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An Impasse By Kiristeen ke Alaya Disclaimer: Rysher and Davis et al own the characters of the highlander series and this particular incarnation of immortality, not me. I intend no copyright infringement and will make no money from this story. Warnings: This story contains m/m romantic content. It is adult in nature. If you aren't an adult yet, I'll have to ask you to come back when you are. If the idea of two men together squicks you, or just isn't your cup a tea, perhaps you should give this story a miss. Rating: PG-15 for implied m/m and for a couple of bad words. xxxxxxxxxx Part One xxxxxxxxxx He was *not* going to cry. Crying was a useless waste of time. Besides, only kids cried -- right? Richie slammed the apartment door behind him, taking his frustration out on it, instead of giving vent to the tears that threatened. Flopping down onto his chair, a sense of defeat winding its way through him, he closed his eyes against his own thoughts, and his own foolish recklessness. "I think I'm falling in love with you," Richie mockingly mimicked himself. He shook his head in absolute disgust, as a line from a song he'd heard in passing flashed through his mind. //If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.// He rolled his eyes and shoved himself back to his feet, pacing across the room restlessly. He wasn't like that. Besides, he was *not* in love with anyone, let alone Methos! That whole idea was ridiculous. Yeah, so he lusted after the man. Methos *was* gorgeous. So Methos made him feel good. That's what sex was about, right? That didn't add up to love -- absolutely not. Richie sighed, his eyes closing of their own accord. Methos had disappeared a couple of weeks ago, and *no one* would tell him why. He knew there was more to this sudden vanishing act than too many Immortals in town. Everyone was being far too secretive and edgy for there not to be. But it didn't make any sense. He really had expected Methos to bolt that day, but he'd taken precautions against that. Unfortunately, that hadn't worked and he'd replaced the distributor cap to Methos' Jimmy the very next day. Methos hadn't even driven the blasted thing. By the time he'd realized Methos was actually gone, leaving his vehicle behind, Mac and Joe had disappeared, too. Feeling completely bereft and abandoned by everyone, he'd gone just a little nuts, wanting to be anyone other than himself -- to be anyone other than the man that kept wanting what he couldn't have. He'd left for France without a word to anyone -- not that there was anyone left to tell. When he'd seen that Ferrari on the display room floor, it had touched the longing inside him and he'd been unable to resist a little play-acting. And it had been fun too, until *she'd* come along. It was getting a little ridiculous, actually. Richie shook his head, a reluctant half-grin forming. **When am I going to learn to separate my heart from my 'other head'?** "She drugged me, kidnapped me," Richie ticked off *her* 'crimes' one by one, "chained me to a bed, kept me at that out of the way manor. Admittedly, she was in a fix, but geez!" How he could have thought he was falling in love with her, escaped him completely. Sure, she was pretty. And, of course, she'd been a 'damsel in distress'. That had made him feel guilty about having pretended to be rich and he'd felt the need to make it up to her. Richie froze, his expression dropping into a confused frown. **What am I thinking? I felt guilty because someone, who was breaking the law, got fouled up because of me? That's absurd!** He shook his head once again at how convoluted this whole mess had gotten. Everyone else seemed to be able to have reasonable love lives. Why couldn't he? Part of him wanted to blame Methos. If he hadn't disappeared... **No, that isn't fair. This is my fault. It's my own stupidity that gets me into these messes.** He crossed to his couch and dropped artlessly onto it, forcing his thoughts away from the woman he'd distracted himself. That wasn't the only thing that was bothering him. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, it wasn't even the most important thing. Mac had been acting strangely ever since the excitement at the estate had ended. It was as if that escapade had made him forget, for a little while, something that was tearing him apart. No, that wasn't quite right, Richie thought suddenly. It hadn't been until after Richie had asked about Methos. Mac had clammed up and gone all rigid, then been broody and edgy ever since. Nothing Richie had done could get his teacher to explain what was wrong. In fact, the more he pestered Mac about it, the more uptight Mac had gotten. It was almost as if-- Richie luanched himself up off the couch. **NO! I won't even *think* that.