Author's Note: An AU fic set in 2004 Paris, in which Richie Ryan lives and
Joe Dawson was killed the previous year in a car accident. (Trust me it
works). As for the rest, raises eyebrows, nods head, moves on.
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September 10 2004, 1700PM, Le Blues Bar
He had sent Richie to buy more beer, scotch and whiskey. The shipment scheduled to arrive that morning had never come, and Mac was panicked. He hoped the band tonight would bring some crowds in. For all his hard work and dedication, business had downfalled since Joe's passing. He had taken control of the bar to save it, and some days he feared he did more harm than good.
The bar was empty, save for him and Adam. The lunch rush had ended, and the dinner crowd had yet to trickle in. Mike had promised to be in before six, and Darcy had promised she would be in before the crowds. Only Adam sat at the bar, bent over his beer and research notes, an amused smirk on his face.
"Quit your pacing, MacLeod."
Mac mumbled something under his breath, and Adam chuckled. (They had made it a habit to keep their ten month relationship private, and rarely did anything happen outside the privacy of their own homes or a close friend's home). "Look, Duncan," Mac stopped at the sound of his Christian name, and caught Adam's direct gaze, "tonight will be perfect. It will be."
"We've lost revenue, Methos."
The oldest Immortal snorted. "You need to build from the ground up MacLeod, not from the sky down."
"Whatever the bloody hell that means," muttered Adam, painfully aware of Adam's amused chuckling as he returned his focus to his research.
Sputtering in own disgust, Mac disappeared into the back office to re- check tonight's details.
"Hey listen, thanks Nick. I appreciate this. [pause] Sure thing. Next time you and Amanda are in Paris, we can meet for lunch. [pause] Haha. More like the Addam's family," laughed Richie, as he struggled into the bar with several bags in hand, and his cell phone cradled between neck and ear. Less than gracefully, he managed to drop the bags onto the counter with no breakage, and ended the call, flipping the cell phone cover shut. "Thanks for the help, old man."
Adam shrugged, and without looking up, countered, "You seem to have managed fine, brat."
With an air of forced acceptance and amusement, Richie flipped on the radio, and began to restock the alcohol. Soon the air was punctured by the bickering of the bartender and sole waitress, as the two openly hated one another, and arrived coincidentally simultaneously.
September 10 2004, 1700PM, Le Blues Bar
He had sent Richie to buy more beer, scotch and whiskey. The shipment scheduled to arrive that morning had never come, and Mac was panicked. He hoped the band tonight would bring some crowds in. For all his hard work and dedication, business had downfalled since Joe's passing. He had taken control of the bar to save it, and some days he feared he did more harm than good.
The bar was empty, save for him and Adam. The lunch rush had ended, and the dinner crowd had yet to trickle in. Mike had promised to be in before six, and Darcy had promised she would be in before the crowds. Only Adam sat at the bar, bent over his beer and research notes, an amused smirk on his face.
"Quit your pacing, MacLeod."
Mac mumbled something under his breath, and Adam chuckled. (They had made it a habit to keep their ten month relationship private, and rarely did anything happen outside the privacy of their own homes or a close friend's home). "Look, Duncan," Mac stopped at the sound of his Christian name, and caught Adam's direct gaze, "tonight will be perfect. It will be."
"We've lost revenue, Methos."
The oldest Immortal snorted. "You need to build from the ground up MacLeod, not from the sky down."
"Whatever the bloody hell that means," muttered Adam, painfully aware of Adam's amused chuckling as he returned his focus to his research.
Sputtering in own disgust, Mac disappeared into the back office to re- check tonight's details.
"Hey listen, thanks Nick. I appreciate this. [pause] Sure thing. Next time you and Amanda are in Paris, we can meet for lunch. [pause] Haha. More like the Addam's family," laughed Richie, as he struggled into the bar with several bags in hand, and his cell phone cradled between neck and ear. Less than gracefully, he managed to drop the bags onto the counter with no breakage, and ended the call, flipping the cell phone cover shut. "Thanks for the help, old man."
Adam shrugged, and without looking up, countered, "You seem to have managed fine, brat."
With an air of forced acceptance and amusement, Richie flipped on the radio, and began to restock the alcohol. Soon the air was punctured by the bickering of the bartender and sole waitress, as the two openly hated one another, and arrived coincidentally simultaneously.