For the fifth time in ten minutes, Richie found himself turning down a drink. He had forgotten how much alcohol was at parties like these. This was the first time he had come to one without the intention of getting plastered and, man, was it a difficult thing to do. Everywhere he turned, he was face to face with either a keg of beer or a drunk with a cup. His stomach churned slightly as he realized that most of the time, he looked as pathetic as everyone else around him; totally plastered and tripping over his own two feet.

Then he had a realization. His friends were right. He had changed since he moved out of the neighborhood. Since when did he care about looking stupid because he was drinking? At least when he was drunk, he felt like he belonged. Sitting on the sidelines, turning down friendly offers and worrying that MacLeod would realize he was gone was hardly making him comfortable.

Deciding to give up the choirboy routine, he turned to grab a beer. But as he popped the top, the music changed. Setting his drink on the nearest table, he moved to the middle of the floor. There was no way he was going to miss out on his favorite song. Stepping into what soon resembled a mosh pit, Richie allowed himself to get swept away in the music. Slamming into everyone around him as he did his best impression of Kurt Cobain, he finally remembered why he loved parties like this one.

About fifteen minutes later, Richie began to realize that the throbbing he was feeling had nothing to do with the music. Duncan had been right about it being too soon to strain his sore ribs. While he hadn't snapped in two as the man implied, he definitely was not feeling so hot. As he walked over to a nearby couch, he began to regret his decision to come to this party. Not even a half an hour had passed since he had arrived and he was already miserable. Sure the dancing had felt liberating, but at what cost? He was sore and tired and wanted to be at home. And, frankly, he could care less about the people around him. As he sat at the party, he realized how out of the loop he truly was. No one here knew him at all anymore and he was beginning to realize that he liked it that way. After another fifteen minutes of being smashed into, yelled at over the music, offered drink after drink and inhaling more smoke then he would have ever thought possible without actually holding a cigarette, Richie started for the door.

He couldn't help but sigh as he looked up at the clock. It wasn't even 10:30. The real action wouldn't start for hours. A few months ago, he would think this was a time to be arriving at the party, not leaving it. Even as he made his way out the door, he found himself pushing past those just arriving. He had to admit it; he had changed. He was no longer the carefree partier he had once been. It was not a welcome realization.

As Richie approached the house, he was very glad that he had left the party when he did. Leaving early enough to catch a bus across town had been a real plus. He couldn't even begin to imagine how sore he would be if he had to walk the entire way home. Grimacing as he pulled himself through the window, he was relieved to see that his room was undisturbed. Quietly securing the screen and pulling down the window and blinds, Richie quickly grabbed the pajamas he had discarded on the floor and headed for his bathroom. There was no way he wanted to explain to MacLeod why he smelled like smoke.

Throwing the attire from his outing into the hamper, he made a mental note to do his laundry before Tessa came for it. As he climbed into the shower, turning the hot water up to a point just below scalding, he sighed in relief. He could feel the tension leaving his body and the pain in his sides easing. He never thought he could be so happy to be home.

The relaxation didn't last long. Within 30 seconds, he could hear Duncan calling him. "Richie? Rich, you all right?" The Immortal's voice was filled with concern.

Damn. Richie had definitely not been counting on the Immortal hearing the running water. "Fine, Mac."

"Are you sure?" Duncan's voice was getting closer and, as the bathroom door was pushed open, Richie silently gave thanks that he had remembered to toss his clothes in the hamper before his shower.

He kept his cool. Duncan didn't suspect a thing. "I'm fine, Mac. I just wanted a shower."

"You going to be long?" The Immortal was definitely planning to wait.

Which was not what Richie wanted. "Yeah. Thought I'd drain the hot water."

"You're sure you're all right?" Duncan really didn't like that response.

But Richie was determined to get the man to leave. He really didn't want to face him now. Not after lying to him and sneaking out. "I'm fine, Mac. I just want to shower. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Good night." Duncan hesitantly called. Richie was more than a little grateful when he heard the bathroom door secure.

