"What is it this time," Richie asked, jerking his head in the direction of his belligerent-looking friends.

The mortal shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. It looks pretty bad, though. I wouldn't intrude if I were you."

Richie nodded as the other man ambled off. Cutting in on those two had never even crossed his mind. He liked his head where it was, thank you very much. The immortal hadn't come to play peace-maker, he was on the hunt for companionship of the female persuasion. Having a slew of beautiful and intelligent women at his disposal should tame these hormonal urges of his, but new blood never hurt.

He scanned the insubstantial crowd, finding nothing that suited his tastes. Damn, he thought, they'd spoiled him for anyone else. Just when Richie was about to abandon his original plan in favor of getting just a little wasted, the door opened.

In walked a girl – a child really – no older than he was when he first died. She looked woefully out of place in the bar, but there was something in the way she moved that spoke of serious intent. She was here on a mission. The girl walked straight up to where Joe stood behind the bar and said something too soft for Richie to make out. Whatever she said made Joe smile and shake his head irreverently as he turned away from her.

In ratty sneakers, a sweatshirt dotted with paint and plaid flannel pants, she wasn't exactly dressed for public consumption. Her long, dark brown hair was carelessly swept into a messy braid. The word beautiful didn't apply, but she was cute as all hell. It was the sight of Joe returning to the girl with a Shirley Temple in hand that made the young immortal migrate closer, fully aware that he'd found his target. What kind of kid has the chutzpah to enter a bar and order a Shirley Temple while dressed in jammies?

Richie pulled into the stool next to her, and noted that her dark eyes had dark circles under them to match. She was leaning over the bar with slumped shoulders. He decided she was a college student – no other species of human had the ability to look that exhausted.

The girl gave him a nod of acknowledgement when he sat down, but after that just sat nursing her drink. Richie was immediately intrigued. "Hi," he attempted, "I'm Richie."

She gazed at him blankly as if she hadn't heard at first. "Um, hello," she said in a tantalizingly low voice, "My name's Jeannie."

"How do you do?" Richie offered her his hand.

Jeannie shook it weakly and sighed. "I been better," she admitted.

"Oh?" Out of the corner of his eye, the immortal spied Dawson watching the exchange with barely concealed interest.

She looked away. "You don't want to hear my problems."

"Come on," Ryan prodded, "This is a bar, you're 'sposed to unload all your grief." He failed to miss the watcher retreat to the confines of his back office. Alrighty then.

"N-no," Jeannie stammered, breaking her gaze, "I gotta go." Then, like a great big whirling dervish, she breezed right out of the bar. Richie was floored. What the hell?

She'd gone there for a definite reason, but her resolve melted like butter when he sat down next to her and started talking. Jeannie couldn't stay there next to him, not with her heart beating so loudly surely everyone in the bar could hear it.

"Jeannie?"

Bloody boogers! He'd followed her out, probably picking up on her obvious mental problems. Don't let him see, kid. "Yeah?"

Richie's adorable face was creased with concern. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Cheese! Whatever happened to 'don't let him see'? But it was the truth. She'd gotten there in a cab, and there were probably none forthcoming. The sensible thing would be to go in and call another one, but she hadn't had time for anything sensible in far too long.

"Come back inside." He punctuated his request with a squeeze of her shoulder. Lordy.

"Okay." What could she say, 'No, I'd rather stay out here so I can know the special joy that only comes from watching my skin turn blue?'

Richie was so understanding about her bizarreness, it made Jeannie's chest hurt. He just silently led her to the door. Oh well, at least the coldness had slowed her heartbeat somewhat.

"Don't worry about it," Richie said, reading her thoughts, "I put your drink on my tab." He took Jeannie by the hand and deposited her in front of the bar.

The long-suffering barkeep said not a word, simply placed another Shirley Temple before the shivering girl. Good, she needed something to look at besides the gorgeous young immortal hovering over her. "Thanks," Jeannie said feebly to both men, "You must think I'm insane."

They didn't even deign to shake their heads. "Are you all right," Richie asked.

"Not especially, no."

"Care to talk about it?"

Jeannie giggled oddly. "I'd need something a lot stronger than this to tell you my life story after we've only just met."

"Let me call you a cab," offered Joe, ever the practical one.

"Thanks, but not right now. I'd like to stick around for a little bit, if that's okay with you."

"Hey," the Watcher said, "As long as you don't request anything that would cause me to lose my liquor license, you can stay."

Nice guy, that Joe. "Deal." He nodded and went to serve a customer who probably wouldn't flee without paying.

