"Here you go." Connor handed a clean shirt to Richie while he cleaned up after their first spar.

"Thanks," Richie mumbled.

"You did well today."

"Oh, yeah, I'm real good at falling on my head and blocking people's fists with my face."

"You have good form. And knowing how to take a fall is important."

"Sure." Richie wiped at a gash on his right arm.

"You struck wide and took too long to recover," Connor told him. "I'll show you how to fix it next time." He took the towel and cleaned up the blood on Richie's back. "Never turn your back."

"Yeah, I know."

"The why'd you do it?"

"I didn't mean to."

"Then don't." With Richie cleaned up and into a new shirt they went out into the living area. "We'll call it a day," Connor decided. "You've had enough."

"I could go another round," Richie insisted, even as he lowered his stiff body onto the couch.

"Just because it can be done, doesn't mean it should be done."

"How am I supposed to learn anything if we just quit?"

Connor smiled and got a couple bottles of water from the minifridge. "You do know you're the student right?"

"Yeah, I know, but I have an objective here. I'm gonna find Sladkie and find out what happened to Mac."

"Richie," Connor sat down beside him. "We know what happened."

"We think we do. There was no body. No witnesses."

"That's not surprising. It happens a lot."

"People go missing all the time," Richie insisted.

"Not like this, and not Duncan," Connor told him gently. "What brought all this on, anyway? I thought we were clear about what was happening here."

"I know why I'm here, but that doesn't mean I believe he's dead." Richie looked Connor directly in the eye as he said: "Until I have proof, I won't believe it."

"Can I ask why?"

"I just have a feeling. I'd know if he was dead. Right now I just… I don't feel it."

"So it's a feeling you don't have that's making you feel this way."

"Yeah." Hearing it like that Richie didn't feel so certain. It sounded pretty stupid.

Neither one spoke for a moment, then: "I don't know what to tell you, Richie. I can't tell you if what you feel is right or wrong. They're your feelings. You're just going to have to learn to work with them until you figure it out yourself."

"You don't believe me," Richie translated.

"I believe that you believe it. But I don't agree with you."

"What are you, a politician?"

"Richie, I don't know what else to tell you. I'm not going to tell you you're wrong."

Richie regarded him seriously for moment, then smirked. "I can't decide if I like you or not."

Connor smiled. "Glad to see you think for yourself."

"I think sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"We'll have to work on that."

Connor looked over at Richie asleep on the couch. He had passed out watching a baseball game on TV.

"I know he won't like it," he said into the phone. Rachel was on the other line. "But it's important."

"The dean wants to talk to him. This is all probationary."

"You want to take him?"

Rachel laughed. "Not on your life. This is your idea, you can take him."

"Do you really think he's going to take it that badly?" Connor asked.

"Duncan's been trying to convince him for how long?"

"Duncan treated him like a spoiled child. He was having too much fun playing happy families to do what was best."

"He was giving him a childhood."

"He's immortal. It's too late for a childhood."

Rachel sighed into the phone. "Anyway. I just wanted to let you know the letter came. I'll leave you to bond."

"We'll see you in a few days."

Connor pulled his hand away as Richie began to wake. Most of the blood had been cleared away, but as the fractures in his nose shifted and set themselves fresh blood dripped down. His eyes fluttered and opened. He jumped, startled by Connor leaning over him. He groaned, embarrassed.

"I face-planted, didn't I?"

"Right into a tree. Knocked yourself out."

"Well, as long as it was impressive." Richie popped himself up on his elbows. He was on the ground in the clearing where they had been practicing everyday. Today was the final spar before they went home. Richie had meant to show off all he had learned over the week. Instead he had, if he remembered correctly, tripped over his own two feet and kissed a tree.

"You tried too hard to show off," Connor said as he helped Richie up. "Don't think so much. Your body knows what to do. Relax."

"Relax? With some guy's foot headed for my crotch?"

"Your natural reaction will be to block or duck. Trust your instincts."

Connor squared off Richie's shoulders and spaced his legs apart, putting him into his usual fighting stance.

"Why do you stand like that?"

"I don't," Richie answered slightly confused. He altered the stance minutely and prepared for whatever was about to happen.

"Okay," Connor decided to put it off for now. "Let's go slowly." He attacked with a left hook, waiting for Richie to block. Richie stopped the swing with his right forearm.

"Now, offense."

Richie countered with his left fist square at Connor's chest.

"Too predictable." Connor pushed Richie's hand away and cuffed him in the ear. "Try again." He stepped back and repeated the attack. Once again Richie blocked with his right forearm.

"I don't know what else to do."

"Think."

"You just said not to."

"Relax. Someone takes a swing at you. They're expecting to either hit out or for you to block. What will throw them off most?"

Richie thought. "No contact."

"So what do you do?"

"Duck."

"Exactly." Connor nodded his approval. "Then what?"

"Attack from behind?"

"Why?"

"Cause they're off balance."

"We're their weight?"

Richie though, going through the moves in his head. "Lead food."

"Good." Connor stepped back. "Try again, slow." He swung again. Richie ducked under his arm and he ended up over extended. It was hard to hold to position.

"Now what?" Richie asked from behind him.

"Let's try it this way." Connor stood up. "Attack me, left hook. Real time."

Richie readied himself, shoulders squared, feet apart. Connor stopped him.

"See? That stance. You're wide open with horrible balance. How did you get away with that?"

"I thought a wide stance balanced you out?"

"Not like that." He shook his head. "That's next. Just swing."

Richie prepared, then attacked with a strong left hook. Connor ducked under his arm and came up behind him and pushed him face first into the ground. With Richie stunned he dropped on top of him, his stomach flat against Richie's back, and grabbed Richie's head in one hand, chin in the other.

"Snap. You twist and pull. You'll either break their neck or screw up their back enough that you have time to get your sword and win." He got up waited for Richie to stand. "Now you try."

"Home." Richie flopped down on the couch, letting his duffle fall next to him on the floor.

"Home." Connor repeated, setting his bag back in his room. "You want dinner?"

"Yes," Richie said without opening his eyes. "Anything that doesn't require effort. I'm too tried for effort."

"You want to go out?" Connor was tired, too. He wasn't very interested in cooking, either.

"Sure."

"You go down and get a taxi, I'll call Rachel."

"Taxi's too much effort, I'll call Rachel."

"You don't know the number."

"I gotta learn it sometime."

Shaking his head, Connor picked up his coat again off the rack. He gave Richie the number and headed down to fight with the tourists for a ride.

Connor and Richie met Rachel at a small Mexican restaurant almost exactly midway between Connor and Rachel's apartments. It wasn't very far to walk, in fact it would have been easier, but it was so cold out, Connor didn't want to deal with the wind, or Richie complaining about it.

"So I see you're still in one piece," Rachel greeted them as they sat down at the table.

"Who?" Richie asked.

"Both of you. I was a bit worried. How did you get on?"

Richie shrugged. "Not bad."

"It went pretty well, I'd say," Connor put in. "He's not nearly as bad as he'd lead you to believe."

"You won't even let me use a sword."

"What good is a weapon in your hands if you can't control those hands?"

"He has a point," Rachel cut in with a smile.

"Not you, too," Richie groaned good-naturedly.

"Me, too."

Over chips and queso they discussed Richie's training, the good, the bad, and the embarrassing. Over fajitas Connor explained the cover story to Rachel and Richie.

"Uncle Russell?"

"Around here, I'm Russell Nash: mild mannered antique dealer and now uncle of one."

"And I'm?"

"Richard Ryan, son of whomever you'd like, moved in after his parents died." Connor took a breath. "To go to college."