The sun was well up, the clouds in the distance hinting at the possibility of a midmorning thunderstorm, when Richie finally dragged himself from beneath the sheets and fisted the sleep from his eyes. Smothering a yawn behind one hand, he threw the covers aside and swung his legs out of bed, climbing to his feet with a total lack of enthusiasm for the day ahead. A few strides across the bedroom and he knew MacLeod was still inside the apartment, the Immortal buzz dancing across his senses bringing him to full wakefulness. "I don't need a babysitter," he muttered softly, secretly touched by the Highlander's interest in his well-being. He stopped long enough to grab a clean pair of jeans and pull them on, doing a one-legged hop to the door as his foot got caught in one pant leg. As expected, Duncan was in the main room, a cup of steaming tea sitting on the coffee table, the daily paper clutched in his hands. He lowered it as Richie came into view, smiling up at the young man, who was sporting a bad case of 'bed head'. "Morning." "Morning," Richie returned, squinting at the clock in the kitchen. "What time is it, anyway?" "A little past ten," Duncan informed him. Taking another good look at his protege, he got to his feet and went directly to the refrigerator. Grabbing the orange juice, he filled a glass and handed it over. "Think you could eat something?" "Yeah, a team of horses would be good." The Scot grinned at that, glad to see that whatever was troubling the young Immortal obviously hadn't affected his appetite. "You'll have to settle for the Danish I picked up," he said, indicating the string-tied cardboard box with Black Forest Bakery in bright letters across the top. "Danish? Really?" The redhead made a beeline for the box and tore into it. "All your favorites. Try not to make yourself sick." "Sure, Mac. Wann wun?" he mumbled around a mouthful, offering a fruit-filled pastry to the other man. "No thanks. I ate earlier." Richie swallowed hard, looking suddenly sheepish. "Why didn't you wake me? Man, I should have opened the dojo hours ago." "Don't worry about that. I called Jason and asked him to hold down the fort today. You and I have an appointment to keep." "An appointment? Where?" "While you were getting your beauty sleep I called my friend in France." "The shrink?" Richie muttered, feeling a sudden loss of appetite. "Mm-hmm. He called a colleague of his in Everett and she's agreed to take you on as a patient. We have a one o'clock appointment at her Cicero Heights office here in town." "The Heights? That sounds a little out of my range, Mac, maybe--" "No charge, Rich. She's doing it as a favor to Sean." "She?" Richie asked, brightening. "Yes, she," Duncan said with a snort of amusement. "A Vanya Korsikov. Sean says she's one of the best." "You trust this Sean guy?" "With my life." Well, there it was, Richie couldn't very well argue with that. "You really want me to do this, huh?" "We've been over this, Richie. Yes, I think it's important for you to find out what's going on," Duncan replied, with a mixture of exasperation and concern. He watched as the young man ducked his head and dropped his half-eaten breakfast onto the counter. "Why don't you want to go, Rich?" he asked, reading the redhead's body language. "I didn't say I didn't want to go," Richie hedged, casting a quick glance up at the older man then back down to the countertop. "You *do* want to find out why you're sleepwalking, don't you?" "Yeah, sure," Richie quickly answered, but his voice lacked conviction. "I need to know, right?" "Right," Duncan confirmed, feeling a general disquiet at his student's sudden prolonged lapses into silence. That pattern had become more and more pronounced the past week, a direct contrast to Richie's normal hundred-mile-an-hour spiels, and he didn't like it one bit. "Why don't you go get dressed," he said finally. "We can stop by the dojo and see how Jason's doing, then head over to Joe's for an early lunch. You didn't do much damage to that Danish, and I know Joe would like to see you." "You mean see me awake," Richie retorted, trying to make light of the situation. His downcast expression ruined the attempt. "Get dressed, Rich. I'll call Joe and let him know we're coming by." Richie was silent during the drive to the dojo and bar, his eyes locked straight ahead, teeth worrying his lower lip. He reminded Duncan of a kid on his way to the dreaded doctor's office...which was, of course, what he was...in a sense. Richie's uneasiness regarding his impending appointment grew throughout lunch, to the point where he was fidgeting incessantly, fingers tapping on the tabletop, gaze drifting to his watch time and again until his companions were nearly