November 19, 2004, 145 AM, Duncan MacLeod's barge, Paris, France
Richie waited fifteen minutes before he dressed, and left the apartment, locking the front door behind him. The barge, he would head to Duncan's barge. He needed advice, and he supposed the best person to ask would be his best friend.
Only, he would walk there. It was cold, or colder than the past weeks, but he thought the brisk air would be good for him. Help to clear his head. Help to sort his scattered, broken thoughts.
He knocked loudly, stomping his feet against the pavement, blowing into the palms of his hands. He had pulled the coat Tessa and Duncan had bought him that first Christmas over some University sweatshirt he had borrowed (and never returned) from Nick Wolfe, but he still felt the cold to his bones. Looking to the sky, he knocked loudly again, having noticed the sky threatened to snow.
Duncan opened the door, shirt thrown in haste over his boxers, hair wild, sword in hand, a Gaelic swear escaping from his mouth when he saw Richie there. "Hey, Mac," greeted Richie sheepishly. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by."
"Do you have any clue as to what time it is?" Duncan lowered his sword.
"Must be about one."
"Try closer to quarter to two. Go home, Richie. I'd like to go back to sleep."
"Pleeeese, Mac," pleaded Richie. "It's cold. And, I walked here, and I need your advice, and come on, pleeeeeeese."
Duncan sighed. "Fine. Come inside." He opened the door wider, and stepped back, so Richie could walk by him. "Close the door. Want some coffee?"
"Sure. Thanks."
Richie wandered, crashing into the couch, rolling his head against the backframe. "Doesn't your place ever get messy?"
"No," responded the Highlander from the kitchen. "Did you want your coffee black?"
"Please."
It was several more minutes before Duncan brought the two coffee mugs over, handing one to Richie, and sitting in the armchair. "Now, tell me, what brought you here in the middle of the night, that has you so desperate to talk to me?"
"Advice?" shrugged Richie. He swallowed some coffee gratefully.
"On?"
"Girls. Relationships. Love. The Stock Market."
"Ah," mumbled Duncan. He sat further back in the chair, sipping his coffee. While in the kitchen, he had managed to tame his hair, having pulled it back, and had found a pair of jeans, which he now wore, but had left unbuttoned. "I can help you in the first three. As for that last one, suggest you give a call to Amanda. She 's the only one of us who's illegal enough to know anything of cheating the corporate companies."
"I'll keep that in mind," Richie nodded. He swallowed more of his coffee. "Asher and I had a fight."
"I see."
"Cut the bullshit, Mac. This psychiatric act, I mean. Just give it to me straight. What do I do?"
"You've dated girls before, Rich. Several, if I am not mistaken. Aren't you the one who once bragged to Tessa of your conquests?"
"Yeah, but that was different. I was younger, and," he paused to swallow more coffee, "I wasn't in love with them."
"Well, that does make a difference. What was the fight about?"
"Me not calling. I was challenged. Left the bar, and went home instead of calling her. She had been worried, and left saying she had enough of this."
"This?"
"The Game."
"Oh, I see." Duncan paused to think, sipping his coffee. "Do you know where she might have gone to?"
"No. I mean, she did leave her things at the apartment, but I don't know. Who am I to stop her from leaving the country? I know little of her life before her First death. She almost left once, what would stop her from leaving now?"
"You," he breathed, sighing when he saw the expression on Richie's face. "I don't know what to tell you, Rich. You have to figure this out on your own. Relationships are about sacrifices. Sounds to me, like you and Asher need to talk."
"Maybe she visited Darcy," he added, speaking more to assure himself, than to respond to Duncan. "We did talk, Mac," he added, this time louder. "We talked, then she left."
"So, talk again."
Duncan stood to rinse his mug in the sink. He still had coffee left, but he couldn't drink it, and he sighed as he watched the black liquid slip down the drain. "Did you want more coffee?" he called.
"No, I'm good. Is this how you felt when Methos left?"
"That is different."
"How?"
"It just is." Duncan came to sit in the chair again, leaning against the back. "For one reason, I am certain that he left the country. Asher might not have."
"Oh."
"You love her, right?" To which, Richie nodded. "Then I suggest, you talk to her," Duncan suggested. "Tell her you love her."
"I did. She told me too, and she still left."
"Then maybe, she just needs some time. Let her clear her head. Figure out what she wants. She's been through a lot, Rich. Maybe she feels everything is moving too fast for her."
"But I want to help her."
"I know you do. But sometimes we cannot always help." Duncan stood, gently squeezing Richie's shoulder, casting him a sad smile. "I don't want you walking home. You'll catch your death."
"I can't die, Mac."
"I know, but that's not the point. I'll find you another blanket. You can sleep on the couch."
Richie shrugged, but nodded his consent. "At least, I don't have to listen to you all night." Duncan sent him a withering look, and Richie looked down to his feet. "Hey, Mac?"