** Richie stood nearly frozen for several long moments, horrifying thoughts of what *might* have happened to Methos flying through his mind one after another. As hard as he tried, he couldn't stop them. It was the only thing that made sense. Why else would Mac be so upset at the mere mention of Methos' name? As quickly as the idea flashed through his mind, he was moving. Grabbing his coat on the way out, he slammed the door behind him. There was one way to find out for sure, and this time, he wasn't letting up until he got an answer. Maybe if he asked point blank, he'd get a straight answer. ******************** Hopping off his bike as soon as he kicked the kickstand into place, Richie strode toward a very familiar door. He grinned in satisfaction when he was greeted with the comforting feel of silence. He was the only Immortal here. Now, if only a certain mortal was in. Despite his worries, stepping inside the darkened bar was like coming home. This gathering place of both Immortals *and* Watchers was comforting. It was a home away from home -- sort of. Scanning the interior, Richie did not immediately spot Joe. In fact the place seemed completely empty. Of course, he hadn't really expected a crowd of customers. It was far too early for that. "Joe?" "In the office, Richie." Richie took a deep breath and strode across the bar, not slowing until he was in the office and was standing directly in front of the Watcher. Steeling himself to hear the answer he dreaded most, he took another steadying breath. "Is Methos dead?" he demanded. Joe's eyes widened in surprise. "No!" he exclaimed immediately. "He's disappeared again. You know as well as I do how good he is at that, but as far as the Watchers know he's still alive." "As far as the *Watchers* know?" Richie asked suspiciously. "What about as far as *you* know? We both know you often know more than the Watchers do." "Yes, Richie, as far as *I* know, as well. *That* isn't something I would keep from them. If Methos died, permanently, I would find a way to suddenly *know* who and what he was." Richie sagged in relief, nearly sinking to his knees. "You're not just making that up?" he asked. "You're not just humoring me?" Richie knew he was begging, but right now he didn't care. He needed to know, really know. "No, Richie," Joe replied firmly, leaning on his cane as he rose to his feet. "I am not just humoring you. If I knew he were dead, I would tell you that. If it were even rumored he were, I would pass *that* on to you, also." Suddenly Richie was angry, all that worry and fear changing in a heartbeat. "Then, why the hell is everyone acting so damn strange whenever his name is mentioned?" "Strange?" "Yes!" Richie shouted. "Strange! Just like now. It's not like you to be so...so...damn it! I don't know. Just give me a damn straight answer, Joe. Why are you *and* Mac acting so weird about Methos?" Joe sighed, and Richie's heart plummeted. **What the hell is going on here? If he's not dead, then what *is* it?** "Listen, Rich, it's not my story to tell. You'll just have to ask Mac or Methos." "Don't you think I've tried to talk to Mac? He's as weird as you are right now. When I asked him, I thought he was gonna blow a gasket, or have a stroke, or something." Joe's eyebrows shot up. "That bad?" he murmured. "Yeah, that bad," Richie acknowledged. "Joe, please!" "No, I can't. Methos would never forgive me, at least not in *my* lifetime, and I wouldn't forgive myself, either -- not for breaking a confidence like this one." "So you *do* know what's going on?" Richie asked, jumping on the one part of Joe's comments he wanted to hear. "Yes, Richie, I do," Joe snapped angrily. "It *is* my job to know. But that's *all* you're getting out of me. You'll just have to wait." Richie's eyes narrowed as his anger grew. "Fine," he snapped, spinning around, and storming out of the bar. *************** The ground speeding by beneath him, Richie drove. His focus turned inward, the young Immortal paid only the barest of attention to where he was going. The machine vibrating under him, the wind blowing against him, the thrill of racing along the countryside, all carried him away from his troubles, away from the reality that so plagued him. Richie's thoughts wandered in slow, aimless circles, a direct counterpoint to the reckless speed to which he pushed his cycle. He whipped past countryside scenery without so much as a passing notice, his heart beating in time with the sound of tires against pavement. In his mind, the past two weeks had gone very differently. He could picture it easily. The day Cassandra had come to town, he'd gone to Methos' apartment and had dragged the Old Man off. Of course, Methos had argued. What was success without a little conflict? Together they'd driven off on Richie's bike, without a care in the world. Right now, Methos was behind him, holding on for dear life, just like that first night. Richie chuckled. It was funny, yet reassuring that someone who'd lived as long, and survived as much, as the world's oldest Immortal was actually afraid of something Richie took for granted -- in fact, was thrilled by. It gave him hope -- hope that maybe he, too, was worth something. A horn blared, jarring him out of his fantasy. Richie cursed the timing, nearly flipping the other driver off. So he was speeding, so what? He wasn't hurting anyone. He slowed as he took stock of his surroundings. He didn't recognize the area. How far had he come? He glanced down at his gas gauge, startled to see it read on E. Surely he hadn't been driving that long. What had he done to himself this time? He pulled the bike to the side of the road, slowing to a stop. He was God knew where, stuck who knew how many miles from the nearest gas station, and why? All because he couldn't keep his mind where it should be. His eyes narrowed, a gleam suddenly appearing as his thoughts began to whirl. **No more!