April 13, 2005, 6 AM, the Eiffel Tower/ the Apartment of Richie Ryan
Asher had not slept. After Mike had arrived, she had invented an excuse to leave, and had left the bar. With nothing but her black sweater-coat to protect her against the spring evening chill, she had wandered the streets of Paris, before finally stopping in the same restaurant for a coffee and slice of chocolate cake, that she had been to in those months before, when she had first arrived in the French capital.
Richie had been waiting for her, sprawled on the couch, sipping at an iced tea and watching some old movie, when she arrived at the apartment. She had curled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, but neither had offered a word, and the old comfort between them was strained. When sunrise came, Asher slipped out again, still in the same clothes from yesterday, and threaded her way through the early morning fog, to the one place she had promised to never visit again: the Eiffel Tower.
Samuel Clarke already waited on the tower's top. "You're awake early," he greeted, having not turned from the view.
"I never slept. You seem to have that affect on me. Still."
"Nice to know some things never change. Speaking of which, see you still wear the same shoes." He paused, grinning at the old, familiar sight of the black on black saddle shoes she still wore. "How have you been, Ash?"
"I've been well. First year law student now. On a break now, but I have finals next month."
"Wonderful," he congratulated, and it was here he turned to face her. The sincerity of the comment did not reach his eyes. "Still writing your music?"
"When I have the time. How about you, Sam? How have you been?"
"Fair. Wandering here and there, mostly there. I'm a junior partner now."
"That's great, Sam." Asher paused, and allowed herself to sigh. "Why are you here?"
"I've been hired out, Ash. I promise you, I did not come here to hurt you. Not intentionally."
"Liar," she breathed. "It is your manner to hurt me, Sam. I was warned, but I never listened. That was my manner, I suppose."
A perplexed look crossed Sam's face, and he took one step closer, closing the gap between them. "What were you warned about, Asher Jacobs?"
"About you." Asher turned from him, crossing the platform to the railing, and looked into the city, where the first sunlight touched the building tops, turning the horizon to gold. "I knew what you were the first moment I kissed you, all those years ago, but I stayed because I thought I loved you, because I thought you loved me."
"I did love you, Asher. I did."
"No, Sam. You never did, just as I never loved you."
Sam sighed, and stepped to the railing, arms hanging over. "You've changed, Ash. You're, you're different."
"And you, Samuel Clarke, are exactly the same as you always were."
"How did you know to find me here?" he finally asked, breaking the silence, which had settled for several moments between them.
"I didn't. I needed to mull thoughts, and you happened to be on my old mulling ground."
Sam smiled, the barest hint of the quirking of his mouth. "I did not come here to hurt you."
"Why did you come?"
"I told you already, I was hired out. To collect information on a certain someone for an old friend."
"Why say you were Mike's lawyer?"
"It seemed to be the story to bring the least suspicion. Guess I was wrong," he shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "Duncan MacLeod misses very little. That Darcy misses less."
"Suppose it comes with the line of work," whispered Asher, causing Sam to look her way. "You learn people, interacting with them everyday," she added quickly.
"Guess so." The silence settled between them again, slightly less tense, but no less heavier. Once again, it was Sam, who broke the silence. "What's your story, Ash? How did you find your way back here? All rights, you should be dead."
Asher shrugged, and she forced her voice to be light. "I was lucky, I suppose." From her tone, Sam knew to leave the subject alone. "The friend who hired you, male or female?"
Sam did not answer immediately, and when he finally did, he answered in a voice barely above a whisper, so Asher had to strain to hear him. "Male."
Silently, she turned to leave, but Sam caught her arm, and for a moment, she hesitated. "Ash, wait. Are you still isolophobic?"
"I never was, Sam. I am aviatophobic. Fear of isolation was always merely a benefit." She extracted her arm from his grasp, and only when she reached the edge, did she turn. "And, Sam, don't call me Ash." With that, she made her way again to the ground, and Sam remained for some time more, staring into the expanse that was Paris.
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When Asher returned to the apartment, Richie was still asleep, although he now slept in the bed, and not the couch where she had left him. With as little noise, she slipped out of her clothes, and climbed underneath the covers next to him, staring at the ceiling.
"That you, Asher?" he mumbled.
"It's me, Rich."
"Where'd you go?"
"I needed to clear my head."
"I tried to research Samuel Clarke at the library yesterday. Went to the bar to tell you I found nothing, but Darcy said you already left."
He was still half-asleep, and with infinite tenderness, Asher lightly ran a finger the length on his profile. "No, you wouldn't have," she mumbled, and rolling into the comfort of his embrace, she managed a few fitful hours of sleep.
