That was until his memories caught up with him. He was sitting in a puddle of his own blood on the floor of the antique store because he'd been stabbed in the side... by Richie. Duncan cursed audibly both in Gaelic and in English as he quickly stood. His clothes were a mess, as was the floor, and the side of the display case where he'd been standing that was currently speckled with splatter from when he hit the floor. The bloodied dagger was resting a few feet away, where Richie dropped it. However, Duncan could tell that, by the lack of his pre-immortal presence, that Richie was nowhere in the loft.
Too many thoughts and emotions surged at once and the highlander had to bring a hand to his temples to assuage the onset of a headache (which could also be blamed on dehydration from the blood loss). He needed to find Richie. He needed to find out what got into Richie, what made the teen suddenly decide to kill him. He needed to know why. Was it something he had done? Something he failed to do? Richie had mentioned Paris, and how he hated leaving. Did this have to do with some sort of fear of abandonment? Was Richie angry? Depressed? Acting out because of his fever—Oh God! Richie is seriously ill!
Duncan needed to find Richie, to make sure that he was safe and receiving proper medical treatment. Duncan needed... a shower, a change of clothes, and to clean up the blood stains in the store, before he could even contemplate leaving to search for Richie.
The first thing he did was to take the dagger into Tessa's workshop and wash it thoroughly in the industrial sink. Once he was certain that no dried blood remained, he brought it back into the store and locked it in his desk in the office. He would need to polish it again, he thought absently, as the itch from the wet polish in the now-healed wound finally faded away.
That chore completed, the highlander went back into the workshop to get the janitor's mop and caddy. He filled the caddy with water and added an industrial floor cleaner and then wheeled the mop and caddy out into the store. More stunning multi-lingual curses escaped his lips as he dropped the soaking mop onto the stain. However, Duncan's efforts seemed only to spread the stain around. It took a whole ten minutes before Duncan finally gave up and wheeled the mop and caddy back into the workshop. He then filled a bucket with water and floor cleaner, and grabbed a sponge.
Twenty minutes and a dictionary of profanity later, the store floor and display case were spotless again. Duncan stood and stretched his back as he threw the sponge back into the bucket.
"Duncan, why is the-" Tessa entered suddenly from her workshop, having returned from her meeting. She stopped short when she noticed Duncan's appearance.
"Oh my god."
"It's not as bad as it looks," Duncan reassured, though his voice lacked the qualities.
"What happened? Was it an immortal?" Tessa had closed the gap between them and they were now standing face to face. He fingers delicately probed at the gash through his shirt. Duncan shook his head as he pushed her hand away.
"Well if not an immortal than what? A burglar? And where's Richie?" Tessa rapidly fired off her questions, her face distraught from shock and worry.
"It wasn't a burglar," said Duncan. "And Richie isn't here."
"Well if he's not here then where is he?" Tessa questioned impatiently.
"I don't know," Duncan admitted sadly. "But we have to find him."
"Is he alright?" Duncan didn't answer, because he didn't know exactly how. "Duncan?"
"No, he's not alright," Duncan admitted at last, on the tails of a sigh. Tessa paled.
"He wasn't here, was he?" Duncan merely nodded. At Tessa's insistent look he added:
"He's the one who killed me."
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Richie rode in no particular direction. His mind was an unintelligible jumble at the moment as far too many thoughts and emotions surfed in and out of focus. He was angry that this blasted fever made him reveal his hidden feelings (at least the fever was where he was placing his blame). He was angry at Angie for casting him aside, he was angry at Kyle for being stupid, and angry at James for dying. He was even mad at Larry for being successful and at Nikki for not bothering ever to write or call. But most of all, he was angry with MacLeod for having to avenge Darius, which meant bringing the family back to Seacouver, and he was mad at Seacouver for being different than when he left it. He was angry at the aching loneliness that he felt and even angrier that he was given a taste of paradise before having it ripped away from him for good, because now Darius was dead, they were in Seacouver, and the hunting and killing of mortals was a fine and dandy pastime if given the right circumstances.
Richie wondered next what Darius would have thought of such a pastime.