"What?"
"Thanks."
Richie waited fifteen minutes before he dressed, and left the apartment, locking the front door behind him. The barge, he would head to Duncan's barge. He needed advice, and he supposed the best person to ask would be his best friend.
Only, he would walk there. It was cold, or colder than the past weeks, but he thought the brisk air would be good for him. Help to clear his head. Help to sort his scattered, broken thoughts.
He knocked loudly, stomping his feet against the pavement, blowing into the palms of his hands. He had pulled the coat Tessa and Duncan had bought him that first Christmas over some University sweatshirt he had borrowed (and never returned) from Nick Wolfe, but he still felt the cold to his bones. Looking to the sky, he knocked loudly again, having noticed the sky threatened to snow.
Duncan opened the door, shirt thrown in haste over his boxers, hair wild, sword in hand, a Gaelic swear escaping from his mouth when he saw Richie there. "Hey, Mac," greeted Richie sheepishly. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by."
"Do you have any clue as to what time it is?" Duncan lowered his sword.
"Must be about one."
"Try closer to quarter to two. Go home, Richie. I'd like to go back to sleep."
"Pleeeese, Mac," pleaded Richie. "It's cold. And, I walked here, and I need your advice, and come on, pleeeeeeese."
Duncan sighed. "Fine. Come inside." He opened the door wider, and stepped back, so Richie could walk by him. "Close the door. Want some coffee?"
"Sure. Thanks."
Richie wandered, crashing into the couch, rolling his head against the backframe. "Doesn't your place ever get messy?"
"No," responded the Highlander from the kitchen. "Did you want your coffee black?"
"Please."
It was several more minutes before Duncan brought the two coffee mugs over, handing one to Richie, and sitting in the armchair. "Now, tell me, what brought you here in the middle of the night, that has you so desperate to talk to me?"
"Advice?" shrugged Richie. He swallowed some coffee gratefully.
"On?"
"Girls. Relationships. Love. The Stock Market."
"Ah," mumbled Duncan. He sat further back in the chair, sipping his coffee. While in the kitchen, he had managed to tame his hair, having pulled it back, and had found a pair of jeans, which he now wore, but had left unbuttoned. "I can help you in the first three. As for that last one, suggest you give a call to Amanda. She 's the only one of us who's illegal enough to know anything of cheating the corporate companies."
"I'll keep that in mind," Richie nodded. He swallowed more of his coffee. "Asher and I had a fight."
"I see."
"Cut the bullshit, Mac. This psychiatric act, I mean. Just give it to me straight. What do I do?"
"You've dated girls before, Rich. Several, if I am not mistaken. Aren't you the one who once bragged to Tessa of your conquests?"
"Yeah, but that was different. I was younger, and," he paused to swallow more coffee, "I wasn't in love with them."
"Well, that does make a difference. What was the fight about?"
"Me not calling. I was challenged. Left the bar, and went home instead of calling her. She had been worried, and left saying she had enough of this."
"This?"
"The Game."
"Oh, I see." Duncan paused to think, sipping his coffee. "Do you know where she might have gone to?"
"No. I mean, she did leave her things at the apartment, but I don't know. Who am I to stop her from leaving the country? I know little of her life before her First death. She almost left once, what would stop her from leaving now?"
"You," he breathed, sighing when he saw the expression on Richie's face. "I don't know what to tell you, Rich. You have to figure this out on your own. Relationships are about sacrifices. Sounds to me, like you and Asher need to talk."
"Maybe she visited Darcy," he added, speaking more to assure himself, than to respond to Duncan. "We did talk, Mac," he added, this time louder. "We talked, then she left."
"So, talk again."
Duncan stood to rinse his mug in the sink. He still had coffee left, but he couldn't drink it, and he sighed as he watched the black liquid slip down the drain. "Did you want more coffee?" he called.
"No, I'm good. Is this how you felt when Methos left?"
"That is different."
"How?"
"It just is." Duncan came to sit in the chair again, leaning against the back. "For one reason, I am certain that he left the country. Asher might not have."
"Oh."
"You love her, right?" To which, Richie nodded. "Then I suggest, you talk to her," Duncan suggested. "Tell her you love her."
"I did. She told me too, and she still left."
"Then maybe, she just needs some time. Let her clear her head. Figure out what she wants. She's been through a lot, Rich. Maybe she feels everything is moving too fast for her."
"But I want to help her."
"I know you do. But sometimes we cannot always help." Duncan stood, gently squeezing Richie's shoulder, casting him a sad smile. "I don't want you walking home. You'll catch your death."
"I can't die, Mac."
"I know, but that's not the point. I'll find you another blanket. You can sleep on the couch."
Richie shrugged, but nodded his consent. "At least, I don't have to listen to you all night." Duncan sent him a withering look, and Richie looked down to his feet. "Hey, Mac?"
"What?"
"Thanks."