Asher had not slept. After Mike had arrived, she had invented an excuse to leave, and had left the bar. With nothing but her black sweater-coat to protect her against the spring evening chill, she had wandered the streets of Paris, before finally stopping in the same restaurant for a coffee and slice of chocolate cake, that she had been to in those months before, when she had first arrived in the French capital.
Richie had been waiting for her, sprawled on the couch, sipping at an iced tea and watching some old movie, when she arrived at the apartment. She had curled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, but neither had offered a word, and the old comfort between them was strained. When sunrise came, Asher slipped out again, still in the same clothes from yesterday, and threaded her way through the early morning fog, to the one place she had promised to never visit again: the Eiffel Tower.
Samuel Clarke already waited on the tower's top. "You're awake early," he greeted, having not turned from the view.
"I never slept. You seem to have that affect on me. Still."
"Nice to know some things never change. Speaking of which, see you still wear the same shoes." He paused, grinning at the old, familiar sight of the black on black saddle shoes she still wore. "How have you been, Ash?"
"I've been well. First year law student now. On a break now, but I have finals next month."
"Wonderful," he congratulated, and it was here he turned to face her. The sincerity of the comment did not reach his eyes. "Still writing your music?"
"When I have the time. How about you, Sam? How have you been?"
"Fair. Wandering here and there, mostly there. I'm a junior partner now."
"That's great, Sam." Asher paused, and allowed herself to sigh. "Why are you here?"
"I've been hired out, Ash. I promise you, I did not come here to hurt you. Not intentionally."
"Liar," she breathed. "It is your manner to hurt me, Sam. I was warned, but I never listened. That was my manner, I suppose."
A perplexed look crossed Sam's face, and he took one step closer, closing the gap between them. "What were you warned about, Asher Jacobs?"
"About you." Asher turned from him, crossing the platform to the railing, and looked into the city, where the first sunlight touched the building tops, turning the horizon to gold. "I knew what you were the first moment I kissed you, all those years ago, but I stayed because I thought I loved you, because I thought you loved me."
"I did love you, Asher. I did."
"No, Sam. You never did, just as I never loved you."
Sam sighed, and stepped to the railing, arms hanging over. "You've changed, Ash. You're, you're different."
"And you, Samuel Clarke, are exactly the same as you always were."
"How did you know to find me here?" he finally asked, breaking the silence, which had settled for several moments between them.
"I didn't. I needed to mull thoughts, and you happened to be on my old mulling ground."
Sam smiled, the barest hint of the quirking of his mouth. "I did not come here to hurt you."
"Why did you come?"
"I told you already, I was hired out. To collect information on a certain someone for an old friend."
"Why say you were Mike's lawyer?"
"It seemed to be the story to bring the least suspicion. Guess I was wrong," he shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "Duncan MacLeod misses very little. That Darcy misses less."
"Suppose it comes with the line of work," whispered Asher, causing Sam to look her way. "You learn people, interacting with them everyday," she added quickly.
"Guess so." The silence settled between them again, slightly less tense, but no less heavier. Once again, it was Sam, who broke the silence. "What's your story, Ash? How did you find your way back here? All rights, you should be dead."
Asher shrugged, and she forced her voice to be light. "I was lucky, I suppose." From her tone, Sam knew to leave the subject alone. "The friend who hired you, male or female?"
Sam did not answer immediately, and when he finally did, he answered in a voice barely above a whisper, so Asher had to strain to hear him. "Male."
Silently, she turned to leave, but Sam caught her arm, and for a moment, she hesitated. "Ash, wait. Are you still isolophobic?"
"I never was, Sam. I am aviatophobic. Fear of isolation was always merely a benefit." She extracted her arm from his grasp, and only when she reached the edge, did she turn. "And, Sam, don't call me Ash." With that, she made her way again to the ground, and Sam remained for some time more, staring into the expanse that was Paris.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
When Asher returned to the apartment, Richie was still asleep, although he now slept in the bed, and not the couch where she had left him. With as little noise, she slipped out of her clothes, and climbed underneath the covers next to him, staring at the ceiling.
"That you, Asher?" he mumbled.
"It's me, Rich."
"Where'd you go?"
"I needed to clear my head."
"I tried to research Samuel Clarke at the library yesterday. Went to the bar to tell you I found nothing, but Darcy said you already left."
He was still half-asleep, and with infinite tenderness, Asher lightly ran a finger the length on his profile. "No, you wouldn't have," she mumbled, and rolling into the comfort of his embrace, she managed a few fitful hours of sleep.