as nervous as he. Sensing that the Highlander was a little out of his element handling Richie in this emotional state, Joe offered to come along, nonplused when both Immortals nearly fell over each other accepting. He tactfully pretended not to notice the embarrassed glances they shot one another at this and fixed his gaze on his beer glass, wondering silently if a psychiatrist would be able to discover just what was at the root of Richie's problem. Then there was MacLeod; to the Watcher it was obvious that the Scot was more concerned about their young friend than he wanted to let on. That Richie seemed oblivious to this was just another indication that he was not himself. All Joe could do was be there for them, lending his support and friendship - and pray that, now, they were on the right track to pulling Richie from whatever dark road he had started down. The threesome made the trip to the Heights in the T-bird, Richie sprawled across the back seat, having ceded the front passenger side to Joe and his cane. It would have made for a pleasant drive had the sun been out. It wasn't. The clouds seemed to have set in for good, dampening everyone's already somber mood as the sporadic showers saturated the city itself. Duncan drew his trenchcoat more closely around him as he pulled the car into the private lot in front of Dr. Korsikov's building. With its dark wood and landscaped walkway the two-story structure gave the impression of a home well cared for, rather than a workplace - an impression, the Highlander was sure, was as much to put the patients at ease as a reflection of the personal tastes of the owner. If Richie was an example of how well it succeeded in this area, then it was an abysmal failure; when Duncan placed a hand on the young Immortal's elbow to urge him forward, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Sorry," Richie mumbled, giving a short, nervous laugh. "I guess I'm a little jumpy. Maybe we should go in." "That would be my choice, too. Unless you think the doc's going to come to us," Joe remarked, his gentle squeeze of the redhead's shoulder taking the sting out of his words. He moved carefully across the wet blacktop, closing the distance to the carved oversized outer door. "Yeah, right," was the muttered comeback as Richie shook himself and leapt forward to open the door for the older man. "Age before beauty," he sallied, with just a touch of his normal exuberance. "You heard the kid, MacLeod...you first," Joe said wryly, stepping aside to allow the dark-haired Immortal to enter first. He did, giving a mumbled 'children' for their benefit, along with a disdainful sniff. "Your turn," Richie prompted the Watcher, and received a playful cuff to the side of the head before Joe followed in Duncan's wake, leaving Richie to bring up the rear. He made it two feet into the foyer before the urge to bolt nearly overwhelmed him, but found that Duncan and Joe had taken up places to either side of him, as if reading his mind. It was Duncan who announced them when they reached the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length blondish hair, a few strands of grey standing out boldly at her temples. She greeted them warmly and placed a clipboard and the requisite medical history forms in Richie's suddenly numb fingers. Duncan relieved him of it and filled in the blanks, adding a few embellishments to the area marked 'recent illnesses' to give the illusion of a normal twenty-one year old male mortal. Richie's anxiety was a palpable thing as they were shown into Dr. Korsikov's office to await her, and he settled onto the couch beside Duncan only after pacing fruitlessly for several minutes. "Calm down, Rich," Duncan advised, laying a hand on his right arm. "She won't bite, I promise." "Ha, ha, very funny. Easy for you to say, you're not about to have your head shrunk." Joe's snort of amusement at that assessment of the situation had Richie throwing him a dark look and flopping back sullenly against the cushions. Several minutes passed in silence, the only sound the ticking of a crystal clock on the large cherry-wood desk and the patter of light rain on the bay window behind it. Richie tensed, rising from his slouched position when the presence of another Immortal hit him. His hand automatically went to the sword secreted within his clothing, but Duncan's hand clapped onto his arm and stayed him. He shot the Scot a puzzled look, then three pair of eyes shifted to the open door and the petite figure standing there. The top of Vanya Korsikov's head would barely reach Richie's shoulders, but she exuded a confidence that belied her size as she strode into the room, hand extended toward the nearest man, Joe. "I'm