** No more would he let life's curve balls throw him to the ground. Nor would he simply drift along where life and other people led him. He was going to take charge. He was going to go out and take what he wanted. And if he had to start by searching the globe, including every out-of-the-way, God-forsaken, hellhole to find what he wanted, then *that* was what he was going to do. Richie gunned his motorcycle back to life, and in a hail of gravel he tore back onto the road. A new determination throbbed through him as once again the road flowed beneath him. ******************** Vincent Antonio Perdue stepped off the gangplank, satisfied that having taken an ocean liner to his destination would have thrown off anyone searching for him, and *very* glad to be on solid ground. The trip had taken an entire month, during which time they had not docked at a single port. While he had to admit it was a far more comfortable trip than the last time he'd crossed an ocean by ship, he *still* didn't like traveling that way. The constant motion of the ship through the waves always left him feeling slightly off balance, not at all conducive to a sense of well being for an Immortal who depended so much on balance for survival. So often one wrong move, one misstep or slip, was enough to end everything. Looking around at all the radiant, smiling faces, the young-looking man forced a fairly convincing smile of his own, and strode toward customs. That was the last hurdle to cross before immersing himself in his new life. He already had a new look, and a new name. Once through the bureaucracy of entering Spain, all he needed was to find a job. "Name," a bored customs official inquired in Spanish. "Vincent Perdue." **At least that's what my passport, driver's license, visa, and birth certificate say.** "How long will you be staying in Spain, Senor Perdue?" "I'll be residing here.". "Visa." Vincent handed over the required Visa, hiding his impatience and showing only travel-weary frustration at the delay. He waited several long moments, long enough that he began to wonder if there was something wrong with his Visa. "Welcome to Spain, Senor Perdue." Accepting the out-held passport and Visa, Vincent nodded once, allowing none of the relief he felt to show. "Thank you, Senor." Less than five minutes later he was striding out the door and into the misty gray morning. With a shake of his head and a heartfelt sigh, Vincent headed for the nearest Taxi, wondering what had made him choose Spain. Why not something further south, like Egypt, or South America somewhere? ******************** Richie's heart was beating far too fast. Six months, six very long months, but he was here. He'd almost laughed himself silly when he'd finally gotten a break on locating Methos. The old man had slipped up this time. /// Richie downed half his beer before setting it down. He was getting absolutely nowhere. Even Frankie's people couldn't find him. Of course, what had he expected? Methos had multiple lifetimes of experience in thoroughly disappearing. How could a mere mortal, no matter his reach, hope to compete with that? So now, here he was, standing in Cordoba, Spain. The nervous butterflies in his stomach feeling more like pterodactyls than harmless insects, he set off for the address hastily written on a bar napkin, barely readable after several thousand miles and 24 hours of wear and tear. ******************** (Two weeks later) Anticipation equally mixed with heavy dose of fear coursed through Richie as he waited across the street from Methos current place of employment. Unless Methos' sensing range was farther than his, which Richie had seen no evidence of, and the man was *really* good at hiding his reaction, Richie had managed to watch without being detected. He was extraordinarily proud of that. Methos was *not* an easy man to follow. There! There he was. Richie grinned, watching the ancient Immortal. He would definitely have to ask how Methos, oh right, Vincent, made himself look 40. It was a neat trick. There were lines in the man's face that had never been there before, and -- Richie squinted trying to memorize facial features. Yes, there were shadows under his eyes as well. As Methos climbed into his car, Richie knew that tonight was the night. He'd been here two weeks now, learning Methos' schedule. He wanted to be absolutely certain that the other Immortal would have no excuses, no 'appointments' to put off this meeting. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the only way he was going to get close to the truth was if he caught Methos off guard. Waiting until the car disappeared from sight, and feeling like a stalker straight out of a horror movie, Richie headed for his bike. Return to story Index Return to main page |