AN – Thanks for the reviews, to Yellowvalley, don't worry, this is not a death fic, to daughter1, a few people have commented that they thought the story was about something else when they read the title, as Neoinean has commented its not really a future fic either, hey, I just needed Richie to get sick and when you are Immortal a cold just won't do – so if anyone has any better ideas for a title I'm open to suggestions, please, to Supernatural Chick, glad you are enjoying, and to Ivy3, I aim to please, so this chapter is much longer.

!!!

Present Time.

When Macleod didn't reply Richie levered himself up onto his elbows, trying to ignore the twinges of pain and nausea that the action caused, as he focused on his friend and mentor.

"C'mon Mac, what gives?"

"Stop that," Duncan's large hand landed on his chest, gently settling him back down. "You need to save your strength."

Alright, so who was he kidding? Richie mused, letting himself be pushed back down, Mac was also his Dad and this was exactly the sort of thing guaranteed to snap him into parental mode. It probably didn't help, he realised, that he'd instinctively reverted to talking like a 20th century teenager. Still. He reached out of the blankets and seized the wrist that was tucking them in around him.

"I'll settle down when you tell me what's up, big guy."

It was almost nothing. That slight shadow in his eyes. Anyone could have missed it.

Richie wasn't anyone.

"You're sick," Duncan disengaged his wrist and went back to smoothing the blankets. "You don't think, that's going to worry me?"

That wasn't a lie. Richie knew that. But it also wasn't the whole truth. Mac had been hanging him around too long, he decided. "Yeah, I'm also Immortal. So we both know I'll get through this. So, give."

"Rich," Duncan ran a hand through his matted hair. "Look, the Plague isn't like chicken pox. This is going to be pretty rough, Tough Guy."

Richie paused. There was no doubting the sincerity of that statement. Methos had told him this would be no picnic, but he'd hoped he had been exaggerating. At least a bit. Methos was not known for his optimistic streak. Something of his fear must have shown in his eyes, because Mac reached up and gently ruffled his hair.

"Look Rich, I'm not trying to shut you out here. But let's get you well first. Then we'll talk."

"Did someone die?" He had to know that at least.

"What?" Duncan looked shocked. "No, lad. No one died. I wouldna keep that from you. Its .. look it doesn't change anything. Not really. But its .. complicated. I need to be sure you are well enough to understand .."

Richie felt a long forgotten dull, heavy, ache in his chest. Similar to when his foster parents would tell him, we're sorry but .. and the next thing he knew, his home, family and his happiness had been pulled out from under him.

"Did you and Amanda break up?"

"No," Duncan countered quickly. His eyes softened in understanding, as he recalled how hard Richie had worked as matchmaker to get them both to admit their true feelings to each other. He had even enlisted Connor's help to provide Duncan with some straight talking tough love and Methos' skills to manipulate Amanda into being open and honest for once. "We're doing great. More than great, actually .."

Richie's eyes widened.

"So, are you getting married? Mac, that's fabulous. Look, you don't gotta worry about me. Its not like I'm that needy kid anymore. I know how you feel about me. And Amanda's great. Maybe not your typical step-mom material, but I love having her around. It makes me feel like we are a real family. You know, like when .." he stopped. Now, probably wasn't the most tactful time to remind Duncan of his time at the Seacouver Antique Store.

"Richie, we're not getting married," Seeing the disappointment in his lad's eyes Duncan sought to soften the blow. "But I know what you mean. I loved Tessa so much .. I didn't think I could ever be this happy again. And its mostly thanks to you. I can't ever thank you enough for that."

"Yeah, well," Richie shrugged, as well as a person could lying down. "I figured I owed you."

A pause. Then Duncan's tone, more icy than Richie had heard it in a long time. At least, when directed at him.

"What did you say?"

Richie suddenly realised what he had done. Oh shit. Maybe he could blame it on the heat, or the fever. Perhaps he could even convince the exhausted Immortal that he'd just hallucinated the comment. Trouble was, Mac knew him far too well.

"Rich," Duncan sighed. "I thought we settled this a long time ago."

!!!

The past – Paris, November 1993.

It had been almost two weeks since Tessa had been killed. Gunned down in the street. Her life taken in split second. And, Richie beside her. Across the dinner table in the Noel family town house in one of the most fashionable districts of Paris, Duncan cast a worried look at his protégé. To all outward appearances, the lad was doing fine. He had spoken respectfully to Tessa's father, been considerate towards her Mother, and earnt everyone's enduring gratitude by taking charge of Tessa's distraught six year old niece. The sound of her peals of laughter as he played with her helping to sustain the adults.

