Author's Note: raises eyebrows, nods head, moves on her merry way. (Darcy
is mine).
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September 10, 2004, 2100 PM, Le Blues Bar
Richie Ryan liked his vantagepoint. From the back (which Joe had always jokingly called the "Immortal") booth, he could see the door, and everyone who came or went. He had a beer, (one of those horrid concoctions Methos repeatedly drank), the booth/table to himself, and the night off. (Coincidentally both Mike and Darcy had asked (for separate reasons) to have yesterday and the early time of today off, so he had pulled a rare double-day shift, and was determined to enjoy tonight's freedom and music).
The band (made mostly of guys in his age-bracket -30s), was still warming up, and Mac was still tucked inside the back office with the lead guitarist figuring the final details of pay. Richie smiled knowingly, and took a sip of his beer. He had a good head for business and for numbers, but only offered to help if Mac first asked, and Mac rarely asked for help. It was no wonder, Richie thought, that Methos still called him the boyscout behind closed doors.
The place was only semi-crowded. Mostly people in their twenties and thirties, and a few college students filled the air with conversation and laughter. Darcy was in her element: flirting storms with the male patrons, with winks, and air kisses, and intimate lean-ins when taking the order. More than a few girlfriends and wives would be jealous.
She was a sweet enough girl. Twenty-three, she waitressed part-time to earn money towards her college education, and majored in the dramatic arts and took culinary classes in her spar time. She was from Ireland originally, and still spoke with a slight lilt to her speech. Richie and she had dated casually three or four times (their last date having been the third of September), and slept together once. It had not amounted to much, as she liked pillow talk more than he did.
"Cat get your tongue, Rich?" asked Darcy. She plunkered down in the leather seat across from him, and smiled seductively. "Who do you pine for tonight?"
"Who said I pined?" he played along, teasingly tweaking a strand of her long dark hair.
"No one, but Mike bet me ten bucks you would replace me within a week."
"You don't seem to broken-hearted, Darce."
"What can I say?" she grinned. "I'm easily amused."
Richie played back her previous words, and Darcy laughed at the puzzled confusion, which crossed his face. "Mike bet you? You two get within twenty million feet of one another, and you automatically switch to the offense."
Darcy shrugged. "It is both a mutual hatred and a mutual respect," she leaned close to Richie, almost on the table, with her shirt pulled seductively low. "I hope I get one night from it."
Richie laughed. Darcy was worse than any guy was. She often had one thing on her mind, and was not afraid to have it be known. "Mike know?"
"Oh, he will," she grinned, pulling herself from the table, and straightening herself out. She glanced at Richie, and her playful relationship turned serious. "Pining has done no good. Talk to her, for hells sake."
"Funny. Amanda said the same."
"Well, Amanda is intelligent then," Darcy called over her shoulder, as she sashayed back to the kitchen to finish doling out the dinners, and collecting her harmless flirtations.
Richie sighed, and leaned back into his booth. He took a long gulp of his beer, and when the pressure and the warning came, he did not reach for his sword.
**************************************************************************** *************************
Asher was cold, and mentally cursed herself for her bright decision to walk. Bright, being the key word. It would be a quick visit. In and out, and only to say good-bye to Richie. She sighed, gathered her mental defenses, and stepped inside.
She noticed the two heads turned to her, but only was wary. The third --Duncan MacSomething-Or-Other --(which for all her belittling of, she could not remember) was probably in the backroom somewhere, as it was his bar. "A water please. No ice."
"Sure thing, doll," replied the bartender.
Asher side-glanced the youngish man next to her. It was the same one who had lectured her. "Sorry. About yesterday, I mean."
Adam shrugged, and swept his gaze up, then down her face and front, before he returned to his work, and his beer. "We all have off-days," he mumbled, and Asher had to strain to catch it.
Slowly, she threaded her way to the back table where she knew Richie sat, carefully balancing both her bag and guitar with her water. "How goes the night, Richie Ryan?"
A smile broke across Richie's face. "Asher. You came."
She smiled shyly, and slipped across the expanse of the leather, and set her bag and guitar at her feet. "I did promise I would."
They lapsed into silence. The band started to play. It was folksier, then jazzy, and one line caught Richie's interest.
~~Love cannot afford to be shy~~
It was a woman singing. Faith or Hope or Charity. Green. She was backed all males. Guitarist, bassist, drummer, and keyboarder. "Care to dance?" he offered.
"Here? Now?"
"Sure. Why not?"
Asher accepted, although her voice was small, and she quickly downed her still-near full glass of water. They moved to the cluttered floor silently, and Richie held her close, and almost delicately. He feared should he hold too tight, he would break her. He felt *protective. *
She looped her arms hesitantly around his neck, and rested her chin in the crook of his shoulder. It was intimate, and strange, and wonderful. "You have scars. On your wrists. Most don't have scars," he whispered.
She moved back to catch his eyes. "I cut to the bone."
He asked no more, and she offered no more answers. Simply content to sway to the romantic beat of the music, they fell to a pattern of closeness. The song ended, and they stepped back. And Riche stepped forward again, and with his arms once again looped around her waist, he kissed her: first gently, and when she did not pull away, he kissed deeper.
"I, I, I need to go," she managed, and grabbing her stuff, she raced outside; only this time Richie did not run after her.
He slumped to the counter, and ordered a scotch, which he quickly downed.
"This is why I finally took MacLeod in favor of women. Too complicated. Of course, at times, he can be worse," joked Adam.
In spite of himself, Richie grinned, and ordered himself a beer.
