Richie sat uncomfortably in front of the college dean as he looked over his transcripts.
"Can I be frank with you?" Father Albert asked, putting the folder down and folding his hands over it.
"Okay…" Richie hedged, already not liking where this was going. He was in trouble and this was his first time stepping foot on the university campus.
"We both know your grades are horrible. And we both know that it's at least partly to blame from you moving so much."
"Went to every high school in the district. Some of the twice," Richie agreed.
"But both your ACT and SAT scores are amazing."
"I test well," Richie shrugged.
"You and I both know the only reason you've been accepted here is because of your potential and special circumstances."
"I don't think we both know that. What special circumstances?"
Father Albert smiled. "The brothers here have been trusted with the secret of your kind since long before your "Uncle Russell" was Connor MacLeod."
Connor looked up from his desk in the antique store when Richie came in laden down with shopping bags and a frown.
"How'd it go?" Connor asked.
"You made me a raw deal," Richie accused. "Take a few classes and get whatever degree I want?"
"That was the deal."
"You left out mandatory volunteer hours and tutoring. Rudimentary math?" Richie questioned. "I don't even get credit for it."
"The college gave you that deal, not me."
"No, they gave you that deal and you accepted for me."
"Well, either way," Connor shrugged. "Go shopping?"
"Two hundred bucks worth of crap I have do study before school even starts."
"Well, you can start tonight. Tomorrow we can start on your room."
Richie dropped his bags behind the desk fully aware he had no room to negotiate his academic situation. "The stuff come in?"
"Yes. But if you want to knock out that wall, we should just leave it where it is."
"The wall?" Richie hadn't expected that plan to go past an evening of plotting with Rachel. He hadn't bothered to ask about it. She must have for him.
"And I was thinking, none of those walls are load bearing, so we could push back the left wall and enclose the cat walk area to give you a few square feet more."
"You want to remodel the whole thing?"
"It'd be good training for you. Weights, targets, muscle control, balance, patience. And get some aggression out."
"You want to remodel it? You and me?"
"Yes, us. We can do it in a week or two. We'll knock out the walls and rebuild them at the rail. Maybe put in an intercom. I'm betting on less than two weeks."
"Uh… okay." Richie wasn't quite sure what to say. Even with all the complaining, attitude and lack of progress in training, Connor was willing to do anything to make him feel at home.
"You'd be back on the couch, but after that you'd be set."
"Okay. Let's do it."
In a matter of days, Connor had Richie set up with a routine that not only got the construction project underway, but had him training cardio, muscle building, and agility. Richie was upstairs taking out the last of the studs with a sledge hammer with the radio blasting the local alternative station when the elevator started up and a woman came into the apartment. She watched him for a minute as he obliviously continued his project before going down to the main living area where Connor was at the computer listening to his own music with head phones.
Connor looked up when she leaned over the desk and kissed him.
"Meredith, you're back." He stood up and kissed her again. "How was Hong Kong?"
She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and sat on the desk. "Same old same old. Doing some remodeling?" She nodded her head toward Richie upstairs.
"Oh, I haven't had a chance to talk to you and fill you in." He guided her toward the stairs. "I had a family emergency while you were gone. Some family passed away."
"Oh, Russell, I'm so sorry. Who was it?"
"A very close cousin. We spent a lot of time together over the years; he was almost a brother to me." They made it upstairs and Connor turned off Richie's radio. "Meredith, this is my nephew, Richie."
Richie looked up mid-swing and nearly lost his balance as the weight of the hammer kept going. He recovered with slight grace and put it down, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel.
"What?" he asked.
"Richie, this is Meredith, my girlfriend. Meredith, this is Richie."
"Hi." They shook hands.
"We're making the storage a bedroom so he can have some privacy."
"I'm sorry about your father," Meredith said.
"Oh, uh, thanks. It's nice to meet you."
"This looks like quite the project," she commented, looking around the almost fully deconstructed room. It was little more than a brick wall and some framework.
"It passes the time." Richie adjusted the bandanna covering his hair.
"Do you have a plan for it?" she asked.
"Meredith is a designer," Connor explained. "We met when she was shopping for a client."
"Oh, cool. Um, I don't really have an elaborate plan. I have some furniture, so I figure I'll put that in here when I finish the walls," Richie said. "Other than that…"
Meredith smiled and slid her arm through Connors. "That is a good start. I'm anxious to see what you do with it."
"Well, you're welcome to come check it out. Me and Uncle Russell figure we'll have it done in a week or so."
"I wish my contractors worked as quickly as you two."
Richie perked up with an idea. "If you ever need some odd jobs done for your clients," he offered. "You know, something you don't want a contractor for, or don't want to pay a contractor for…I'm pretty good at this stuff. I do electric and pluming, too."