20 minutes later, the teen trudged out of the bathroom, completely ready to collapse in his bed. He wasn't exactly surprised to find Duncan waiting patiently for him. "Mac, I don't need tucked in."

"Climb in." The Immortal ignored the resigned protest. As the boy crawling under the covers, the Scotsman made a point of pulling the blankets up tightly around him. When Richie turned his back to him, he frowned. This was not what he expected. He was surprised at how long Richie was holding out. Silently, he began gently rubbing the teen's back.

In a small voice, Richie finally broke the silence. "Mac?"

"Hmm?" He replied patiently, continuing to give him a backrub.

Richie couldn't stand it any longer. "You know, don't you?"

"Know what?" Duncan prompted.

But Richie turned to him, no longer fooled. "How did you find out?"

"Give me a little credit, Rich. I wasn't born yesterday." Duncan retorted. "Hanging up the phone and then suddenly being ready for bed at 8 isn't exactly sly."

"You knew before I left? Why did you let me go?" Richie was genuinely shocked.

Even more so when Duncan responded with a shrug. "What would you have said if I told you no, you can't go?"

"I would have been pissed." Richie admitted. "And I probably would have gone anyways."

"And done something stupid like get drunk and stay out all night." Duncan added.

Richie turned to look at him. "So you knew I'd have a bad time?"

"I had my suspicions." The Immortal admitted.

Causing Richie to have a sudden realization. "That's why you were so nice, isn't it? Tucking me in, kissing me good night. You did it to make me feel guilty."

"I always tuck you in and kiss you good night." Duncan replied quickly, not wanting the teen to think his affection was faked. "I just normally wait until you're truly asleep. I wanted to make sure you knew you had a safe place to come home to tonight."

"And to make me feel guilty." Richie added, a slight sulk detectible in his voice.

Duncan couldn't suppress a slight smiled at the pout before changing the subject. "You got home pretty early."

"Yeah, but I'm guessing you were expecting that, huh?" Richie replied, turning away from him again.

The Immortal placed a hand on his shoulder. "It didn't surprise me."

"So I'm in trouble, huh?" Richie replied sullenly.

Duncan had to think for a moment before responding. "You had a miserable time?"

"Oh, yeah." Richie replied.

"You're gonna be sore in the morning?"

"Already am."

"You understand now why I don't want you straining yourself?"

Richie's voice was sullen this time. "Yeah."

"Will you listen to me from now on, or at least fight with me when you disagree, instead of just running off and doing your own thing without telling me?"

"I promise."

"Then I guess you've learned something from this?"

"Yeah."

"I guess we'll let this be your warning, then." Duncan concluded. Getting up from the bed, he landed a solid swat on Richie's backside. Leaning over the startled teen, he made sure to use the most threatening tone he could muster. "Your only warning."

As Duncan planted a loud kiss on his head, Richie couldn't help but ponder how much he had changed lately. He didn't relate to his friends, took orders from a man who should, by all rights, have been dead hundreds of years earlier, and felt guilty about lying and sneaking around. He was definitely not the person he had once been. He was losing his edge.

Looking up at the Immortal, he suddenly realized he didn't care. He was tired and sore and had a miserable night. And here he was, tucked into a warm bed, with a guy who would walk through fire for him. For the life of him he couldn't figure out why on earth he had been pining for his old life.

Watching Duncan head for the door, he decided to cash in on his new situation for all it was worth. "Are you leaving?"

"Do you want me to stay?" Duncan replied, slightly startled by the question.

Richie weighted the options. If he asked Duncan to stay, he would be fully giving in. It wasn't something he was entirely ready to do. As much as he had to admit he didn't mind his new "parent", he wasn't so stupid to tell the man that yet. Besides, he was willing to bet that the Immortal would stay if he implied he wanted him to and he would still be able to hold on to a shred of his dignity. "I was just asking."

"Just asking, huh?" Duncan smiled at the vague response. Settling back down on the bed, he once again gently rubbed Richie's back. This time, though, it brought no added tension to the boy's posture and, instead, quickly lulled him to sleep.