"So, I suppose we should get you what you need before Connor gets here," Amanda said casually over dinner that evening. "We should get as much done as possible."

"What all is there to do?" Richie asked, picking at his rice.

"Well, I assume he's left his will in that trunk and that's what he wants you to get," she started. "After that, we'll have to see what he wants done."

Richie took a breath and nodded. "I guess I'll go now."

"Do you want company?" Amanda offered.

"You were just there…."

"Exactly. I know how hard it is to be there."

"I think… I think I need to do this alone," Richie decided. "But I need a car, my bike's at the bar."

"You can take my car," Joe offered, gesturing to the keys lying on the counter.

Richie paused at the alley door, taking a moment to prepare himself. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Everything was how Duncan had left it, just as if he was going to be back in a few hours. Like he had planned. Richie forced himself further into the apartment, past the coat rack and around the corner. His biking magazine was on the couch, left open to a hopeful hint about a present for the upcoming holidays. The dishes from lunch were in the drying rack…

"I can take him, Mac."

"You're no where near ready to take a challenge. Especially not this one."

"I can do it."

"This isn't up for debate. I'm going to take you to Joe's this afternoon and you'll wait for me there, end of story, end of discussion, not another word."

Some morbid part of his mind realized he'd always known that his last discussion with Duncan would be an argument. That's all they ever really seemed to do. Argue. Over anything, what to have for dinner, what movie to rent, how well Richie kept up with his training… Tessa said that they were too much alike. That was why they argued so much. People were forever mistaking them for father and son, based solely on the way they behaved around one another. Richie once confessed that he secretly liked it. Tessa smiled at him and assured him that Duncan did, too, after all he never moved to correct the mistake.

"Get in, get out," Richie repeated to himself. It had been his mantra on the drive through town. "Get in, get out."

He moved straight for the trunk behind the couch and opened it up. Tossing the spare pillows and blankets aside, the ones he always used when he stayed the night on the couch, he pried the false bottom open revealing the shallow space hidden beneath it, with all its contents. All the things most important to Duncan. Richie took out a framed picture of himself and Tessa. It had been taken at one of her openings. He didn't remember who had taken it, or how they had come about to have the photograph. He just knew none of them were ones to carry about a camera, and someone else had taken it and sent it to them.

"Sorry, Tess, I screwed up again." He slid the picture into an inside pocket of his jacket. He flipped through the papers he found, insurance papers for the dojo along with the deed to it and the pink slip to the T-bird. There was a scrap of tartan with a broach on it, Richie pocketed that as well, before turning his attention to the sealed envelope that was left. That had to be it. The will. His hand shook as he reached for it, lingering before he could bring himself to touch it or pick it up. He wiped away something on his face, suddenly realizing that a tear had broken free of the control he felt he had over his emotions.

"Get in, get out," he repeated on more time, replacing the items he didn't want back in the trunk and closing the lid. He took one last look around the loft. The longer he looked the more intense the emotions became, until he had to either leave, or let himself break down. But there was no time for that. He had things to handle, a situation to deal with, a life to lead. He left, locking the door behind him, aching to stay and wishing to never return.

After leaving the loft, he couldn't bring himself to return to Joe's. He didn't want to have to deal with the others yet. He wanted to do this part on his own. He pulled into the parking lot behind an old bingo parlor where he and Tessa had hidden out once, when that Horton guy was after Duncan. He took a deep breath and opened the legal sized envelope. Inside was a letter addressed to him, and Duncan's will.

"Richie-

You are nineteen as I write this, and asleep in the next room. I sincerely hope that you are much older by the time you get this letter. I didn't want you to die this young and I promise that I will have done everything in my power to help you live a long life as an immortal. No matter our feelings towards each other before my passing, I want you to know that I love you dearly and you are one of the most important people that have ever been part of my life.

To you I leave everything, with the exception of a few specific items that I feel truly belong to others. Do with it all as you will. Do not try to think of what I would want you to do, or how I would want you to distribute things. My properties, possessions, and savings are yours. I have left you instructions as to how you access my bank accounts. By this time I will have added you as a beneficiary so you shouldn't have too much trouble.

Get in touch with Connor, he'll help you. If by some tragedy you aren't done with your training, I've arranged for you to go with him. He trained me, and he'll train you. But, if all goes well that won't be an issue.

I hope you are the honorable man I know you will become,

Duncan MacLeod"

Richie leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Nineteen and in the next room? Duncan must have written it just after Tessa died. They lived together less than a month after that. It really hadn't been all that long ago, less than a year. He was still a few months away from turning twenty.

Great. Just one more way he'd let his mentor down.

Add that one to the list.

He read the letter over a few more times, then looked through the rest of the papers. For the first time in his life, Richie knew he wasn't going to have to worry about money anytime soon. And soon was a relative term to immortals. He took the picture of himself and Tessa out of his pocket and looked at it, wondering if he had a picture of Duncan anywhere. He'd have to find one.

"I'm not going to let you guys down this time," he vowed. "I'm done screwing everything up."

