you there they will have enough to play four on four."
"Four on four?" Richie repeated. "There are seven other people in that house?"
"No, there are nine other people in that house. Seven of which are teenage boys who are looking forward to getting an eighth."
"They're putting me in a home with seven other kids?" Richie asked.
"Richie, the MacCaffries will be perfect for you. They specialize in teenage boys who need...special attention. Once they heard what was happening they jumped at the chance to take you."
"You told them?"
"Just Mr. and Mrs. MacCaffrie. The boys have no idea."
"How could you tell them?"
"Richie, one of them will have to be with you in court at all times."
"Aren't you supposed to be there?"
"I will be there when I can," she promised. "But I have other children I have to check in on. That's why this will be the perfect placement for you. He's a surgeon and she's a stay at home mom. She can stay with you in court and he'll be home not long after the boys get home from school."
"Don't you think the boys will figure it out?" Richie asked. "I mean, if they're mom is always with me and we're always off somewhere and not telling them where we're going."
"These boys might figure it out. But they will defiantly understand and respect your privacy."
"How do you know?"
"Because they're all just like you."
"What do you mean?" Richie asked.
"I can't tell you what happened to who, but I can tell you that the majority of them have experienced some sort of abuse in their past. You'll have plenty of sympathetic ears if you want to talk about it and plenty of people who understand if you don't."
"If you're telling me all about them, how can I believe that you didn't tell them all about me?"
"Because unless they tell you, save Malcolm who's their biological son, you won't be able to tell who was and who wasn't. They are all well behaved, well adjusted, normal boys. And a few months with them and you will be too. The MacCaffries are a very understanding, loving, and patient couple. They're exactly what you need."
"You've only known me a week, how do you know what I need?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"I've known you long enough to know that you don't like being treated like a child, you have a bit of a temper, you close yourself off, but when you get under the tough exterior you are a really nice, sweet boy."
"You figured all that out by just talking to me a few hours?" Richie asked.
"Well, I did have some help," Tamara admitted.
"Who?"
"Mr. MacLeod and Ms. Noel."
"You've talked to them?" Richie asked.
"Would you like to?"
"I don't think they want to talk to me," Richie mumbled picking at his blanket. "Not after the way I acted last time I saw them."
"Really? Then why would they be waiting outside to talk to you?" Tamara asked with a smile.
"They're here?" Richie perked up considerably.
"They've been wanting to check on you. Do you think it would be okay if I let them come in?"
"Yeah!"
A few minutes later Duncan and Tessa were by his side and Tamara promised to be right outside the door if they needed anything.
"How are you doing?" Tessa asked.
"I'm okay," Richie answered, suddenly getting very shy.
"You look at lot better," Duncan told him.
'Thanks."
"I hear you've started a bit of a growth spurt," he continued. "Half an inch since we last saw you?"
Richie smiled and blushed. "Almost."
"I think you have a good three inches left in you," Duncan told him, noting the boy's embarrassed pleasure at the attention.
"Why does everybody keep saying that?"
"Have you seen your feet, Rich? They're huge," he teased.
"It's not my fault," Richie protested.
Tessa smiled. "No. But boys are like puppies; they have to grow into their feet. And you could probably wear Duncan's shoes. So, you're going to be around his height."
"Is that really how it works?"
Duncan grinned at him. "Why do you think teenage boys are so klutzy? They're all feet."
"Can we change the subject?" Richie asked. "I don't know how much longer I can talk about my feet without feeling like an idiot."
"Okay. What do you want to talk about?" Tessa asked, impulsively straightening his covers.
"You aren't mad at me, are you?" he asked shyly. "I mean, after what I did at the police station..."
"Should we be mad?" she asked.
"I would be. I was a total jerk. Just because I couldn't get my way I acted like a total baby."
"Richie, you were under a lot of stress," Tessa told him. "You had to take it out on someone."
"We know you didn't mean it, Rich," Duncan added. "You were stressed, tired, and scared. Sometimes our emotions get the best of us." He put his hand on Richie's knee. "I can't tell you how many times I've said or done things I regretted because I was under pressure."
"Richie, are you okay? Do you want us to call the nurse?" Tessa asked when she noticed Richie was crying. "Are you hurt?"
"No," he sniffed. "It's these stupid pills they keep giving me...they make me act funny." The truth was, while his medication did seem to play around with his emotions, he wasn't used to adults not only understanding him but getting down on his level and admitting that they've made the same mistakes. He had been raised in a world of "do as I say, not as I do". This "hey we all make mistakes" stuff was a bit overwhelming at times.
"So, what have to been up to?" Duncan asked looking at the pile of books, magazines and papers on his night stand. "Writing the great American novel?"
"Naw, just reading. The only thing I can do in here."
"Well, you'll be out and about soon enough."
"Thursday."
"What's Thursday?" Tessa asked.
"I'm moving."
"Where?"
"They won't tell me."
##PRESENT 1994##
"Hey!" Richie stepped back. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Relax, Richie. I just wanted to give you this." He pulled out an envelope. "That should cover all the child support checks I never spent on you. And there's a little extra for the birthday and Christmas presents I never gave you."
Richie was at a loss for what to say. So far this meeting had yet to go the slightest bit the way he had expected it. He wasn't even sure what he had been expecting, but an apology and a check were nowhere near the list.
"Hopefully now we're a bit more even."
Richie snatched the envelope out of Jonathan's hand. "Even? You think a few bucks is going to make us even?"