Jeannie sipped her drink, acutely feeling Richie's eyes on the back of her head - and then his arm around her shoulders. "Tell me. It can't be that bad."

"Give it up, handsome," she retorted (albeit shakily), "I don't even know you."

"You could get to know me," Richie replied.

Her insides turned to green jello. "Wh-what did you have in mind," Jeannie asked, struggling to keep her emotions in check.

He smiled and opened his mouth to answer, but it died on his lips. There was another immortal around. It must've been a pretty strong buzz; even the couple arguing in the back paused in mid-sentence. After less than a minute, though, Richie shrugged it off and took a chug of his beer.

That is, until he heard a familiar voice say, in a low and deadly tone, "Care to take your paws off my wife, Ryan?"

Richie turned to face Methos with an incredulous grin. "You're kidding, right?" He stole a glance at Jeannie, who looked decidedly sheepish. "Jeannie?"

She stared at the eldest immortal defiantly. "You say it as if I matter or something."

So it was true. The young immortal bit his tongue to keep from making a crack about robbing the cradle, choosing instead to take his arm from her shoulder. Methos took the other stool next to her and ignored Richie. "I just got a call from Joe telling me to pick up my wife. What are you doing here?"

She hung her head and mumbled something into her drink. "What," asked the two men plus Joe, who'd come back when he saw Methos had arrived.

"I said," she replied softly, raising her head, "I have no place else to go."

"Jeannie," Methos said, touching her cheek, "What are you talking about? Why aren't you at school?"

"Do you remember when I told you about my roommate," Jeannie began, searching her husband's face for an answer, "I didn't think so. Anyhow, the chick is seriously nuts, and I mean that in a bad way. She scares the bejeezus outta me. I haven't dared go near my own bed in weeks for fear that she'd stab me in my sleep or something. It got so bad that I couldn't concentrate in my classes and I'm this close to flunking out. I couldn't stay there anymore, so I got a cab and came here looking for your oldness."

The old dude knew just what to do. "Okay, let's go. You're coming home with me."

"Um, no."

"What?"

Jeannie shook her head. "It's TP's turn now. I can't break the rules like that."

Annoyed at her reluctance, (she was his wife, damnit) Methos groaned. "I'm sure she won't mind when we tell her why."

"Nu-uh. No dice, guy. We don't do the polygamy thing, remember? We take turns, and it won't be mine until next month."

He groaned again and sagged in his chair. "So what the hell were you hoping to accomplish by coming here," Methos paled slightly, "You're not going 'home' home are you?"

His ultra-serious expression just made her laugh, hard. "Glory be, hubby! If I were even thinking of going back to Long Island you'd know way beforehand."

"And why's that?"

"Cause first I'd ask you to shoot me," the girl said solemnly. Then she snorted.

"Not funny, Jeanne Marie."

At the use of her full name Jeannie looked Methos straight in the eyes. "Not meant to be, love. I have no intention of trekking back to that floating mound of sand and cement just so I can attain the immense pleasure of telling my mom that not only did I leave my husband - who I married barely after reaching the age of consent, but I dropped out of school too. I'd rather not be disowned if it's all the same to you."

"Did you have a reason for being here - other than to bug me, I mean?"

Her chocolate-colored eyes blazed. "I thought you could help me, but I should've known you'd be such a wanker about it after I refused to stay at your place. Forget you, I'll take my chances with Psycho Lush."

Adam went to grab her arm, but she squirmed out of reach. "Don't be like this-"

"Joe," she interrupted angrily, "I think I'll take you up on that cab offer. Tell them I'll be waiting outside."

"Pookie," Jeannie added frostily, "I'll see you next month, maybe." She went for the door, but a hand on her shoulder kept her from moving. Thinking it was Methos, she spun around and tried to clock the owner of said hand. Good thing a certain expert in Astrophysics taught Richie how to duck.

"What?!" Everyone had their limit, and Jeannie reached hers some time ago.

"Don't go back there," Richie pleaded.

"I don't really have much choice in the matter," she said, leveling her gaze at the oldest living immortal. Methos wisely looked away.

"Well, You could stay with me," Ryan offered, "My place is a little crowded, but there's always room for one more."

"I think not," was the ancient's vehement contribution. He would not have his own wife living with another man, especially that one.

"He didn't ask you," Jeannie pointed out. "I think I'll accept."

"You can't be serious!"

"And why not," she asked with a lopsided little grin, "It might be nice to live with someone who hasn't forgotten how to respect those born after the dawn of civilization."

"I respect you," Adam protested.

"Oh yeah? 'Shouldn't you be doing your homework, Jeannie? Time for bed, Jeannie. Go to your room until it's time for dinner, Jeannie; I don't want to look at you before then.'"