"But he will be busy with school," Connor put in.
"A little work on the weekends won't hurt," Richie insisted.
"Not while you're under my roof."
Meredith laughed uneasily, sensing an impending argument. "Well, Russell," she cut in. "I suppose I should leave the men to their work. Maybe I can come around tomorrow and we can do dinner?"
"I thought you'd want to go out tonight?" Connor asked. "Richie will be fine. He deserves a night to himself. Go get your purse, and I'll meet you in a minute."
"As long as I'm not intruding…"
"Don't be silly. Just give us a quick minute."
When Meredith was out of ear shot Connor stepped closer to Richie. "Sorry I didn't mention her earlier."
"What do I care who you're dating?" Richie heaved the sledge hammer up again, ready to finish off the wall.
"I'll leave you some money for dinner. You can order in."
"I'll be fine,Uncle Russell."
"You know where the guns are. If one of us shows up uninvited, shoot first and we'll sort it out later. You have my cellular number."
"I'm fine. I'm just gonna tear down a wall and watch some TV." He swung for a chunk of drywall. "I'm not gonna cause any trouble."
"It's not you I'm worried about." Connor worried a bit leaving Richie on his own. The young immortal had not been alone much the strange city since he had walked out of the restaurant almost two weeks ago, with the exception of his trip to campus for his meeting with the dean. He had never been left in the loft alone, either. Not at night. Other immortals tended to be in New York on vacation or business with no intention of starting a fight, but if somehow they found out a young immortal of limited skill was home alone there was no telling who might try to take advantage of it.
"I'm a big boy with a sword and a gun, Connor. I know the rules, I know the closest Holy Ground, and I have a quarter to call you from a pay phone. Okay?"
"Remind me to get you your own cell phone." Connor turned to meet Meredith by the elevator. "I won't be too late!" He called before they left.
"Feel free to be anyway!" Richie yelled before turning his music back on.
Full from a smorgasbord of leftovers, clean from a forty-five minute scalding shower and tired from a day of destruction, Richie lay down his bed, yet again the couch. The Nicks game was playing on the TV, but Richie found it hard to concentrate on a game being played by a team he wasn't very familiar with. He made a mental note to check the sports section to see how the Sharks were faring in the league so he'd at least know weather the Nicks winning or loosing was preferable for his home teams' standing.
He closed his eyes and listened to the sports caster's commentary as he began to fall asleep.
He was on a barstool at the counter at Joe's bar. There was a plate of cheese fries in front of him and a pint of beer was in his hand.
"Richie, you know what this means," Joe was telling him from behind the bar. "I'm sorry, kid, but that's it."
"What's it?"
"The end of Mac's file. Hell, I don't want to have to report it, but he's not coming back."
"Yeah, he is," Richie insisted. "I can feel him, Joe. I know he's alive. He'll be home any minute now. He told me to meet him here."
"There's no reason to wait," Amanda said from beside him. "He's gone, Richie."
"No, he's not. I'm telling you I can feel it." As he spoke the buzz of another immortal washed over the two immortals in the bar.
Connor walked through the door and took a side on Richie's other side. Joe put a beer in front of Connor and refilled Amanda's wine glass.
"He's dead, and now I'm in charge," Connor said simply. "You're mine now."
"But Mac's not dead. I can't leave. What if he comes to meet me and I'm gone?"
"You killed him," Connor said with a frown. "How can you not know he's dead."
"But he's not! I didn't!"
"You killed him!" Amanda screamed, drawing her sword and putting it at his throat. "You owe me!"
"He belongs to me now." Connor put his own sword on the other side of Richie's neck, scissoring with Amanda's blade.
"No! He's not dead! I didn't kill him!" Richie insisted, pulling a gun from his belt. "He's alive!"
"I have to report it," Joe said. "Everything is in the files."
Connor and Amanda leaned in, both ready to take Richie's head, both ready to work in harmony with the other. In self defense, Richie squeezed the trigger, the barrel of the gun pressed firmly into Connor's stomach. Then he turned and shot Amanda. Both immortals fell away from him as a third shot went off.
Joe stood behind the bar, a smoking riffle in his hands. Richie looked down at his own chest, blood dripping down the front of his shirt.
"I have to report it," Joe said as Richie fell to the ground. "The files know everything."
Alone in the dark void Richie's vision blurred in and out of focus. A light shone on him from a source far above his head. A figure began towards him, floating from above to Richie's body laying in the black.
"I can feel you," Richie whispered to the figure.
"You've always believed in me," the figure said, reaching out and healing the bullet wound in Richie's chest. "Trust me and believe in yourself."
"What?"
"Trust me," the figure repeated in a deep brogue. "I can feel you, too."