The teen was a mass of unfocused rage simply because there were entirely too many targets. Between his so-called friends, the watchers, Darius, Seacouver, and MacLeod, Richie couldn't for the life of him stay focused long enough to process a coherent thought. All he knew was that he had been to heaven, for Paris granted him everything that he'd ever wanted, and surely wasn't that heaven? And then Darius died, and he was ripped away from that place, from those feelings, and even if he chose to stay in Paris, what would have been the use? MacLeod would have gone off hunting mortals, and Tessa would have gone wherever MacLeod was. Who would stay in Babylon after it's fall? So Richie returned with them to Seacouver, and stood idly by while MacLeod murdered the mortals who murdered Darius on holy ground. Darius wouldn't have wanted that. Richie'd only known the man for a few sparse months, and he was certain of that fact. MacLeod had known the priest for centuries…
It was MacLeod's selfishness, and his pride, that made him want to go after those watchers, or so Richie reckoned. He didn't do it for Darius, he did it for himself. To make himself feel better about it. To make his death easier to accept. And the act had cost Richie the only true, pure, unconditional happiness that he's ever known.
And Tessa had just stood by and watched it happen, more concerned with Duncan's feelings concerning the death of his long-time friend. She was supposed to be his mother, it was accepted and assumed. And yet, in the end, her only concern was for Duncan, placing her on the exact same level as every foster mother that he's ever had. And he had really hoped that she'd be different.
There was anger, true, but there was also betrayal. Richie had wanted parents, true parents, like he has never known before. And in Paris, he'd had just that. Duncan so desperately wanted to be his father, perhaps because he could not have children of his own, Richie reckoned. And so it was assumed, and so it was… until more important things crept up and it was back to the status-quo. And Richie was forced to follow along because he was wholly dependent on these people, and this time there wasn't the DSS to bail him out of it. He went from being their son to being their puppy, and Richie hated that feeling.
And this was Mac and Tessa. They were supposed to be different.
Rage, and betrayal.
And now Seacouver was different from when they'd left it, and the changes weren't for the better. Now Richie was alone here, in a place he hated (because that place represented everything that fleeing to Paris had amended), and every blessed thing about those nine months abroad had been undone by avenging blade of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, who was entirely too selfish and prideful to ever be granted the rights to a child.
And Richie had learned the hard way.
And now he was on his bike, simmering with his anger, and his feelings of hurt and betrayal, and his distain for Mac and Tessa, for their behavior, and his self-pity, for being out in the cold again without a true place to call home.
In his haste, he was completely unaware of exactly how bad off his illness was, and in his hurried actions to leave, the fact that he was covered in MacLeod's blood had somehow slipped his mind.
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Duncan MacLeod emerged from the bedroom after what stood to be the quickest shower and change in his entire four hundred years.
"But Duncan, you don't even know where to begin looking," said Tessa, more in defeat than in protest.
"I'll start looking in Richie's old neighborhood," said Duncan as he quickly secured his katana in the hidden pocket of the lining of his duster. Tessa involuntarily shivered at the juxtaposition of the moment. "Odds are that's where he'll head first." Then the highlander donned his coat and headed for the stairs into the store. Tessa's voice stopped him half-way down.
"But Duncan, what if you do find him?" She asked, her voice uneasy. Duncan tensed briefly at the memory of what had just transpired between he and the teen. Then he sighed.
"He's very sick, Tess," he said at last, not turning around. "He needs help." Duncan continued walking, only to have Tessa's voice stop him again.
"Will he let you help him?" Another tense moment, but this time Duncan simply held his breath.
"He doesn't have a choice," said Duncan, more ice in his voice than he had intended. He heard Tessa bite back a gasp behind him before he continued into the loft and through the door to the workshop, heading for the back ally and the T-bird. Tessa watched him go, her unease mounting with every step he took. Finally she gave up and allowed herself to slink down to the floor, sitting herself at the top of the stairs. There, she put her head in her hands, and cried.
