Richie wasn't sure how long he stared into the water after Darius' ashes melded with its dark surface, destined to join the sediment after drifting as far as the current would carry them. He hadn't joined Mac, Fitz and Tessa below deck either—it felt wrong, like he didn't know the ancient priest well enough to mourn him properly. All he knew was that there was one less force for good in the world.
Click. Light bled out into the inky darkness over the water and Richie knew that someone was coming up on deck to check on him—probably Tessa, with extra sweater in hand. He ran frozen fingers over coppery curls, watching his breath whorl in front of him, wondering when it would catch up to those fragments of Darius' ashes the wind had caught and tossed away like so much nothing.
"Hey." Mac's deep voice—no longer cracking—sounded from beside him.
"Hey." Richie repeated, sweeping his eyes over the water in an effort not to make eye contact.
"You are welcome inside, you know. Fitz thinks he's putting you off." Mac said levelly, not exactly straining to make eye contact either.
"Nah, he's great. Nuts, but great I just...need a little fresh air." Richie shrugged, took a deep, sniffing breath and did his best not to shiver.
"I know what you're thinking Rich..." Mac began, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder, "and the answer is yes. You may have to bury me one day—just like I might have to bury you and we both might eventually need to bury-
"Don't Mac—" Richie blurted, not wanting to hear it.
"Tessa." At that moment Richie turned to look at Mac, paying a morbid moment's attention to the puff of white the passed Mac's lips as he said her name—as though it were a fragment of her soul, and he needed to watch it fade. When it finally did, he winced.
"It's just...even now..." The young man's voice hitched suddenly, a well of grief surprising him in its intensity pushing up his throat. "I can't even think about it, Mac, I can't."
"Come here." Mac said gently, holding out his other arm encouragingly. "Come on."
Without need of any more encouragement, Richie pulled himself close to Mac and wept madly into one broad shoulder. Mac's long, thick coat was open and he buried himself in it, allowing the emotions to completely overcome him without fear of his tears being seen.
"Shh..." One arm squeezed tight over Richie's back as a wide hand threaded through the young man's hair. He'd only let the older man do this for him once before, at Gary's funeral, when he finally allowed himself to mourn and realize that, if he hadn't decided to rob the shop that night, how easily that casket could have been his.
"P-promise me." Richie stammered, his voice muffled in Mac's sweater. "I know it's selfish but promise me-"
"It's not selfish, and I promise, I'll do everything I can to make it back to you and Tess." Mac rocked a little, shifting his weight easily from one foot to the other. A chill gust picked up just then and Richie felt the flaps of Mac's coat pull more securely over him, bracing against the air despite the fact it was strong enough to toss his deep chestnut ponytail over one shoulder. For a long moment they stood like that, until Richie pushed away a little.
"Better?" Mac asked as the young man rubbed his cheeks, drying them in hopes that he could pass off the redness in his face as cold and not grief. Eventually, he nodded and Mac stepped back, not breaking contact but keeping on arm around the boy's shoulders, leading him back towards the light, leaving Darius' final journey at last serenely unobserved.