Author's Note: Apparently, I forgot to mention this in last chapter
disclaimer. the song 'free woman in paris belongs' to joni mitchell. the
song 'Extant' belongs to me.
november 19, 2004, 1230 Am, le blues bar/the apartment of richie ryan, paris
"Want a ride home?" asked Darcy. Still dressed in the waist white apron, the Irish girl wiped the last of the tables. Duncan had closed the bar almost an hour ago, after the last drunken patron had left, and now, only Darcy, Duncan, and Asher remained.
"No, but thanks. I'd rather walk."
Darcy paused in her work, looking up, casting her full attention and gaze on Asher. "It's late. This is Paris. It's not safe."
Asher smiled sadly. "Don't you worry about me, Darce. I'll be fine. You go ahead. I still need to talk to Duncan."
"Fine, but if you change your mind, you know my number." She wiped the last of her tables, removing the apron as she crossed the floor to behind the counter. She pulled her leather jacket on, frowning once more. "You sure you're ok, Asher?"
"I'm fine. Promise. Besides, you wouldn't want the extra timeframe of taking me home. Keep you away from your admirers."
"Let them wait. It would do them good. Mike most of all." At this, Asher raised her eyebrows, and Darcy giggled. "Don't give me that look, Asher Jacobs. I know how he looks at me when I have turned away. Hatred is never as deep as it seems."
"You going to sleep with him?"
"That's my goal, eventually."
"You going to marry him?"
"I would rather kill him," grinned Darcy. "Good night."
"Night, Darce." Asher cast her eyes around the bar. She could hear Duncan in the backroom. The door was closed, and she tentively knocked. Once, Mike had found Duncan in there, close to sobbing, not long after Adam had first left, and they had all walked around Duncan carefully since. Like they would on eggshells.
It was two full minutes before the Scotsman came to the door, cracking it open. "Oh, hey, Asher. I thought I heard you leave."
"No, Darcy left. I wanted to talk to you."
"Sure, no problem. Just, hold on, will you?"
Duncan shut the door again quickly. Once again, Asher could hear the sounds of a scuffle from the backroom. He had to have been cleaning something away, or hiding something, but Asher knew not to ask.
"So, what's up?" asked Duncan, opening the door again, and gesturing Asher inside the office.
"I need tomorrow off."
"Everything ok?"
"Everything's fine. I have an appointment with the admissions at Paris Law School."
"Congratulations, Asher. Good with luck with that. Darcy should be ok covering tomorrow. And, I could always get Richie to help. He's here everyday anyway."
At the mention of Richie's name, a shadow crossed Asher's face, but it was so quickly spent, that Duncan wondered if he saw it at all. "Thanks, Mac. Night.."
She closed the office door behind her, retreating behind the counter to retrieve her coat and purse. She distinctly heard Duncan curse the computer behind the closed door, and she muffled her laugh behind her hand. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----
She had lied to Darcy. She did not walk home, but had taken a taxi. Trekking up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Richie, from outside the door, she felt the buzz of a fellow Immortal. Quietly unlocking the door, she pushed the door open, stepping tentatively inside. "Richie?" she called.
"Who else would I be?" called the familiar voice, stepping out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He reached in for a kiss, but Asher stepped back. Richie frowned. "Asher?"
"Where did you go?" She had closed the door, and now stood before it, leaning back against it, her keys and purse still in hands.
"Someone challenged me. I accepted. No big deal."
"No big deal?" Asher repeated. "You never came back."
"Were you worried, Asher?"
"Yes." The word was quiet on her lips, barely more than a breath of air. Richie sighed, stepped forward, lifted his hand to cup Asher's chin. She did not move away. "I was."
"I'm a good fighter, Asher. I had a good teacher, and I never lose. I can not afford to lose."
"Why didn't you come back to the bar?" Asher stepped away from Richie again, this time moving towards the couch.
"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess, just you know that feeling you get off a Quickening. Full of energy, full of adrenaline. I needed to do something to release it. So, I went running. Everywhere. No course, no plan. Until I could not run anymore. It was late, I had figured Mac had closed the bar, so I thought to meet you back here."
"You could have called. You do have a cell phone."
"I could have, yes. Look, Asher, I'm sorry I worried you. I swear I never meant to. But don't you think, you may be blowing this out of proportion? I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"
"I'm blowing this out of proportion?! This is not one of your sill games, Richie! You could have been killed. Don't you realize what that means? To Mac, To Adam, To Amanda and Nick, to me? Dammit Richie, I love you! I don't want to lose you."
For several moments, Richie said nothing. While both knew how the other felt, had felt since meeting, neither had voiced the feeling. He was dumbfounded, finally reaching out again to Asher again. "I am sorry, Asher."
But when he reached his hand to move her closer to kiss her, she moved away again. "Don't touch me, Richie. I don't think I can do this anymore."
"Do what?" His throat suddenly went dry.
"You, me, us. This. I cannot live like this. Playing this Game. I cannot lose anything more. I cannot lose you."
"You will not lose me, Asher. I promise. I love you."
"I know," she whispered. She looked to him again. He looked pitiful, hair still wet, wearing nothing but the towel, goosebumps crawling up his arms and chest, a sad expression marring his features. She reached her hand to touch his cheek, kissing his mouth once, tenderly. "I know."