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Duncan drove towards Richie's old neighborhood, intent on finding the teen. All the while, his mind played over everything that Richie had said to him. He'd used the word 'betrayal'…
Duncan felt guilty, but of course, such an emotion was second nature to him, donned as easily as the black duster he was wearing now. Richie was his ward, if one wants to be technical. No longer his employee when they were in Paris, no longer the punk kid that MacLeod had decided to give a chance to. And he had no longer been just an older (Ha!), wiser friend to the teen. No, Richie was his son. In Paris, Richie was the child that he and Tessa had always wanted, but then thought that they could never have. Richie was a gift to him to make up for the fact that he could never have children.
Richie was a boy, a human being. Not some gross form of compensation or karma for his life. And in typical MacLeod fashion, the highlander had always put the boy's safety and security above all else (but not enough to send him away, where he probably would have been safer… As safe as all pre-immortals are, anyway. Was that 'probably' truly concern over pre-immortal hunters, or truly his own stubborn vanity, his selfishness in wanting a son of his own?).
Oh, he made sure the lad was safe, all right. He had sent him to Darius to be sure of that fact. But was he ever concerned for Richie's well-being, in more than just the corporeal sense? Duncan's automatic answer was a definite 'yes', but obviously Richie didn't see it that way. And was he concerned for Richie, or even Tessa for that matter, when he flew half-way around the world to avenge Darius?
Was he even thinking of Darius?
Duncan sighed and nearly laughed at the irony of wanting more than anything to ask for the immortal priest's sage advice right about now. But he couldn't do that anymore. Darius was dead, they were back in Seacouver, reopening the store, and generally trying to pick up where they left off nine months ago.
It was as though Paris was a dream, a gem of perfect happiness, like those snow globes showing perfect winter scenes that one can only dream of and never really achieve.
Ones that Richie has dreamt of all his life. One that Richie had. One that Duncan's need to avenge Darius had seemingly stripped away.
Richie had used the word 'betrayal', and Duncan believed him. After all, had he just proven that he was no better than those God-awful foster fathers Richie so rarely talks about in detail?
Will that be how he refers to me, years from now?
Duncan sighed a heavy sigh, and feared deeply that there was no way to undue that damage he'd so happily and unwittingly caused.
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Tessa was wrenched from her reverie by the sound of a ringing phone. Standing quickly and wiping her eyes, she was able to determine that it was the Antique store phone that was ringing, so she hurried downstairs to answer it.
"Richie?" She asked expectantly when she answered the phone.
"Mrs. Noel?" Tessa sighed in disappointment.
"Oh, hello Mrs. Burke. What can I do for you?"
"You don't sound well at all, Mrs. Noel," said Mrs. Burke with concern.
"I'm fine," Tessa snapped, but instantly regretted it. Her apology was cut off by the sound of soft chuckling coming down the line.
"You're just worried about Richie is all," she said knowingly, to Tessa's astonishment.
"How did you—"
"Mr. MacLeod stopped by here a few minutes ago, looking for him," she explained.
"And?" Tessa asked, daring to hope for some good news.
"Well I don't know where he is," said Mrs. Burke. Tessa's face fell. "But I think I might have an idea of where he could be." Tessa perked up immediately.
"Where?"
"Well I didn't think of it when Mr. MacLeod stopped by, but whenever Angie had trouble finding him, she'd go looking for him in the cemetery at St. Peter's."
"The cemetery?" Tessa repeated, confused.
"That's where Emily's buried."
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Burke!" Tessa exclaimed excitedly. Mrs. Burke nodded, not that Tessa could see it.
"You just call me the minute you find him," she directed sternly.
"Of course," Tessa promised. She hung up the phone and ran back up to the loft to grab her own jacket and keys. She scribbled out a brief note to Duncan in the (unlikely) event that he returned before she did before heading swiftly down to the store, through the workshop, and to her Mercedes, intent on following up on Mrs. Burke's lead.
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Richie was sitting on the damp grass of the cemetery. The grave was no more than an engraved concrete slab lying down on the grass beside him, but it was all he had left of Emily Ryan, his first foster mother and the woman whose name he had taken thereafter. She was the closest thing he had to a mother.
Except of course for Tessa, but he wasn't thinking of her right now, and how she blindly followed her lover back and forth across the globe without so much as a concern for anyone else… even the teenager she'd claimed as a son.
