Author's Note: This story is a sequel to two earlier stores: Avitaphobia
and Isolophobia. It is highly recommended you read those two stories first.
This story opens roughly eight months after Isolophobia ended (meaning,
both Asher and Richie have celebrated another birthday).
As always, I do not own Richie Ryan, Duncan MacLeod, Methos/Adam Pierson, Nick Wolfe or Amanda. I own only the idea of Mike [Ross], but not the concept or the actual character. I do, however, fully own Asher Jacobs, Darcy Gallagher-Ross, Samuel Clarke, and Havyn Parker.
The song that Asher Jacobs sings/writes in this chapter belongs to the very talented and personal favorite of mine, 'the Goo Goo Dolls' and is called Think About Me. It can be found on their album, 'Gutterflower.'
[Question: I am thinking of writing two companion stories to this series. One would center on the mentioned Halloween Party/Wedding, while the other would focus on the travels of Duncan MacLeod and Methos/Adam Pierson. Would anyone be interested?]
Also, to SouthernChickie: Richie Ryan did, in fact, "inherit" the bar. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------
December 21, 2005, 300 PM, the Apartment of Richie Ryan/Le Blues Bar, Paris, France
For the moment, Asher Jacobs had the apartment to herself. Taking advantage of the quiet, she had spent the past three hours cross-legged and barefoot on the couch, guitar in hands.
"You take a lot of chances with your feelings/No one really knows what you feel/And fiction is only way you're dealing/You turn your pretty head if it gets real."
She paused momentarily, trading the guitar strings for a pen, jotting some notes on the paper before her.
"I got head don't let me sleep/You got your secret I can't keep/You see a little stranger in your mirror/The girl you never know is what you fear/You take it so slowly/And your eyes look so lonely/But it's only when you think about me."
Asher paused again to make more notes. She was only half-startled when she heard someone clapping, for she had sensed Richie outside the apartment, but had not heard the door open or close. (And, if it had not been Richie, she was not too worried, as she had her sword on the couch with her). She smiled sheepishly. "How much did you hear?"
"Only what I assume to be the second verse," responded Richie, leaning over the coffee table and expanse of papers for a kiss. "We still have any of that pizza left over?" he added, straightening.
"Is food all you think about?" She followed him into the kitchen, having first rested her guitar next to her sword, nestled against the couch cushions. Richie already had the pizza box out, biting into his first slice. "I still don't have the chorus," she added, biting into a slice of her own.
"It will come to you," he assured. "And, I do love my food, yes." He grinned wickedly, reaching for a second slice. "Had a letter from the world-travelers today."
"Anything interesting?"
"Eh, the usual," shrugged Richie. "'Having a great time, don't know when we be home, trust the bar is still standing, blah, blah, blah.'"
"Any chance they would be home for the holidays?"
"Doubtful. So, how did your final go this morning?"
"Ah, great, I think. In either case, I finished one more semester of the glories of law school."
Richie tasted the sarcasm in which Asher spoke, idly reaching for more pizza. He knew Asher was remembering last year's Christmas, when they had all met during in some remote New Hampshire cabin. Aware Asher refused to fly, Duncan had arranged for two cruises to cross the Atlantic, one there, and one back. And, with the exception of Methos' disappearance, all five Immortals had enjoyed themselves.
"Cheery thoughts, Asher? For me?" He quickly swallowed the last of his pizza, gathering Asher in his arms, trailing kisses across her bare neck, shoulders, and face. "Because I was thinking, it might be fun. To have a holiday to ourselves."
"Ri-chie!" laughed Asher. "I am eating here."
"Hmmm, good point," quipped Richie. And he tossed her half-eaten crust back into the box, scooped her into his arms, moving them both into the bedroom.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
When Richie returned to the bar later that same afternoon, he found the barely twenty-one year old bartender in the stool Methos normally claimed, reading a worn copy of 'Gone With the Wind.'
"Have a nice lunch, boss?" she asked, having looked up at the sound of the door opening.
"Oh, same old, same old." Richie forced his voice to keep light, hoping Havyn Parker would not notice the smirk he wore. "Any calls while I was out?"
"Just one. From your friend, Nick Wolfe."
"Say why?"
"Dammed if I know," answered Havyn, already back to her book. Frowning, Richie retreated to the back office. "Oh, Richie!" called Havyn, and the reddish-head Immortal poked his head out. "Some guy came by looking for you, maybe an hour ago. Left again quickly, but dropped off a package. On the desk."