"Richie," Mme Noel spoke up, the pleasant smile on her lips belying the concern in her eyes. "Would you like a little more of the casserole?"

The lad looked down at his plate. He had cut his food into small pieces and moved it around. But, as far as Duncan could tell, he hadn't eaten more than a few mouthfuls. Not enough to keep a mouse alive. Never mind an active teenager. Even less an Immortal. As he looked up, Duncan could see that he was preparing a polite refusal. Clearly, so could Beatrice Noel, because she spoke up quickly. "I made it specially, Tessa said it was one of your favourities, non?" She smiled.

Duncan discreetly met Henri Noel's eyes in silent admiration as Richie caved and helped himself to another spoonful. This time making a genuine effort to clear some space on his plate, before seeking out Duncan's eyes in a mute appeal. Inwardly, Duncan sighed. It was a fraction of what he would normally have put away and then asked for seconds. But it was an improvement, over what he ha eaten these last few days, so he smiled and gave a quick nod of permission. Gratefully, Richie laid down his fork.

"Please may I be excused?"

"You would not like some dessert?" Tessa's sister Eloise tried to coax. "Its crème brulee. I remember how you like that."

Duncan swallowed hard, caught up in his own memories. What Richie had really liked was making the crème brulee, wielding the miniature blow torch like the evil villain from some comic book or other. He could still hear Tessa's laughter at his antics as the teen kept up a running patter, interrogating each hapless ramekin dish, before toasting the brown sugar topping to a crisp.

"No, thank you. Um. I'm pretty tired. I'd think I'll turn in if that's OK?"

Duncan looked up sharply at the dejected tone in Richie's voice. Only to see the teen staring at him, his face a mask of sorrow and guilt. Inwardly, Duncan swore fervently, knowing that his moment of introspection had been written across his face.

"Of course," Henri put in kindly, flicking Beatrice a quick glance when she opened her mouth to protest. Henri could see that the day had taken its toll on the boy. And the funeral tomorrow would be hard on them all. Not quite able to disguise his relief, Richie stood up and began to say his goodnights, briefly kissing Tessa's mother and sister, shaking hands with her brother in law and, to his evident surprise, receiving a hearty hug, from her father, before turning to look awkwardly at Duncan.

The night Tessa had been killed, Duncan had sat up with Richie, murmuring comfort as the teenager had sobbed in his arms, describing in great choking breaths, how the drug crazed kid had come out of nowhere and gunned them down without any warning. But the following morning Richie had been quiet, reserved, flinching at any simple touch of affection as if burnt, and shying away from any discussion remotely related to emotions. And, so he had remained. Duncan felt like they had lost all the ground gained in the last two years. His heart ached to kiss and cosset the lad, to protect him from all that was to come. But, right now, he feared the lad would deck him, if he tried.

"I'll be up in a minute." Duncan spared him.

"He's taken it hard." Henri Noel murmured, when Richie was out of earshot.

"Yes." Duncan agreed shortly.

"Tessa loved him very much," Mme Noel put in. "She would not wish to see him like this. It is too sad."

"Perhaps, he should not come tomorrow?" Eloise suggested. "If I asked him to stay at home and watch Minette, I am sure he would agree, and it would not seem as if we were trying to protect him?"

"It's an idea," Duncan's face twisted. He wondered if he was being selfish. Did Richie need to be there? Lord knows, he knew he needed him there. But that was hardly the same thing.

"It is a bad idea," Beatrice vetoed it sternly. "What that boy needs is his family around him."

"What he needs," Henri met Duncan's eyes meaningfully. "Is his father."

---

Even though he knew Richie would already have sensed him, Duncan took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the bedroom door, before he entered. Truth be told, he felt a little unsure of his welcome, after the scene downstairs. He should just have hugged the lad hard and hang the consequences. As he stepped into the room he realised, with surprise, that Richie was nowhere to be seen. Just as he turned his head to look towards the bathroom, something flashed in the corner of his vision and, with lightening reflexes, he stayed Richie's hand, just before the teen smashed the poker into his skull.

"Mac!" Richie stepped back in surprise.

"Expecting someone else?" Duncan growled, plucking the poker from the teen's hand. "Give me that."