But it wasn't Tessa's fault. She hadn't gone against MacLeod, but then she didn't go seeking vengeance either. And she so desperately wanted to be his mother. She had assumed the role so naturally, and so perfectly, that it was easy for the three of them to pretend it was true.
But that's all it was. Pretending. She wasn't his mother, and never would be. He was too old for a mother when they met, anyway. Perhaps, they had all forgotten that.
And now, back in Seacouver, she wasn't his mother anymore. Nor was MacLeod his father, though those roles hadn't been so natural for either of them to fill. Too many scars and painful memories on both sides… not that Richie was aware of that. But Tessa had been his mother in Paris, and now the charade was over. Now, she still tried, she still went on pretending, but he saw through the masquerade. And sitting here, by Emily's grave, he couldn't decide if it offended him or not.
He didn't have a mother, he didn't have a father. He didn't have a family. All he had was Emily's grave… and Gary's grave and James's grave, and memories of Nikki and Angie, who chose to forget him, and of Kyle, whose life was over anyway, and of Larry, using a successful present and a bright future to erase the nightmares of the past. Oh, how Richie had wanted that for himself! That chance to escape, to make it out, to make it through, to make it past.
But then he'd had it. And it was short-lived. And it was over now. And here he was, sitting on the dew-damp grass beside Emily's grave, back in Seacouver, on the other side of heaven, willing himself to forget everything happy about Paris because forgetting is better than living with the pain of loss.
His fever was spiking, his chest was hurting, and he was covered in MacLeod's blood, and his mind latched onto the fact that the highlander could bleed and bleed and bleed and yet never die. So stands true of the human spirit, and in this way Richie had faith in himself that he would move past this, move out, move on, escape, and be happy somehow. So when he saw with fever-bright eyes Tessa walking briskly through the damp fog that had settled on the cemetery, her face seeming serene (though in reality she was too much in shock at actually having found Richie to convey much else), and she appeared an angel to him, and he thought of Emily, his mother, coming back to him, to take him in her arms like she used to do when soothing his nightmares away and reassure him that everything was going to be alright.
His lips turned a bright smile, and that's what spurred Tessa on. She walked faster, trying to will her legs to run but seemingly unable to do so. And Richie, seeing her hurry towards him, felt a sense of peace that he hadn't felt since his mother used to hold him at night to make sure that none of the monsters could get him this time, and for the first time in many years, Richie clearly pictured Emily's face, as she whispered soothing things to him and kept the monsters at bay… while the barge rocked slowly beneath them as the glittering lights of Paris filtered in through the portholes, allowing for the frightening dark to never hold sway.
Richie saw, Richie felt, Richie remembered. Two images merged into one, two memories half forgotten, buried in his subconscious. Two thoughts, two women, reconciled into each other. The vale was lifted and all became clear to those fever-bright eyes as the young boy they belonged to breathed a sigh of relief. His mother was here at last!
Tessa was almost upon him, having traversed the entire length of the cemetery to get to the corner where Richie sat with Emily. She moved even faster when Richie appeared happy to see her. She stopped short when her mind finally registered Richie's appearance: the teen was thin, even for him, and pale, except for the fever flushing his cheeks, and his eyes were bright with hope and fever. And his clothes were covered in Duncan's blood.
Some of the light left Richie's eyes as he studied her, standing mere feet away from him but not approaching further. Why had she stopped? Why was she not going to him? Was that judgment in her eyes?
"Maman?" He questioned, softly and unsure, before falling gently forward to rest beside Emily Ryan's grave.
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If I understand the reviewer correctly, they believe that I am taking the characters way OOC by having Richie "obsess" over issues like who his family is, and what has happened concerning his concept of family since moving into the loft, going to Paris, and subsequently returning to Seacouver. Also, my having Richie kill Duncan so that he could escape the situation appeared OOC to the reviewer, as did Duncan's "allowing" it to happen (personally I don't think Duncan had any choice in the matter, but anyway...).
Does anyone agree with this reviewer who hasn't spoken up yet? If so, please do so now. And if anyone wants to come charging to my defense in this matter, I certainly won't stop you;)