Author's Note: Please note another (but smaller) time jump. Also, this is
the last chapter.
December 5, 2004, 1037 AM, Paris France
Richie fumbled, hitting the alarm snooze button for the third time in the last twenty-seven minutes. He refused to awake, not caring what time the clock read, or if Duncan called to yell at him. Let him be late for work. He had worked double shifts almost every day for the past two weeks, and he needed the rest. Just like he had needed the distraction of the bar.
He rolled over, burying his head into the pillow, pulling the sheet further over his head, lulling himself again into dreamless sleep. Again, the alarm blared. "Ok, ok, I'm up," he mumbled, trading sheets for the cold floor, pulling a t-shirt over his boxers, walking into the kitchen to see about coffee and breakfast.
He finally had the steaming liquid-filled mug before him when the phone rang. He swore under his breath, answered it. "I'm not working today, Mac. I call in sick."
For a long moment, there was no response, and then someone laughed. He recognized the laugh. It was Darcy. "Well, good for you. You've worked yourself to the bone these past two weeks. You deserve a brief holiday."
"Oh, hey, Darce. I thought you were Mac."
"I know," she laughed again, quickly sobering. "I'm on mission, Richie. I'm also late for a class, so I'll have to make this quick. Get dressed. Be at the train station in thirty minutes."
Richie paused, swallowing coffee too quickly, scalding his throat, and he cursed. "Why didn't she call me herself?"
"She didn't think you would talk to her. I have to go, Ryan. Good luck."
Richie frowned at the dial tone. He lingered over his remaining coffee.
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He purposely arrived at the station thirty minutes late. He found Asher sitting in one of the chairs, bag and guitar case at her feet. "Hey," she greeted. "I had thought you wouldn't show."
"Yeah, well, I did," he replied lamely, and Asher smiled softly. "I'm still mad at you, you know. You still left. You deserved to wait."
"I know you are, I did. I am sorry."
"What made you come back?"
"You, mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I missed Paris too," she shrugged, and smiled. Richie found himself smiling in return. "But I missed you, Richie. I love you. I don't deserve you, but I love you. I'm sorry."
"I should walk away from here, Asher. I should walk away, to never return. Do you have any idea what it felt like? To watch you board that train, not knowing if you would keep your promise, not knowing if you would return, knowing my heart had left, and I may never see her again?" He paused, breathed deeply, clenched and unclenched his fists. "You are my heart, Asher, and you broke me. You. Broke. Me."
"I am so sorry, Richie. I am so sorry."
"You said two broken halves can never make a whole, Asher, but I believe they can. I was miserable without you. I feel whole with you, Asher. Only alone am I broken."
"I know. I was wrong. But I needed this, we needed this, Richie. We were too attached. We took the other for granted. I've had my heart broken before, and I promised myself I would never let it break again. In the process, I hurt the one person who showed me how to live again." She drew in a ragged breath. "Forgive me, please?"
"Asher," he breathed. He knelt before her, pulling him into his arms, hugging her to him tightly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. "Promise me. Promise me you will never leave again."
"I promise."
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Later, much much later, Asher remembered, whispering seductively, "Amanda sends you her love."
"Really? Well, her love will have to wait," growled Richie in response.
December 5, 2004, 1037 AM, Paris France
Richie fumbled, hitting the alarm snooze button for the third time in the last twenty-seven minutes. He refused to awake, not caring what time the clock read, or if Duncan called to yell at him. Let him be late for work. He had worked double shifts almost every day for the past two weeks, and he needed the rest. Just like he had needed the distraction of the bar.
He rolled over, burying his head into the pillow, pulling the sheet further over his head, lulling himself again into dreamless sleep. Again, the alarm blared. "Ok, ok, I'm up," he mumbled, trading sheets for the cold floor, pulling a t-shirt over his boxers, walking into the kitchen to see about coffee and breakfast.
He finally had the steaming liquid-filled mug before him when the phone rang. He swore under his breath, answered it. "I'm not working today, Mac. I call in sick."
For a long moment, there was no response, and then someone laughed. He recognized the laugh. It was Darcy. "Well, good for you. You've worked yourself to the bone these past two weeks. You deserve a brief holiday."
"Oh, hey, Darce. I thought you were Mac."
"I know," she laughed again, quickly sobering. "I'm on mission, Richie. I'm also late for a class, so I'll have to make this quick. Get dressed. Be at the train station in thirty minutes."
Richie paused, swallowing coffee too quickly, scalding his throat, and he cursed. "Why didn't she call me herself?"
"She didn't think you would talk to her. I have to go, Ryan. Good luck."
Richie frowned at the dial tone. He lingered over his remaining coffee.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------
He purposely arrived at the station thirty minutes late. He found Asher sitting in one of the chairs, bag and guitar case at her feet. "Hey," she greeted. "I had thought you wouldn't show."
"Yeah, well, I did," he replied lamely, and Asher smiled softly. "I'm still mad at you, you know. You still left. You deserved to wait."
"I know you are, I did. I am sorry."
"What made you come back?"
"You, mostly."
"Mostly?"
"I missed Paris too," she shrugged, and smiled. Richie found himself smiling in return. "But I missed you, Richie. I love you. I don't deserve you, but I love you. I'm sorry."
"I should walk away from here, Asher. I should walk away, to never return. Do you have any idea what it felt like? To watch you board that train, not knowing if you would keep your promise, not knowing if you would return, knowing my heart had left, and I may never see her again?" He paused, breathed deeply, clenched and unclenched his fists. "You are my heart, Asher, and you broke me. You. Broke. Me."
"I am so sorry, Richie. I am so sorry."
"You said two broken halves can never make a whole, Asher, but I believe they can. I was miserable without you. I feel whole with you, Asher. Only alone am I broken."
"I know. I was wrong. But I needed this, we needed this, Richie. We were too attached. We took the other for granted. I've had my heart broken before, and I promised myself I would never let it break again. In the process, I hurt the one person who showed me how to live again." She drew in a ragged breath. "Forgive me, please?"
"Asher," he breathed. He knelt before her, pulling him into his arms, hugging her to him tightly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. "Promise me. Promise me you will never leave again."
"I promise."
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Later, much much later, Asher remembered, whispering seductively, "Amanda sends you her love."
"Really? Well, her love will have to wait," growled Richie in response.