Amanda ventured out of her room late the next morning. She went into the bathroom and made herself look presentable enough before going to find the rest of her housemates. Joe was in the living room reading the morning paper and drinking coffee.

He nodded to the kitchen. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"I'll just make some toast if you don't mind," she said.

"Of course not. Help yourself."

Amanda puttered around in the kitchen, then joined Joe in the living room.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said, looking at Joe over his paper. "I'm sure I made things really uncomfortable around here."

"No offence," Joe said, putting the paper down. "But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

"I owe you one, too. I should have been here to help you handle him."

"What's to handle? We ate a little, we drank a little, then we went to bed. I wasn't really expecting him to do much. And he didn't."

Amanda nodded. "Did you give him the letter?"

"Not yet. Probably should have…"

"Can I see it?" she asked. Joe gave her an unsure look. "Don't you think we should know what we're getting ourselves into? And if MacLeod left him instructions, he's going to need help carrying them out anyway."

Joe picked up the folded paper sitting on the side table next to him. He had been curious about the letter as well. He had already stopped himself twice before he read it. He handed it to Amanda.

"Richie," she read. "I've told Joe to give you this if I don't return from the challenge. Contact Connor as soon as possible and stay with someone you trust until he can get here. Everything else you'll need is in Tessa's painting."

Joe sighed. "I guess that makes all this official. I'll see what I can do about getting in touch with Connor."

"I'll see what I can find out about Tessa's painting," Amanda agreed. "Where is Richie?"

"Office." Joe jerked his thumb to the door behind him.

Amanda went over to the door and knocked. "Richie, can I come in?" she called. "Richie, it's Amanda. We need to talk." She looked over her shoulder at Joe, who shrugged. "I'm coming in." She opened the door. Richie was sprawled across the bed, dead asleep, in his boxers, snoring softly, and drooling a bit. "So, what did you take?" she asked, moving into the room.

"I'll see if there are any pills missing," Joe volunteered, heading to the medicine cabinet in the hall bathroom where he kept extras of his prescriptions. He took a look, but everything seemed to be in the right place and untouched.

"Found it!" Amanda called from the office. Richie groaned. Joe looked through the door. "How full was this 'til the underage drunk got a hold of it?" she asked, holding up the empty vodka bottle.

"He's going to be out a while," Joe said, torn between the humor and tragedy of the situation. "At least this will give us a chance to get things going. He needs a little time to himself."

Amanda agreed, she had gotten her grieving time last night, and decided to find out what she could about Tessa's painting. Before leaving, she set a plate of saltines and a tall glass of water next to Richie's bed.

"If he wakes up, let him know I took his keys," she told Joe as she prepared to leave. "And tell him I said to stay put."

"Sure thing."

Amanda's hand shook as she turned the key in the lift to take her up to the apartment. She had tried to steer a bit clear of Duncan while he had been dating Tessa. It was painfully obvious she wasn't welcome. And after she had died, Amanda hadn't ever asked about her. So, she wasn't quite sure how she was going to decide which painting was Tessa's as apposed to any other artist's, but apparently that was where he left his will and instructions.

The loft was its usual neat and tidy self. The dishes were washed, the bed was made. Everything was in its place… but there were no paintings. The walls were bare, save a mirror beside the armoire and the tapestry above the bed. Maybe it was small and framed on the shelves? There was nothing. She even tried a few photos that she saw around the loft. Nothing held any sort of clue. The "painting" was obviously code for something. A very good code. Just like MacLeod, be prepared in case the note fell into the wrong hands somewhere between Joe and Richie. Couldn't let just anyone find out what was to be done in the event of his death.

At a loss for what to do next, Amanda just stood there, in the middle of the loft. There were dishes drying next to the sink. A laundry bag next to the door. A magazine lay open on the couch. A chess game in progress on the coffee table. The light on the answering machine was blinking. She felt tears well up in her eyes and she blinked them back a few times before giving in.

She had lost friends over the years. Some mortal, others immortal. She was never truly prepared to lose a friend, but Duncan. Duncan she had never expected. He was so good. So honorable. So noble. So… MacLeod. She sat down on the couch and clutched at one of the throw pillows. She'd find the son-of-a-bitch who did it. She'd find him. And she'd deal with him.