"A little more than we were before. Richie, I know there isn't anything I can do to make this up to you. I made your life hell for almost a year and a half. For no reason other than I couldn't control my anger and addictions. But I'm clean and sober and I plan on continuing to be from here on out."
"Fat lotta good that does me," Richie snapped.
"There's nothing I can do to make this just the slightest bit right for you, is there?"
"Short of going back in time and stopping yourself, no."
"I can't do that."
"Then I guess you can't do anything."
"Tell me how you really feel," Jonathan quipped.
"I don't think you want that," Richie warned him.
. . . . . .
Duncan was surprised to see Richie sitting, quietly on the couch staring at their on going chess game when he got home from Joe's. Richie usually took off for parts unknown when he got upset.
"Rich? You okay?" Duncan asked.
"I guess," he mumbled.
"How did it go?"
"I'm surprised you weren't hiding in the bushes somewhere."
"Joe talked me out of it."
Richie cracked a smile. "Figures."
"What happened? Did you get to tell him off?"
"Yup."
"What did you tell him?"
"That his decaying carcass wasn't fit to be eaten by starving sewer rats in a third world country," Richie reported.
"Are you serious?"
"Practically word for word."
"What did he say to that?" Duncan sat down next him on the couch.
"He agreed with me...stupid jerk."
Duncan had heard the extent of Richie's explicit vocabulary. 'Stupid jerk' was not what he had expected to hear when Richie talked about Jonathan Cooper.
"He agreed with you?"
"It was so weird, Mac. He agreed with every rotten thing I said about him. He said he didn't deserve for me to forgive him."
"Well, for the first time I agree with him," Duncan said. "He doesn't deserve much of anything as far as I'm concerned."
"Him too!" Richie blurted. "It was awful! I had all these things planned out to tell him. I was gonna finally tell him off and really let him have it. But he made it impossible."
"How?"
"Because he just sat there and agreed with everything! He was like this perfect, calm....stupid jerk! I knew I was mad at him and I still am, it was just hard to tell him when he was just standing there taking it."
"What did you want him to do, Rich? Get mad and start hitting you?"
"I'm just saying it would have been easier if he had... if he hadn't... I don't know. I'm so confused. I know Jonathan Cooper. I lived with him for sixteen months. That wasn't him!"
"So he really did change?" Duncan asked.
"He was...nice," Richie said in disgust.
"Well, are you really surprised?"
"Wadaya mean?"
"Where did they send him?"
"What?"
"What prison did they send him to?" Duncan prompted.
"The state pen in Cliffston. You know that."
"I also know it is on the top ten list for the most violent prisons in the country."
"So? He deserved it," Richie insisted.
"Look at the statistics, Rich. Who gets attacked most frequently in prisons?"
"The cute blondes... at least that's what everyone always told me."
"Okay, I'll give you that," Duncan said. "But I mean violently."
Richie thought about it. "You got me," he shrugged.
"The ones who hurt kids."
"How do you figure?"
"It's a statistic, Richie."
"You're telling me in a building full of murderers, rapists and psychos they gang up on the guy who beat up his kid?"
"I think it makes perfect sense," Duncan said as he got up and headed to the kitchen.
"You gonna let me in on your line of logic?" Richie got up and followed him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools.
"How many people in prison do you think were beaten up by their parents at some time?" He searched the refrigerator for something to make for dinner.
Richie shrugged. "Majority, I guess."
"And how happy do you think they are to give an innocent kid some prison yard justice for something their own parents got away with?" He opened up the freezer.
"They get their personal revenge by avenging a stranger?"
"Exactly." There was no food in the loft. "Do you want to go out and get some dinner?"
Richie grinned. "Check the script, Mac. That's my line."
Duncan chuckled. "We can still talk about Jonathan if you have more to say. I'm not trying to shut you up."
"Sure you aren't."
"I just haven't eaten all day. I've been too anxious."
Richie got up off his stool and headed to the coat rack. "I was the one who had to meet him."
"I was the one with no idea what was happening while you were gone." Duncan put on his coat.
"You're such a mother, MacLeod."
"I'm sorry if I worry about you sometimes," Duncan said. "But I think I've earned the right to."
"There's one more thing, Mac," Richie said, as Duncan opened the lift grate.
"What?"
"This." He handed him the envelope.
Duncan quirked an eyebrow, then opened it up. "Rich... this is a cashier's check for almost eight thousand dollars."
"I know."
"Where did you get this?"
"Jonathan. It's back child support."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know."
##PAST 1992##
Richie hated not knowing what was happening to him. That was the worst part of being a foster child. You got moved to new homes with little to no warning. And you never knew where you were going until you got there. Richie watched out the window as the nondescript government issue sedan drove him to his new foster home.
This was defiantly a much nicer part of town than they usually took him to. There were houses instead of dilapidated apartment buildings, huge green lawns separated the houses, and there were kids out in the streets playing ball and rollerblading.
"I'm going to live here?" Richie asked as the car pulled to a stop in front of a large, red brick near mansion.
"Until the trial is over," Tamara told him helping him get his bag out of the trunk.
"Do I have to?"
"I promise, Richie, you'll like it here." Tamara smoothed back a stray curl from Richie's face.
"What if they don't like me?"
"Just be yourself and you'll fit in like perfectly. Are you ready?" Richie nodded. "Okay. Time to meet your new parents." Tamara rang the door bell.