"B-B-Q day," Aaron sat next to Richie with this lunch tray laden with chipped beef, corn, beans, and bread all smothered in rich, homemade, sauce
"B-B-Q day," Aaron sat next to Richie with this lunch tray laden with chipped beef, corn, beans, and bread all smothered in rich, homemade, sauce. "My favorite day of the month."
"They should make sausage some time," Richie commented, dipping his roll in his beans.
"Ready for the math final?" Brady asked from Richie's other side, wiping his mouth as sauce dribbled down his chin.
"Ready to fail it," Aaron answered with a grin. "I know I'm gonna have to take the class again."
"I think I got it this time," Richie had to admit. "It's finally clicking. 'Sides, I was so close to passing last semester, there's no way I'm not moving on this time."
The three had met in remedial math the semester before, and had all failed it together. After failing by less than three points, Richie asked Mrs. Wrigglesworth for help figuring out just what he was doing wrong. After that math had been easy, well, easier at the very least.
"Summer plans?" Brady asked, keeping the conversation going, not wanting any well-intending monk to sit down to create conversation.
"Summer school math," Aaron laughed. "Really, there's no way I'm getting out of it. My folks are gonna kill me if I don't get outta idiot math by next year."
"What about you?" Brady asked Richie.
"Dunno, I'm sure my uncle has something planned. I think he wants to go to Europe or something and he's not going to leave me home alone. You?"
"Work," Brady shrugged. "Summer gets real busy at the restaurant with the tourists. Who knew people came to New York for sushi? Oh, you guys wanna come for dinner Friday? My dad'll pick up the tab. All you can eat sushi and tempura," he tempted.
"Any of that cooked?" Richie asked.
"Tempura is, it's fried."
"Then I'm there. Who else is invited?"
"Probably you guys and some guys I know from Lit class. If it gets too big my dad will make us pay."
"Keep it small," Richie and Aaron agreed at the same time.
. . . . . .
To repay her for her help in math, Richie volunteered to help Mrs. Wrigglesworth everyday he wasn't in exams to help her proctor her own exams. He slipped in a bit late on the last day. The students were already deep in thought, typing away on their calculators and chewing on their erasers.
"How did it go?" Mrs. Wrigglesworth asked him as he leaned over her desk.
"I stayed late to get my grade." He handed his test to her with a red 87 circled at the top. "That's a 79 for the semester," he grinned. "I finally passed."
She smiled broadly at him, "I knew you would do it. Congratulations. Why don't you take the day off and go celebrate with your 'uncle'?" she suggested.
"Naw, he's spending the day with Meredith," he rolled his eyes. Over the course of the year there had been no more incidents between Richie and Meredith, but it wasn't easy to keep it that way. Richie had confided in Mrs. Wrigglesworth as he helped rearrange the classroom, hang posters, grade papers and preside over detention.
Mrs. Wrigglesworth sighed and shook her head. "I heard the stories from Amanda, but I thought, surely they couldn't be true. She had to have been exaggerating. Little did I know- Eyes on your own paper Andrew, if you need better light you can sit in the front with me."
"There's no need to exaggerate with us," Richie smiled. "Where do you want me?"
"Keep an eye on that back corner; they look like they're up to something."
. . . . . .
"So you finally passed, eh?" Connor asked, when he greeted Richie at the door that evening.
"Never thought I would, did ya?"
"He's even starting to sound like a New Yorker," a voice groaned from the living room.
"Joe?" Richie pushed passed Connor excitedly and nearly ran to the older man sitting on the couch. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to see you. Connor said today was your last day, so I thought it was a good time to come out."
"How long have you been planning this and why didn't anyone tell me?" Richie demanded looking between the two conspirators.
Connor smiled innocently. "More fun this way. Who wants dinner?"
At dinner Joe put a file folder in front of Richie as they waited for their steaks to be cooked.
"What's this?" Richie asked, looking at the official Watcher's seal stamped on it.
"Your file," Joe explained. "I just thought that with the rarity of our relationship it'd be a good chance to make sure we keep our files correct and up to date. That's your background file. Just look through it and see that everything's right. Would be a nice change of pace for the old guys in research."
"You're just giving it to me? Isn't this, like, against regulations or something?"
Joe shrugged and smiled. "I'm an old man, what are they going to do to me?"
"Dunno, don't they kill the traitors?"
"Then keep it quiet."
"What about our watchers?" Connor asked. "Won't they see you hand the file over?"
"Not if they were told they could take a vacation while I was in town."
"Sneaky old bastard."
Their steaks arrived and the men changed their conversation from business to sports and vacation.
"So if you're not working, Rich, I suppose your social life is a little on the non existent side," Joe commented.
"No, I go out plenty. I just don't have to pay for it," Richie grinned back. "And as much as I don't want to admit it, between training and school there isn't much time for working anyway. My schedule is packed pretty tight."
"Nice to know you can learn," Connor slapped him in the shoulder. "Though, as long as we're admitting things. He's really taken to his training. I think this kid has a shot at it."
"Whatever it is," Richie added, trying to brush off the overwhelming feeling of pride the simple comment brought on.
"He was never that bad," Joe said, putting his napkin on his empty plate. "Just green."
"Uncle Russell just let me start using swords. He started me on the baby level."
"Uncle Russell?"
"Cover story."