"Thanks," grumbled Richie, retreating again into the back office. He spied the thickly-stuffed manila envelope (most likely with some padding, he noted). He suspected it had been Samuel Clarke, who had dropped off the package. Since the Watcher had permanently moved to Paris this past June, he had struck an uneasy friendship with Richie, and moved back into tentative good graces with Asher. While Richie did admit it was nice to have an active Watcher around again, he did not wholly trust Samuel Clarke.
He sighed, removed his focus from the package, and instead dialed a certain New York apartment number.
"Helloo," purred a feminine voice.
"Amanda, jewel of my heart, you Nicky called me. He there still?"
"Richard, so nice of you to call. He is. Hold on."
"Nick Wolfe here," came a reply after a brief scuffle and muted voices.
"Nick, it's Richie. You called?"
"I did. That your new bartender I got?"
"Havyn Parker, yeah. You know, I never realized just how much Mike helped to run this place until he left." He paused. "Hells, I even miss Darcy."
"Speaking of, how are they? You just saw them recently?"
"In October, yep. For a double Halloween party-wedding. And, Colin's nearly four months now." His voice bursted with pride at the mention of Mike's and Darcy's son, his and Asher's godson. But hidden just underneath the pride was the shudder at the certain other memories of that Halloween night.
"Well, send my regards next time you talk."
"Will do, Nick. So, what's up? Something tells me, this was not a simple social call."
"Not entirely, no. Seems Amanda and I may get to Paris after all. Fly in on the twenty-seventh. What do you say? Spend New Year's together?"
"Maybe, should we be in the city."
"Very sly." There was a pause, and another brief scuffle. When Nick returned to the phone, he was breathing heavier. "Err, must go, Rich. Woman seducing me. Have a good one."
"Yeah, you too. Give my love to Amanda," but already the dial tone echoed in his ear. Running a hand through his hair, he traded the office for the main barroom. "Havyn, go home."
Stricken, she looked up from her book. "Is this about me reading? I swear, I served every customer who came in here. I'm not fired, am I?"
"No, you're not fired. I'm closing shop early today. You're done for the day."
"The psuedo-wife, huh?"
"Go!"
When Richie returned home again, he found Asher as before: barefoot, on the couch playing her guitar. He knelt silently before her, taking her hands into his. "Come away with me, Asher, please. I cannot take much more of this, any of this, anymore."
"Ok," she agreed slowly. There was the hint of an expression in Richie's eyes, an expression she did not quite trust.
As always, I do not own Richie Ryan, Duncan MacLeod, Methos/Adam Pierson, Nick Wolfe or Amanda. I own only the idea of Mike [Ross], but not the concept or the actual character. I do, however, fully own Asher Jacobs, Darcy Gallagher-Ross, Samuel Clarke, and Havyn Parker.
The song that Asher Jacobs sings/writes in this chapter belongs to the very talented and personal favorite of mine, 'the Goo Goo Dolls' and is called Think About Me. It can be found on their album, 'Gutterflower.'
[Question: I am thinking of writing two companion stories to this series. One would center on the mentioned Halloween Party/Wedding, while the other would focus on the travels of Duncan MacLeod and Methos/Adam Pierson. Would anyone be interested?]
Also, to SouthernChickie: Richie Ryan did, in fact, "inherit" the bar. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------
December 21, 2005, 300 PM, the Apartment of Richie Ryan/Le Blues Bar, Paris, France
For the moment, Asher Jacobs had the apartment to herself. Taking advantage of the quiet, she had spent the past three hours cross-legged and barefoot on the couch, guitar in hands.
"You take a lot of chances with your feelings/No one really knows what you feel/And fiction is only way you're dealing/You turn your pretty head if it gets real."
She paused momentarily, trading the guitar strings for a pen, jotting some notes on the paper before her.
"I got head don't let me sleep/You got your secret I can't keep/You see a little stranger in your mirror/The girl you never know is what you fear/You take it so slowly/And your eyes look so lonely/But it's only when you think about me."
Asher paused again to make more notes. She was only half-startled when she heard someone clapping, for she had sensed Richie outside the apartment, but had not heard the door open or close. (And, if it had not been Richie, she was not too worried, as she had her sword on the couch with her). She smiled sheepishly. "How much did you hear?"
"Only what I assume to be the second verse," responded Richie, leaning over the coffee table and expanse of papers for a kiss. "We still have any of that pizza left over?" he added, straightening.
"Is food all you think about?" She followed him into the kitchen, having first rested her guitar next to her sword, nestled against the couch cushions. Richie already had the pizza box out, biting into his first slice. "I still don't have the chorus," she added, biting into a slice of her own.