Joe thought about taking what he needed out of the office to leave Richie in peace, but the kid was so out of it a nuclear attack wouldn't wake him up for more than half a second. So, Joe just took his seat, switched on the computer and started searching. A quick word to Connor's Watcher told him that he had last been spotted in Russia two weeks ago. Connor was the more elusive of the two MacLeod cousins. Duncan could disappear if he wanted to, but Connor seemed to do it by accident most of the time. A few more calls tracked him to China, but the trail was four days cold.

"It can never be easy…" he sighed and started looking for clues in the data base. Maybe he'd get lucky and pick up a trial of some sort. Someone he was following or being followed by would pop up. It was just a matter of a few key words and little bit of leg work. After a bit of searching he had done all he could do for the time being. He put out the Watcher equivalent of an APB. That was all he could do.

Sometimes he hated being a Watcher. Of course, those sometimes had only been recently, once he had gotten to know immortals personally. It was easier to write "deceased vs. Sladkie" when you only knew the deceased on paper. When they were just objects. Things. Not real. Not human. There were no loved ones left behind back then. No teenagers left to fend for themselves in hopes that a good guy will take them in. Back when they weren't his friends.

"My head hurts…" a slurred voice broke into his thoughts.

"That's what you get," Joe returned.

"Ugh, stop yelling at me," Richie moaned grabbing for a pillow to cover his head.

"You hungry?"

"I'm not in the mood for barfing, thanks."

"Do you want some aspirin?"

"Can I have the whole bottle?"

Joe got up and went into the kitchen to fetch a glass of orange juice then got the aspirin from the medicine cabinet. He shook out twice the recommended dose- Richie wincing with each shake- and handed it all over to the immortal. Richie grunted a thanks and downed the pills and the entire glass of juice.

"Better?"

"Munh." Richie put his arm over his eyes.

"You should probably get up and move around a bit," Joe advised. "Laying there isn't going to help anything."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You can't just lay there all day."

"Says who?"

"Nature. Richie, there are things you have to do now. There are immortals out there; you don't have the luxury of lying around."

Richie moved his arm and squinted up at Joe. He was right. There was no luxury. It was time to act. Reality was not going to hold off on his account.

"I don't know what I should do," he admitted, slowly sitting up. "I'm just on my own now?"

"This may help." Joe took Duncan's note off the desk and handed it to him. Richie read it over. When he didn't say anything, Joe spoke up. "Amanda and I have already gotten started. I've got all available Watchers on the look out for Connor and Amanda went to go get the instructions from Tessa's painting."

"She's not going to find it," Richie mumbled.

"Code?"

"Kinda."

"What is it really?"

Richie declined to answer and looked expectantly at the door. Amanda had come back.

"I borrowed your keys," she tossed them to him. "And I'd like to know myself."

He sighed and stretched his neck. "It's a trunk. She painted the inside, the lid… from some picture she had found in his stuff. It's where he keeps everything that's real important to him."

"Not that old beat up trunk he's had forever," Amanda questioned.

"Yeah. The one behind the couch."

"There's just blankets and pillows in there," she protested.

"That's what he wanted you to think."

"False bottom," Joe realized.

Before they could discuss any further a phone started ringing.

"Richie…I think your coat is ringing," Amanda said, following the sound.

"I don't have a…" he started as she took Duncan's cell phone out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He had borrowed it the day before and hadn't returned it. "Um…Thanks." He took the persistent device and flipped the mouth piece down. "Hello?"

"Richie? Is th… you?" a voice crackled across the line.

"Yeah… who's this?"

"Con..r…got call…wrong?"

"I can't hear you!" Richie yelled into the phone. "What?"

"Some….wrong?"

"Connor! You have to come home!"

"…York?"

"No! Here! Seacouver! It's Mac!"

"… problem? What hap…"

"HE DIED!" Richie found himself screaming the words his mind refused to comprehend.

"W…at?"

"HE'S DEAD! MAC IS DEAD! HE'S GONE!"

"I…there….end." Connor cracked in response. "Call…later." The connection was cut off.

"Bye…" Richie mumbled before hanging up himself.

"I suppose Connor will be arriving soon," Amanda said after a while.

"Guess so," Richie agreed.