Richie stared at the older man. "You said that to her?"

Methos was flabbergasted. "Bright Girl caught you talking to Cassandra!"

"I was asking her for nailcare tips," Jeannie claimed, "I simply had to know how somebody could maintain a french manicure for three thousand years. It was just a harmless conversation-"

"Right, everything's all in fun until somebody loses their head. I cannot even begin to fathom how naïve you are sometimes."

"I'm starting to see your point," Richie whispered to Jeannie.

"Allah be praised," she whispered back, "I'm ready to leave anytime." The two looked at each other and nodded, ignoring everyone else as they went for the door.

Methos, however, had yet to give up. "Seventeen?"

"Ooh!" Jeannie stalked back to the bar, stopping just a hair from his much talked about nose. "You crusty old bastard! If you're gonna refer to me as a number rather than as a person, I might as well be your slave. Until I tell you otherwise, do not talk to me, do not look at me, and especially do not give Richie a hard time for this. I will be back in a month's time because I love you, butT only if you behave yourself and promise to seriously think about what I've said, `kay?"

Defeated at last, Adam mumbled something unintelligible and turned away. A sastisfied smile spread across her face. "So we understand each other." It was not a question.

Richie and Joe were both stunned at the sight of a mere slip girl reaming out the master of witty repartee like that. "Whoa!"

To make up for her nastiness (she did marry the guy for a reason, after all) Jeannie planted a big wet one on Methos' cheek. "I'll see you in March," she whispered.

The younger immortal watched this exchange with slight trepidation, wondering if maybe she'd change her mind about joining his little group. "Are you ready to go," he asked, relieved when she turned to him and grinned.

"Am I ever!"

"Jeannie," he prodded carefully, "Wake up. We're here."

The girl stirred and squinted at him for a few seconds, uncomprehending. "Lemmee just rest my eyes for a few more min'ts."

"Sorry, no dozing out here." Ryan smiled and pulled her off the bike, trying to ignore her soft cries of protest. "You can sleep upstairs. I promise."

"Oohkay." Jeannie finally complied, waking herself up a little. She scrunched up her face, taking in the scene around her. "Uh, where are we?"

"This is the building where I live. My apartment's upstairs." He opened the door and led her down the hallway.

"Don' wanna go back to school," she mumbled suddenly, "They got loonies there."

"You don't have to go back if it's not what you want," Richie said gently as they reached the elevator.

"But then I'd leave my job. And I love my job."

He couldn't resist remarking, "You seem to love a lot of things - and people."

"Wha, you mean Methos?" Even in her muddy semi-conscious state, Jeannie had no problem getting the meaning behind his words. "He's not always spazzed out like that. He can be a real peach sometimes."

"What in the world made you marry the guy?"

She laughed a little and fully opened her eyes. "I couldn't not marry him. I served him his first beer, ya know."

Richie decided not to tell his new friend that her statement made no sense. Methos must have been introduced to his favorite beverage long before this girl's ancestors were even born. Ryan changed the subject, hoping that it was just the exhaustion talking. "You said you have a job; what do you do?"

"I, uh, work at the campus theater. I'm a techie."

"What's a techie?"

Her lips curved into a knowing smile and Richie grinned back, almost overjoyed at finally seeing a trace of coherence in those dark eyes. "You have a lot to learn about the theater department," she clucked, "It's too bad I'll be leaving the only one in the area."

"I don't know about that," he confessed in a conspiratorial whisper, "The ladies have been making plans. They don't tell me much, though. I just know that my place can't fit all of us anymore. They've been talking about something big."

"Well then," Jeannie said with a glint in her eye, "I have nothing to keep me from plunging in feet first. What do you call your houseguests, anyway?"

"It's a little complicated," Richie confessed. The controversy of his group's title was something he didn't quite understand. If he had cared enough about it, the young man would've asked one of the ladies to explain. As it was, titles didn't mean much to him. "The girls are still discussing it. For now they call themselves my Concubines, but that's just a working name."

"I like it," she remarked, smiling broadly, as she stepped into the apartment. "Tell them not to change it."

Richie smiled back. He had chosen wisely – again. This one should prove to be very interesting. "Oui, Madame." Yes, very interesting indeed. Now, if only he could make her forget about that geezer she married ….

THE END

One last note: MFWs, please don't denounce me or anything. I love the really old guy, honest. I just love Richie a teeny bit more, and since the story is about his group I had to make him the good guy. If you like, I'll write another one and reverse the roles, whaddya say? And I'm really not this big of a smart-ass in real life; ask anyone.