~~I get lost in your sapphire eyes~~
September 10, 2004, 2100 PM, Le Blues Bar
Richie Ryan liked his vantagepoint. From the back (which Joe had always jokingly called the "Immortal") booth, he could see the door, and everyone who came or went. He had a beer, (one of those horrid concoctions Methos repeatedly drank), the booth/table to himself, and the night off. (Coincidentally both Mike and Darcy had asked (for separate reasons) to have yesterday and the early time of today off, so he had pulled a rare double-day shift, and was determined to enjoy tonight's freedom and music).
The band (made mostly of guys in his age-bracket -30s), was still warming up, and Mac was still tucked inside the back office with the lead guitarist figuring the final details of pay. Richie smiled knowingly, and took a sip of his beer. He had a good head for business and for numbers, but only offered to help if Mac first asked, and Mac rarely asked for help. It was no wonder, Richie thought, that Methos still called him the boyscout behind closed doors.
The place was only semi-crowded. Mostly people in their twenties and thirties, and a few college students filled the air with conversation and laughter. Darcy was in her element: flirting storms with the male patrons, with winks, and air kisses, and intimate lean-ins when taking the order. More than a few girlfriends and wives would be jealous.
She was a sweet enough girl. Twenty-three, she waitressed part-time to earn money towards her college education, and majored in the dramatic arts and took culinary classes in her spar time. She was from Ireland originally, and still spoke with a slight lilt to her speech. Richie and she had dated casually three or four times (their last date having been the third of September), and slept together once. It had not amounted to much, as she liked pillow talk more than he did.
"Cat get your tongue, Rich?" asked Darcy. She plunkered down in the leather seat across from him, and smiled seductively. "Who do you pine for tonight?"
"Who said I pined?" he played along, teasingly tweaking a strand of her long dark hair.
"No one, but Mike bet me ten bucks you would replace me within a week."
"You don't seem to broken-hearted, Darce."
"What can I say?" she grinned. "I'm easily amused."
Richie played back her previous words, and Darcy laughed at the puzzled confusion, which crossed his face. "Mike bet you? You two get within twenty million feet of one another, and you automatically switch to the offense."
Darcy shrugged. "It is both a mutual hatred and a mutual respect," she leaned close to Richie, almost on the table, with her shirt pulled seductively low. "I hope I get one night from it."
Richie laughed. Darcy was worse than any guy was. She often had one thing on her mind, and was not afraid to have it be known. "Mike know?"
"Oh, he will," she grinned, pulling herself from the table, and straightening herself out. She glanced at Richie, and her playful relationship turned serious. "Pining has done no good. Talk to her, for hells sake."
"Funny. Amanda said the same."
"Well, Amanda is intelligent then," Darcy called over her shoulder, as she sashayed back to the kitchen to finish doling out the dinners, and collecting her harmless flirtations.
Richie sighed, and leaned back into his booth. He took a long gulp of his beer, and when the pressure and the warning came, he did not reach for his sword.
**************************************************************************** *************************
Asher was cold, and mentally cursed herself for her bright decision to walk. Bright, being the key word. It would be a quick visit. In and out, and only to say good-bye to Richie. She sighed, gathered her mental defenses, and stepped inside.
She noticed the two heads turned to her, but only was wary. The third --Duncan MacSomething-Or-Other --(which for all her belittling of, she could not remember) was probably in the backroom somewhere, as it was his bar. "A water please. No ice."
"Sure thing, doll," replied the bartender.
Asher side-glanced the youngish man next to her. It was the same one who had lectured her. "Sorry. About yesterday, I mean."
Adam shrugged, and swept his gaze up, then down her face and front, before he returned to his work, and his beer. "We all have off-days," he mumbled, and Asher had to strain to catch it.
Slowly, she threaded her way to the back table where she knew Richie sat, carefully balancing both her bag and guitar with her water. "How goes the night, Richie Ryan?"
A smile broke across Richie's face. "Asher. You came."
She smiled shyly, and slipped across the expanse of the leather, and set her bag and guitar at her feet. "I did promise I would."
They lapsed into silence. The band started to play. It was folksier, then jazzy, and one line caught Richie's interest.
~~Love cannot afford to be shy~~
It was a woman singing. Faith or Hope or Charity. Green. She was backed all males. Guitarist, bassist, drummer, and keyboarder. "Care to dance?" he offered.
"Here? Now?"
"Sure. Why not?"
Asher accepted, although her voice was small, and she quickly downed her still-near full glass of water. They moved to the cluttered floor silently, and Richie held her close, and almost delicately. He feared should he hold too tight, he would break her. He felt *protective. *
She looped her arms hesitantly around his neck, and rested her chin in the crook of his shoulder. It was intimate, and strange, and wonderful. "You have scars. On your wrists. Most don't have scars," he whispered.
She moved back to catch his eyes. "I cut to the bone."
He asked no more, and she offered no more answers. Simply content to sway to the romantic beat of the music, they fell to a pattern of closeness. The song ended, and they stepped back. And Riche stepped forward again, and with his arms once again looped around her waist, he kissed her: first gently, and when she did not pull away, he kissed deeper.
"I, I, I need to go," she managed, and grabbing her stuff, she raced outside; only this time Richie did not run after her.
He slumped to the counter, and ordered a scotch, which he quickly downed.
"This is why I finally took MacLeod in favor of women. Too complicated. Of course, at times, he can be worse," joked Adam.
In spite of himself, Richie grinned, and ordered himself a beer.
~~I get lost in your sapphire eyes~~