"I know, but you don't have to cover anything with me."
Richie shrugged. "Habit."
. . . . . .
That night in the loft, Richie lay out on his bed with his file in front of him. It was strange to have access to it. His whole life had been documented and store in a filing cabinet. He had never once been granted permission to read what everyone else wrote about him. One time he had managed to steal his file, but hadn't gotten to see much before he was caught. But now, here it was. Well, one of them.
With a deep breath, his flipped the thin folder open to the first page. There was a long spiel about authorization and legalities that Richie didn't quite understand, but understood enough to know that he wasn't supposed to be looking through it. The next page was a photocopy of a page from Duncan file detailing the night they had met from Joe's prospective. Apparently he had been tipped off about Slan Quince and had staked out the store in anticipation.
It was a little strange reading a narrative of the evening with the names "Immortal D. MacLeod" and "Unknown Teen" taking place of the proper ones. The next entry was a copy for Quince's file, and then one for Connor's (Immortal C. MacLeod) all detailing the same evening from three different perspectives. It was like reading a novel written by three different authors.
After that there were entries about the times Richie had gotten involved in cases with other immortals where he was referred to as "Apprentice" and described as either a possible immortal or watcher recruit. Then finally, apparently after some research they found his name and from there on out he was referred to as "Teen Ryan". There were some notes about looking into his foster records, but they never seemed to get a hold of them. The first year or so of his chronicles were short one page entries all written by Joe with the details of how he guessed Richie became involved.
After he became immortal the reports starting coming in from different watchers as they followed him, or the immortal they were assigned to followed him. He skimmed them over, some stories he recognized, other he had no idea had happened. Apparently he had been more popular among immortals than he'd ever known. Every week or so one seemed to be scoping him out, looking at his abilities, apparently deciding if he was worth a fight or not.
He made it to an entry about his encounter with Sladkie at the market a few days before Duncan had been killed. It was quick and to the point.
"Immortal Sladkie had confrontation with Immortal Richards at 2:30 pm in local market. Challenge Issued."
Frowning, Richie looked at it again. Immortal Richards? Who the hell was that? The Watcher filing the report must have gotten his name wrong. But since Joe knew what happened he hadn't double checked the report. Shrugging, he got off his bed and made it downstairs where Connor and Joe were talking over coffee.
"You guys need editors or something." Richie put the file down in front of Joe and opened it to the appropriate page. "You guys got your names mixed up."
Joe looked it over. "Huh, look at that." He flipped the page. "Yup, here they get Sladkie's name wrong. Too many cooks working on the same dish. I'll fix it." He closed the file.
"That's pretty sloppy, Joe."
"Why do you think I wanted you to look at it? We get things wrong all the time. Misidentify immortals, mix up who challenged whom…but it's all in the files so we've got it all on paper."
"Got it all wrong on paper."
The oven alarm started going off. Richie got up to shut it off, but no matter what button he pushed it wouldn't stop beeping at him. As he puzzled over the oven, the microwave, then toaster starting dinging at him. Confused, he tried to turn off the appliances, but none of them would respond. They just kept going off.
Richie sat up in bed and quickly turned off his alarm clock. It was 5:30 and time to get dressed to go to the gym. He shook his head. He hated those realistic dreams. The ones where you can't tell fiction from reality.
"You getting ready?" Connor yelled from the kitchen.
"Just a minute!" he yelled back, through the open window that looked out over the rest of the loft.
As he stumbled into his closet his foot kicked a pile of old school papers that he had meant to throw away. He looked down at the report on top, a sociology of history paper about misidentified soldiers being sent to the wrong families after dying in war.
"We get things wrong all the time…"
The words rang in his ears. Where did he hear that?
"The files know everything…"
His dreams. Things Joe told him in his dreams about Duncan. In the last two years he had remained convinced that Duncan was still alive. There was no proof otherwise other than some stupid entry in a file folder.
"We get things wrong all the time…"
Richie tried to shake the feeling and get dressed ready for yoga. He had moved on to the advanced class after attending at least twice a week for two years. His body had changed drastically, though he hadn't grown his lean muscles made him look longer. Swords had finally become a regular part of his training and Connor didn't trust him to spar with anybody that was not immortal, anymore. He didn't want Richie faltering and trying to pull back and sensor his moves by accident when in a challenge.
"You coming?" Connor asked, this time from the bedroom door.
"Yeah, sorry. Had a weird dream, can't really shake it."
"About Duncan?" he asked, knowingly sitting in the desk chair.
"Not really… not like the others. It was about the Watchers and their chronicles. That they're wrong."
Connor sighed. "Richie, I'm not one to tell people how to feel, but you really need to get over this. It's been way too long. Do you need to talk to someone professionally?"
"You think I like feeling like this?" Richie shot back, pulling on a t-shirt. "You think I like thinking that Mac is out there somewhere and I'm supposed to do something but don't know what? That it's all my fault?"
"Look, you're summer just started, right?"
"What about it?"
"If I can get your hands on those files, and prove to you what really happened, do you think it will help?"
"Can you do that?"
"We may need to do some traveling, but if it's going to help you, I'll see what I can do."
"You really think this is all in my head?" Richie slid on his sandals, no use tying on sneakers when he was just going to take them off at the gym.
"What I know is it's in the files. Those stalkers have to be good for something."