"I'm sorry, I was just sitting here and then I felt the buzz and I didn't know what to think and then someone knocked and you don't usually knock and besides I didn't figure you were coming, so when I felt the buzz .." Richie's voice echoed with rising panic. He looked very pale. And scared out of his wits.

I didn't figure you were coming.

"Its alright, lad," Duncan reassured. "Frankly, I'm glad to see you still have some sense of self preservation."

"What?" Richie looked up at him, in shock and confusion, as Duncan led him back to bed.

"Well," Duncan decided to take advantage of his disorientation as he sat him on the bed and swung his feet around, tucking the blankets back over him as he spoke. "You've lost weight, you've got bags under your eyes, you're as pale as a ghost. Lord knows, a stiff breeze would be enough to do for you, right now. Never mind another Immortal"

Richie tensed, but did not speak. Duncan decided to try a different approach.

"At least, you had the sense not to use anything breakable," he smiled, looking around at the many, priceless, Antiques in the room. "I'm not sure how we could have explained to the Noels that you were playing Tic Tac Toe on my head. Or the blood stains on the carpet for that matter."

"Mac, how can you joke about this?" Richie sounded close to tears.

"Because, I'm fine and you're fine," Duncan reached out and stroked his face. "And that's all that matters."

Richie flinched away.

"Will you stop that?" Duncan snapped. "Richie, I'm trying to understand here, but it doesna help when the lad I love most in all the world insists on treating me like some kind of leper."

"But you don't, .. You c .. can't .." Richie stuttered, as his eyes went wide.. "I mean, you .. you gotta keep me around cos you're all about honour and chivalry and all that stuff and you gotta find me a teacher. But you don't love me anymore. You can't .."

"Why not?" Duncan, felt a dreadful tightness in his chest.

"Because, she died and I just stood there." Richie's tone was tight with anguish.

Duncan close his eyes briefly. He had never, even for a moment, blamed Richie for Tessa's death. He knew that the lad would have saved her if he could. And, he had hardly escaped from the encounter unscathed. Now, if only he could convince Richie of that.

"Hey," Duncan reached out and turned Richie's hand over, the teen looked down at the point where the Immortal's thumb carrassed his palm with bemusement. "You didn't do 'nothing'. You died too, remember?"

"The hell I did," Richie managed, his voice ragged with emotion. "I can still take a walk in a park, eat a chilli dog, hang out with my friends. Tessa can't do any of that stuff."

Duncan sighed, he had foolishly assumed that Richie's prior expose to Immortal's would make the whole process of dying and re-awakening to Immortal life easier for the lad to swallow. Clearly, having a knowledge of Immortals wasn't making the fact of his own demise and resurrection any easier to accept. Hating himself for needing to be so brutal, he slipped his other hand into his jacket pocket, feeling for the smooth, cool, shape of his penknife.

"You died, Richie," he repeated. "As sure as if you were in your grave. Your old life is gone. You're one of us now."

With that, he flashed the penknife down and across Richie's palm. The sharp intake of breath from beside him was testament to his effectiveness and as they watched, the thin white line shone brightly, before the first few droplets of crimson blood bubbled their way to the surface. Even as one droplet trickled towards his fingers, others blossomed, until the thin cut, swam with blood.

Then it began, the little blue light, arched and spat its way across the open wound. Richie watched, mesmerised, as the Quickening's healing erased all trace, until there was nothing but dried blood to show it had not all been a dream.

"Lesson one," Duncan spoke gently. "The dried blood is a bit of a giveaway. Always best to wash that off as soon as you can."

"Why me, Mac?" Richie looked up at him, his eyes wide. "It should have been Tessa."

"Richie, I loved Tessa," Duncan shrugged. "I always will. But she would not have wanted this life and I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have you here and alive. I need you, Rich. I need your spirit and your humour to remind me what there is to love in life. And, Tessa always wanted you to be the very best you could, she won't begrudge you that chance."

!!!

Present Time.

"We did settle it," Richie looked up at Duncan. "I know you've never blamed me. And I'm damn sure that Tessa would have torn me off a strip if she'd been around to see me doing that to myself. But that doesn't change what I feel, you know. If I could go back and change it …"

"Rich, some things can't be changed." Duncan shook his head sadly.

"Hey," Richie countered. "A century ago people thought the post it note was a pretty nifty invention, who knows what might happen in the future?"