Dr. Korsikov...Vanya," she said, giving the silver-haired Watcher a warm smile. "Joe Dawson, ma'am. Pleased to meet you," he replied, taking the proffered hand and shaking it gently. "Let me guess." She cocked her head of raven black hair to the side and turned her gaze to the other occupants of the room, zoning in on the taller of the two. "You must be Duncan MacLeod." She released Joe to meet the Scot halfway, repeating the gesture of greeting. "Sean sings your praises," she teased, her gamin smile captivating all three men. "All lies, I swear it," Duncan jested, returning the smile. He felt rather than saw Richie shift from foot to foot beside him and drew the doctor toward him. "And this is--" "--Richie," Vanya finished for him, laying a small hand on each of the young man's arms. She looked directly into his eyes, never yielding until, ultimately, he did the same. "I'm glad you came," she said simply, lightly squeezing his arms through his cotton shirt and giving a small nod, as if he had passed some unknown test. "Yeah, um...yeah, me, too," Richie stammered, surprised to find that he meant every word. "Good." Another squeeze of his arms and she released him, turning toward the taller men. "If Richie wishes, we can discuss his case later, but, for now, he and I need to get acquainted." "Of course," Joe concurred, already moving for the door. "Mac and I will be outside if you need us, Rich." "I don't mind if they stay," Richie objected, his tone laced with barely-concealed panic. Duncan threw him a smile meant to reassure. "You'll do fine, Richie. Just let Doctor...let Vanya help you, all right?" Richie frowned at the door as it closed behind the Highlander and turned to find Korsikov regarding him silently, her deep brown eyes surprisingly sympathetic. "You're an Immortal," he said abruptly, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. Korsikov smiled at the incredulity in his voice. "How else could I help mortal and Immortal alike? I wouldn't be much good to you if you couldn't be completely honest with me." "Makes sense," Richie conceded. "Good. We'll do just fine, you and I. Please, have a seat and we'll get started." "What, I don't have to lie down?" "You've been watching too much late-night television," she said with a small laugh. Richie smiled easily in return - the sound of her laughter was infectious. "I've gotta tell ya," he said, dropping down onto the oversized chair Joe had vacated, "you're not what I pictured." "Ah, let me guess. You envisioned an elderly gentleman with silver-gray hair and a smelly pipe, studying you from over the top of an ornate leather journal while he scribbled mysterious notes inside?" "Well, I knew you were a woman, but other than that you're not too far off." "That stereotype went out with the forties...thank goodness. Do you think you can adjust?" "To having a beautiful woman for a shrink instead of a stodgy old windbag? Yeah, I think I can handle it." She laughed at his youthful grin, the sound warm and genuine. "Good, because I don't see myself turning into a stodgy old windbag any time soon." He laughed with her and waited while she took the seat across from his to say, "Can I ask how old you are?" "I turned one hundred and eighty-three last April, and you're twenty-one, right?" "Yeah. You're one of the youngest Immortals I've met," he informed her, hands clasped in his lap but never still. "Most of them are hundreds of years older than me." "Really? How does that make you feel?" "Like the runt of the litter," he said with a small laugh. "It would be kind of nice to know there were more of us out there who were around my age." "It worries you that you entered the Game so young?" "It doesn't really *worry* me," he answered, one foot knocking lightly against the chair leg. "But I guess it doesn't say much for my chances of making it when everybody else seems to have so much more experience than I do." "Not necessarily. You're young, yes, but that youth and vitality could work in your favor, and from what Sean has told me of Duncan you couldn't have a finer teacher." "I know. I was lucky. He's taught me a lot, like how to think with my head, not my heart." "Good advice, but sometimes easier said than done." "You got that right. I made some bonehead mistakes in the beginning of my training, but I'm learning." "Tell me about your relationship with Duncan. From what I've seen so far, and from little Sean has told me, he seems to dote on you quite a bit." Richie blushed at that and shifted in his seat. "He's that way with all of his friends," he said, brushing away the warm feeling the words gave him. Vanya studied him in silence for several moments. "Somehow I doubt that." "Mac's just being a mother hen."