Author's Note: I can only lay claim to Asher. I would like to own Methos.
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September 11, 2004, 5:30 PM, the Apartment of Richie Ryan
While Richie boiled some water for the frozen perogi he had found hidden in the freezer, and Asher picked out an unfamiliar tune on her guitar, a phone rang. It was Richie's cell phone, and he only managed to find it just before the caller hung up. "Hello?"
"Sounds as though you just ran a marathon, Rich," it was Nick, calling from his New York office, and Richie could hear the smirk in his voice. "Or, like you have just had sex."
"I plead the fifth."
"I work for the law. I deal no mercy. So, tell me, how's your cousin?"
It took a moment for Richie to realize he meant Asher. "She's not actually my cousin, Nick."
"I figured. Most cousins would not cook breakfast in thanks for a couch. Especially, a couch as back-painful as yours."
"I'll have you know," complained Richie in mock anger, "that my couch is very comfortable."
"Only because you've never slept on it," Nick Wolfe paused, before he turned the conversation to more serious. "I managed to hack into the system. She's not in there. No record, no anything."
"It's not uncommon," he paused to lower his voice a notch, and to empty the box of potato-filled pastries into the water. "It is not uncommon for Immortals to hide from the system. Methos has done it for centuries."
"Yes, well, that's just slightly different. The girl you mentioned has only been a member for three years," the law enforcement officer paused, and Richie could see him shaking his head. "Anyway, listen, Rich, Bert's hounding me to return to work, and also for calling an international call to business charge. Amanda and I hope to get to Paris for a few days soon. We'll talk then."
"Sure. Thanks, Nick. Send Amanda my love."
"Will do. Send Duncan and Adam mine. Well, my regards, at least."
"Will do, Nick. Au re voi," he stated, and disconnected the call. The perogi were cooked, and he took some cutlery and dishes from the cupboards. Searching around in the refrigerator, he came up with some bagged salad and an opened bottle of wine, still almost half-full. "Hope you like perogi," he called.
"Never had," came the reply, as Asher stepped from the living room to the tiny dining room. She pushed the sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt she wore to her elbows, and offered a small smile. "This is festive."
"Well, we are celebrating."
"Celebrating what?"
"You. From the little you have told me, today has been a day of tremendous progress for you."
Asher shuddered. "You sound like my old mentor."
"That bad?"
"Horribly so."
"Then, I shall try harder next time," but he caught the tiny grin captured on Asher's lips. "Sit. Eat," and he poured her a glass of the wine, offering a toast to new beginnings. Asher raised her glass to his, and the shy smile she wore offered more than any word ever could.
September 11, 2004, 5:30 PM, the Apartment of Richie Ryan
While Richie boiled some water for the frozen perogi he had found hidden in the freezer, and Asher picked out an unfamiliar tune on her guitar, a phone rang. It was Richie's cell phone, and he only managed to find it just before the caller hung up. "Hello?"
"Sounds as though you just ran a marathon, Rich," it was Nick, calling from his New York office, and Richie could hear the smirk in his voice. "Or, like you have just had sex."
"I plead the fifth."
"I work for the law. I deal no mercy. So, tell me, how's your cousin?"
It took a moment for Richie to realize he meant Asher. "She's not actually my cousin, Nick."
"I figured. Most cousins would not cook breakfast in thanks for a couch. Especially, a couch as back-painful as yours."
"I'll have you know," complained Richie in mock anger, "that my couch is very comfortable."
"Only because you've never slept on it," Nick Wolfe paused, before he turned the conversation to more serious. "I managed to hack into the system. She's not in there. No record, no anything."
"It's not uncommon," he paused to lower his voice a notch, and to empty the box of potato-filled pastries into the water. "It is not uncommon for Immortals to hide from the system. Methos has done it for centuries."
"Yes, well, that's just slightly different. The girl you mentioned has only been a member for three years," the law enforcement officer paused, and Richie could see him shaking his head. "Anyway, listen, Rich, Bert's hounding me to return to work, and also for calling an international call to business charge. Amanda and I hope to get to Paris for a few days soon. We'll talk then."
"Sure. Thanks, Nick. Send Amanda my love."
"Will do. Send Duncan and Adam mine. Well, my regards, at least."
"Will do, Nick. Au re voi," he stated, and disconnected the call. The perogi were cooked, and he took some cutlery and dishes from the cupboards. Searching around in the refrigerator, he came up with some bagged salad and an opened bottle of wine, still almost half-full. "Hope you like perogi," he called.
"Never had," came the reply, as Asher stepped from the living room to the tiny dining room. She pushed the sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt she wore to her elbows, and offered a small smile. "This is festive."
"Well, we are celebrating."
"Celebrating what?"
"You. From the little you have told me, today has been a day of tremendous progress for you."
Asher shuddered. "You sound like my old mentor."
"That bad?"
"Horribly so."
"Then, I shall try harder next time," but he caught the tiny grin captured on Asher's lips. "Sit. Eat," and he poured her a glass of the wine, offering a toast to new beginnings. Asher raised her glass to his, and the shy smile she wore offered more than any word ever could.