"It will come to you," he assured. "And, I do love my food, yes." He grinned wickedly, reaching for a second slice. "Had a letter from the world-travelers today."
"Anything interesting?"
"Eh, the usual," shrugged Richie. "'Having a great time, don't know when we be home, trust the bar is still standing, blah, blah, blah.'"
"Any chance they would be home for the holidays?"
"Doubtful. So, how did your final go this morning?"
"Ah, great, I think. In either case, I finished one more semester of the glories of law school."
Richie tasted the sarcasm in which Asher spoke, idly reaching for more pizza. He knew Asher was remembering last year's Christmas, when they had all met during in some remote New Hampshire cabin. Aware Asher refused to fly, Duncan had arranged for two cruises to cross the Atlantic, one there, and one back. And, with the exception of Methos' disappearance, all five Immortals had enjoyed themselves.
"Cheery thoughts, Asher? For me?" He quickly swallowed the last of his pizza, gathering Asher in his arms, trailing kisses across her bare neck, shoulders, and face. "Because I was thinking, it might be fun. To have a holiday to ourselves."
"Ri-chie!" laughed Asher. "I am eating here."
"Hmmm, good point," quipped Richie. And he tossed her half-eaten crust back into the box, scooped her into his arms, moving them both into the bedroom.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------
When Richie returned to the bar later that same afternoon, he found the barely twenty-one year old bartender in the stool Methos normally claimed, reading a worn copy of 'Gone With the Wind.'
"Have a nice lunch, boss?" she asked, having looked up at the sound of the door opening.
"Oh, same old, same old." Richie forced his voice to keep light, hoping Havyn Parker would not notice the smirk he wore. "Any calls while I was out?"
"Just one. From your friend, Nick Wolfe."
"Say why?"
"Dammed if I know," answered Havyn, already back to her book. Frowning, Richie retreated to the back office. "Oh, Richie!" called Havyn, and the reddish-head Immortal poked his head out. "Some guy came by looking for you, maybe an hour ago. Left again quickly, but dropped off a package. On the desk."
"Thanks," grumbled Richie, retreating again into the back office. He spied the thickly-stuffed manila envelope (most likely with some padding, he noted). He suspected it had been Samuel Clarke, who had dropped off the package. Since the Watcher had permanently moved to Paris this past June, he had struck an uneasy friendship with Richie, and moved back into tentative good graces with Asher. While Richie did admit it was nice to have an active Watcher around again, he did not wholly trust Samuel Clarke.
He sighed, removed his focus from the package, and instead dialed a certain New York apartment number.
"Helloo," purred a feminine voice.
"Amanda, jewel of my heart, you Nicky called me. He there still?"
"Richard, so nice of you to call. He is. Hold on."
"Nick Wolfe here," came a reply after a brief scuffle and muted voices.
"Nick, it's Richie. You called?"
"I did. That your new bartender I got?"
"Havyn Parker, yeah. You know, I never realized just how much Mike helped to run this place until he left." He paused. "Hells, I even miss Darcy."
"Speaking of, how are they? You just saw them recently?"
"In October, yep. For a double Halloween party-wedding. And, Colin's nearly four months now." His voice bursted with pride at the mention of Mike's and Darcy's son, his and Asher's godson. But hidden just underneath the pride was the shudder at the certain other memories of that Halloween night.
"Well, send my regards next time you talk."
"Will do, Nick. So, what's up? Something tells me, this was not a simple social call."
"Not entirely, no. Seems Amanda and I may get to Paris after all. Fly in on the twenty-seventh. What do you say? Spend New Year's together?"
"Maybe, should we be in the city."
"Very sly." There was a pause, and another brief scuffle. When Nick returned to the phone, he was breathing heavier. "Err, must go, Rich. Woman seducing me. Have a good one."
"Yeah, you too. Give my love to Amanda," but already the dial tone echoed in his ear. Running a hand through his hair, he traded the office for the main barroom. "Havyn, go home."
Stricken, she looked up from her book. "Is this about me reading? I swear, I served every customer who came in here. I'm not fired, am I?"
"No, you're not fired. I'm closing shop early today. You're done for the day."
"The psuedo-wife, huh?"
"Go!"
When Richie returned home again, he found Asher as before: barefoot, on the couch playing her guitar. He knelt silently before her, taking her hands into his. "Come away with me, Asher, please. I cannot take much more of this, any of this, anymore."
"Ok," she agreed slowly. There was the hint of an expression in Richie's eyes, an expression she did not quite trust.