She was gone. The door slammed behind her. Richie stood rooted to where he was. Knowing his heart had just walked out the door.
november 19, 2004, 1230 Am, le blues bar/the apartment of richie ryan, paris
"Want a ride home?" asked Darcy. Still dressed in the waist white apron, the Irish girl wiped the last of the tables. Duncan had closed the bar almost an hour ago, after the last drunken patron had left, and now, only Darcy, Duncan, and Asher remained.
"No, but thanks. I'd rather walk."
Darcy paused in her work, looking up, casting her full attention and gaze on Asher. "It's late. This is Paris. It's not safe."
Asher smiled sadly. "Don't you worry about me, Darce. I'll be fine. You go ahead. I still need to talk to Duncan."
"Fine, but if you change your mind, you know my number." She wiped the last of her tables, removing the apron as she crossed the floor to behind the counter. She pulled her leather jacket on, frowning once more. "You sure you're ok, Asher?"
"I'm fine. Promise. Besides, you wouldn't want the extra timeframe of taking me home. Keep you away from your admirers."
"Let them wait. It would do them good. Mike most of all." At this, Asher raised her eyebrows, and Darcy giggled. "Don't give me that look, Asher Jacobs. I know how he looks at me when I have turned away. Hatred is never as deep as it seems."
"You going to sleep with him?"
"That's my goal, eventually."
"You going to marry him?"
"I would rather kill him," grinned Darcy. "Good night."
"Night, Darce." Asher cast her eyes around the bar. She could hear Duncan in the backroom. The door was closed, and she tentively knocked. Once, Mike had found Duncan in there, close to sobbing, not long after Adam had first left, and they had all walked around Duncan carefully since. Like they would on eggshells.
It was two full minutes before the Scotsman came to the door, cracking it open. "Oh, hey, Asher. I thought I heard you leave."
"No, Darcy left. I wanted to talk to you."
"Sure, no problem. Just, hold on, will you?"
Duncan shut the door again quickly. Once again, Asher could hear the sounds of a scuffle from the backroom. He had to have been cleaning something away, or hiding something, but Asher knew not to ask.
"So, what's up?" asked Duncan, opening the door again, and gesturing Asher inside the office.
"I need tomorrow off."
"Everything ok?"
"Everything's fine. I have an appointment with the admissions at Paris Law School."
"Congratulations, Asher. Good with luck with that. Darcy should be ok covering tomorrow. And, I could always get Richie to help. He's here everyday anyway."
At the mention of Richie's name, a shadow crossed Asher's face, but it was so quickly spent, that Duncan wondered if he saw it at all. "Thanks, Mac. Night.."
She closed the office door behind her, retreating behind the counter to retrieve her coat and purse. She distinctly heard Duncan curse the computer behind the closed door, and she muffled her laugh behind her hand. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----
She had lied to Darcy. She did not walk home, but had taken a taxi. Trekking up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Richie, from outside the door, she felt the buzz of a fellow Immortal. Quietly unlocking the door, she pushed the door open, stepping tentatively inside. "Richie?" she called.
"Who else would I be?" called the familiar voice, stepping out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He reached in for a kiss, but Asher stepped back. Richie frowned. "Asher?"
"Where did you go?" She had closed the door, and now stood before it, leaning back against it, her keys and purse still in hands.
"Someone challenged me. I accepted. No big deal."
"No big deal?" Asher repeated. "You never came back."
"Were you worried, Asher?"
"Yes." The word was quiet on her lips, barely more than a breath of air. Richie sighed, stepped forward, lifted his hand to cup Asher's chin. She did not move away. "I was."
"I'm a good fighter, Asher. I had a good teacher, and I never lose. I can not afford to lose."
"Why didn't you come back to the bar?" Asher stepped away from Richie again, this time moving towards the couch.
"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess, just you know that feeling you get off a Quickening. Full of energy, full of adrenaline. I needed to do something to release it. So, I went running. Everywhere. No course, no plan. Until I could not run anymore. It was late, I had figured Mac had closed the bar, so I thought to meet you back here."
"You could have called. You do have a cell phone."
"I could have, yes. Look, Asher, I'm sorry I worried you. I swear I never meant to. But don't you think, you may be blowing this out of proportion? I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"
"I'm blowing this out of proportion?! This is not one of your sill games, Richie! You could have been killed. Don't you realize what that means? To Mac, To Adam, To Amanda and Nick, to me? Dammit Richie, I love you! I don't want to lose you."
For several moments, Richie said nothing. While both knew how the other felt, had felt since meeting, neither had voiced the feeling. He was dumbfounded, finally reaching out again to Asher again. "I am sorry, Asher."
But when he reached his hand to move her closer to kiss her, she moved away again. "Don't touch me, Richie. I don't think I can do this anymore."
"Do what?" His throat suddenly went dry.
"You, me, us. This. I cannot live like this. Playing this Game. I cannot lose anything more. I cannot lose you."
"You will not lose me, Asher. I promise. I love you."
"I know," she whispered. She looked to him again. He looked pitiful, hair still wet, wearing nothing but the towel, goosebumps crawling up his arms and chest, a sad expression marring his features. She reached her hand to touch his cheek, kissing his mouth once, tenderly. "I know."
She was gone. The door slammed behind her. Richie stood rooted to where he was. Knowing his heart had just walked out the door.