Author's Note: Wow. Been awhile. Never suspected a "Kill Duncan" fic
would be so bloody difficult. Hope someone is still out there. Promise to
make some effort to have next chapter up much sooner.
September 26, 2005, 1030 PM, Paris, France
Although they wanted to spend the night, feeling Methos should not be alone, the world's oldest Immortal insisted they return to their own place. "You're young yet," he informed them, "don't waste your time watching an old man like me. I've seen death before. Hell, I was death." He raked a hand through his short hair. "For awhile, anyway."
"You're a different man now, Adam," Richie pointed out. He wondered if Methos meant to slip about his past. For though Asher had been a friend to both him and Duncan, and was his wife, she still didn't know Adam Pierson and Methos were the one and same person. "You're changed."
"Changed or not, Rich..." He shook his head. "Go, please."
Richie nodded. He motioned to Asher, who stood silent. He noticed she watched Methos carefully, but when he moved to turn to the door, she stepped closer to Methos. She leaned forward, and she wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly. Methos seemed surprised, but he lifted his arms slightly to hug her in return. Asher stood tip-toe to kiss Methos' cheeks, and when she pulled away, she leaned close to his ear to whisper, "Call should you need anything."
Methos nodded. He watched them go. Neither Richie nor Asher looked back. Hearing the door close behind them, he sighed, and he gathered the empty beer bottles and the empty styrofoam food containers, bringing them into the kitchen to throw away. He found himself at the window again. "Well, Methos," he told himself, "it's just you, me and the cats." He frowned at his reflection. He should feed those blasted animals, he thought. He would do it in the morning. Instead, he made his way to the bed, and he collapsed face downward, atop the covers, fully-clothed. Five minutes later, he was snoring.
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"I'm worried about him," Asher sighed. She sat on their bed, her knees brought up to her chest, her arms around them in a hug, and Richie realized with a start how very vulnerable she looked. She shook her head. "How you coping?" she asked.
"I think I've been better," Richie answered slowly. He climbed into bed, sliding his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled closer to him, resting her head against his bare chest. His hair was still wet from his shower. "I mean, Mac was my mentor, my teacher, my friend, and practically my father," he added, "and I miss him like hell. I just wish," he paused to struggle with his thoughts, "I wish I knew the bastard who did this, so I could extract some sort of revenge, some sort of honor towards Mac. I keep thinking he's just gone on another trip, but he won't be returning from this one."
Asher realized Richie cried silently. She reached her hand upwards to brush away his tears. "You're holding remarkable dignity in this."
"I have to. Like you said, we have to be strong."
"No, Richie." She shifted her position so that she was sitting. "No, I never..." But she cut her thought short, suddenly surprised to see Richie's body shaking violently with his sobs. Any more violent, he would hyperventilate. Asher wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his head in her shoulder. He needed this; he couldn't do this in front of Methos. Maybe that was he meant by being strong. She muttered something, and in his hysterics, Richie couldn't make out the language. But he supposed it didn't really matter.
September 26, 2005, 1030 PM, Paris, France
Although they wanted to spend the night, feeling Methos should not be alone, the world's oldest Immortal insisted they return to their own place. "You're young yet," he informed them, "don't waste your time watching an old man like me. I've seen death before. Hell, I was death." He raked a hand through his short hair. "For awhile, anyway."
"You're a different man now, Adam," Richie pointed out. He wondered if Methos meant to slip about his past. For though Asher had been a friend to both him and Duncan, and was his wife, she still didn't know Adam Pierson and Methos were the one and same person. "You're changed."
"Changed or not, Rich..." He shook his head. "Go, please."
Richie nodded. He motioned to Asher, who stood silent. He noticed she watched Methos carefully, but when he moved to turn to the door, she stepped closer to Methos. She leaned forward, and she wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly. Methos seemed surprised, but he lifted his arms slightly to hug her in return. Asher stood tip-toe to kiss Methos' cheeks, and when she pulled away, she leaned close to his ear to whisper, "Call should you need anything."
Methos nodded. He watched them go. Neither Richie nor Asher looked back. Hearing the door close behind them, he sighed, and he gathered the empty beer bottles and the empty styrofoam food containers, bringing them into the kitchen to throw away. He found himself at the window again. "Well, Methos," he told himself, "it's just you, me and the cats." He frowned at his reflection. He should feed those blasted animals, he thought. He would do it in the morning. Instead, he made his way to the bed, and he collapsed face downward, atop the covers, fully-clothed. Five minutes later, he was snoring.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm worried about him," Asher sighed. She sat on their bed, her knees brought up to her chest, her arms around them in a hug, and Richie realized with a start how very vulnerable she looked. She shook her head. "How you coping?" she asked.
"I think I've been better," Richie answered slowly. He climbed into bed, sliding his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled closer to him, resting her head against his bare chest. His hair was still wet from his shower. "I mean, Mac was my mentor, my teacher, my friend, and practically my father," he added, "and I miss him like hell. I just wish," he paused to struggle with his thoughts, "I wish I knew the bastard who did this, so I could extract some sort of revenge, some sort of honor towards Mac. I keep thinking he's just gone on another trip, but he won't be returning from this one."
Asher realized Richie cried silently. She reached her hand upwards to brush away his tears. "You're holding remarkable dignity in this."
"I have to. Like you said, we have to be strong."
"No, Richie." She shifted her position so that she was sitting. "No, I never..." But she cut her thought short, suddenly surprised to see Richie's body shaking violently with his sobs. Any more violent, he would hyperventilate. Asher wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his head in her shoulder. He needed this; he couldn't do this in front of Methos. Maybe that was he meant by being strong. She muttered something, and in his hysterics, Richie couldn't make out the language. But he supposed it didn't really matter.