Richie sat at the bar, picking at the cheese fries and buffalo wings in front of him. Amanda sat beside him, drinking wine and unable to coax him into eating, but not really trying to anyway. Connor was on his way; his plane had landed, he would arrive at the bar within the hour.

"That bad or that nervous?" Joe asked coming out from the stock room. Richie smiled briefly and continued to sit the ranch dressing with a soggy fry. "Need anything?" Joe asked Amanda.

"Something stronger."

He uncorked a bottle of scotch and sat next to her. "In honor of our soon to arrive guest."

The trio sat in silence, two drinking, one fidgeting, all thinking of the same thing. Simultaneously, Amanda and Richie stiffened and looked to the door. Joe followed their gaze. The building lit up momentarily as the door opened, then closed again. Connor strode across the floor and put a hand on Richie's shoulder, but looked at Joe and Amanda.

"Everything handled?"

"Nearly," Amanda answered. "I can handle it."

Connor switched his gaze to Joe. Silently repeating the question.

"We're done here." He offered Connor a glass.

Connor took it and picked up the plate Richie was playing with. "Come on."

Richie picked up the other plate and his beer and followed Connor to a booth in the darkest corner. Joe started to follow, but Amanda stopped him.

"We are done. He's Connor's worry now."

She stood and went for the door, not looking back, not slowing, putting on her coat and left. No good byes. Immortals didn't like those.

Joe watched the new pair in the corner. Connor was talking, Richie was eating. It was an old sight with a new MacLeod. There was no connection between the two. Richie wasn't really paying attention, his discomfort shifting him into auto pilot. Connor was all business, dominating the conversation, either not waiting for Richie to chime in, or not caring. Richie wasn't in a position to say much of anything, anyway.

That was how immortals operated. If the teacher wasn't able to finish the training themselves, they passed the student on to whomever they chose and the student started over. Richie seemed to have resigned himself to that and didn't fight for his personal freedoms like he had with Duncan.

Connor gestured Joe over. Richie had finished both plates and was scrapping up the left over bits of bacon and cheese with his fingers.

"What needs to be done?" Connor asked.

"Closing the apartment, sorting through things."

"I know what I want," Richie spoke up. "We can sell the rest."

Connor seemed a bit surprised at Richie's response.

"I can take care of the leftovers," Joe volunteered.

"I can be ready in a couple days," Richie continued. "Sooner if I have to. It doesn't take long."

"End of the week, then," Connor decided.

Charlie was left in control of the dojo, though it now belonged to Richie. The T-bird wasn't up for grabs and was put into storage. Richie wanted it for later. The trunk was shipped to his new address in New York. The rest was left for close friends to go through and take what they wanted.

Only Joe came to see Richie off to New York. His friends were used to him disappearing across the country or the world at a moment's notice. Connor sat going through his day planner, while Joe and Richie sat at a small bakery not far from the gate.

"I'm not so sure about this," Richie admitted sipping at his coffee.

"It's a little late to back out now."

"I had a choice?"

"As much as you ever had," Joe admitted. "Kids your age move away from home all the time, you'll be fine."

"Yeah, but they don't move in with General Standoff MacLeod."

"Okay, so there's some bonding problems."

"Problems? Joe, the guy hates me!"

"He doesn't hate you. He just isn't as… he isn't the type to get overly friendly too quickly. Give him time."

"He hates me," Richie insisted. "He barely talks to me. When he does, he just hands down orders. He basically ignores me. He hates me."

"You'll be fine."

"And what am I going to do in New York? Work at a coffee shop?"

"He has an antique store," Joe shrugged.

Richie rolled his eyes. "Great, I'm gonna hawk old crap again."

"You could always go to school."

"Don't start."

A muffled, garbled voice announced that flight somesuch was about to do something. Richie glanced at Connor, who shook his head, not looking up.

"See he doesn't even look at me."

"He knew you were looking," Joe pointed out reasonably.

"Joe…"

"You can't expect to be the center of everyone's world. Not everyone is as… not everyone is MacLeod." Joe brushed toast crumbs off his shirt.

"I've noticed."

"You'll be fine," he repeated.

"I don't wanna go," Richie nearly whined after a lull in the conversation.

"There's nothing to be scared about."

Richie frowned. "Who said scared?"

"You did," Joe said knowingly.

Richie sighed and sat back in his seat. "You're as bad as Mac…was… Think you know everything. Start handing out assumptions, playing shrink on me all the time."

"No one blames you."

"Don't bring blame into this, please."

Another announcement was made. This time Connor put his day book away and made eye contact with Richie. Richie nodded and stood up, shouldering his backpack.

"Guess this is it."

"You'll do fine, kid."

"I hope you're right." He waved almost dismissively and turned to leave.

"Rich," Joe called after him. Richie turned around, passengers had to swerve to avoid running into him in the busy terminal. "Watch your head, okay?"

Richie smirked, but didn't answer. He fell in line behind Connor, eyes fixed on the floor and got on the plane.