========================================================================= Date: Mon, 22 Apr 1996 04:50:42 -0400 Reply-To: Sandra1012@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sandra McDonald Subject: You Break It . . . 5/7 Part Five: Warning: Implications of graphic sex ahead! But not much. That night, on the shores of an ancient land, in the house of a family he loved and who loved him, Richie dreamt of Andrea. Not Andrea as he'd last seen her, at the temple, her eyes staring at him in horror and disbelief. Instead it was the Andrea who'd laid with him in a penthouse suite on the thirtieth floor of a luxury hotel overlooking Sydney Harbor in Australia. They'd snuck out of a very good New Year's party in the ballroom below and were undressing before they even came through the door, limbs entwined, glitter and streamers in their hair, mouths pressed together. His black tie and jacket and tie, tossed on the ankle-deep carpet. Her green dress, hung from a doorknob. His shoes and socks, hastily discarded. She hadn't worn nylons, and kept her velvet heels on for him. They melded together on the silk sheets, hot skin to hot skin, passion like electricity tingling between them, kisses like tiny miracles up and down each other's bodies. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows were wide open to brilliant explosions of colors and stars and sound. "I don't think the world ever really exploded for me before," Andrea murmured as she lowered herself down on him, her skin gleaming in the blast of fireworks. Richie couldn't answer at the moment, so caught up was he in a mounting explosion of another kind - and then he woke up. To find Debra and Connor peering at him, six inches away from his nose. "You're up!" Debra announced happily. "Come on and play, Uncle Richie!" For a moment all he could do was stare at them in utter confusion. Then, realizing his erotic dream had left him with a vivid reminder, he snatched a pillow down to the sheets above his groin and said, in exasperation and fondness both, "Get out, you two! Scram!" "You better not be bothering Uncle Richie!" Rachel's voice threatened from somewhere downstairs. "Come down and eat your lunch before you go back to school and leave him alone!" "Too late," Richie groaned, watching the kids scurry out the door. With them went the faint auras of pre-Immortals that marked every MacLeod kid. Mac and Rachel scoured orphanages all over Europe every decade, looking for those special children who would carry on a unique legacy. Rachel's face appeared at the doorway. She was sixty years old, but only the lines around her eyes betrayed her age. "Hungry?" she asked. "What time is it?" "Nearly noon." "Noon?" Richie didn't believe her. He groped for his watch. Noon. He'd slept for a long, long time, even given the time change. "Where's Mac?" "Waiting in the backyard dojo. He said whenever you're ready to get your you-know-what whipped, he'll be waiting." A challenge like that could not go unmet. They sparred for most of the afternoon, working up from stretches and kata to full fledged assault with bo's, wooden swords, and finally cold, razor-sharp steel. After thirty years of fighting Richie could hold his own in a fight against Mac, and sometimes win. The long ago foregone conclusion so vividly demonstrated by the time Mac had taken a Dark Quickening and gone for Richie's head was no longer quite so foregone. Richie had picked up a few new tricks in Australia, and used one to lure MacLeod into a feint that cost him a nasty slice across the shoulder. "Sorry," Richie apologized with a grin. "Ungrateful wretch," MacLeod returned, eyes glimmering, and in a few seconds scored a thrust that put a hole in Richie's stomach. "Ouch," Richie complained. He put his left hand against the blood and felt the world start to swim away. "That will teach you to get cocky," MacLeod said, sounding stern, but he put their swords down and helped Richie sit on a bench until the wound healed. Both men were breathing hard, soaked with sweat, and had stripped down to their black cotton gee's in the stuffy confines of the small, well-constructed building. The door creaked open and Rachel stuck her head in. "Are you through slicing and dicing one another?" she asked. "Not just yet," Richie said. "I'm not finished being cocky." "Andrea Dawson's on the phone. Should I tell her to call back?" The sharp jab in his chest wasn't from the stomach wound, which had stopped tingling finally as the skin seamed back together. "No," Richie said. "I'll be right there." MacLeod slapped him on the back. "Just tell her that you love her. Everything starts and ends from there." Richie didn't answer. He wondered, nervously, what exactly he could say to her. The brisk breeze across the backyard cooled him off on his way to MacLeod's small den. He struggled into a shirt before he went in. Andrea was on the wall, her face anxious, dressed in his favorite black and gold dress. "Hi," he said. "Hi," she said. "Did I . . . disturb you?" "No," he said. "Just practicing with Mac." "How is he? And Rachel, and the kids?" "Fine," Richie answered. They looked at each other across thousands of miles and the space of nine days. "How are you doing?" Andrea asked. He allowed himself a small shrug. "Not too bad." "I miss you," she said, her eyes darting away as if she couldn't bear his answer. Richie told the truth. "I miss you too, Andrea." He took a deep breath. "Mac says I should tell you that I love you. That everything starts and ends there." Andrea focused on him. "I love you too." "Even after Macau?" She frowned. "What do you mean?" "After what I did," he said, a little confused. "Breaking the rule." Her expression went through shades of equal confusion before settling into disbelief. "What you did?" she asked. "You? I'm the one who left you there, Richie. I'm the one who walked away. You have every right to hate me." "Why would I hate you?" Richie asked. Someone else in the room spoke to Andrea. She frowned and said, "All right." Then she turned back to the screen. "Richie, I have to go." "Now?" "I'm late for an appointment," she said cryptically. "When are you coming home?" Richie almost said he could be home in three hours, but then he caught himself. He wanted to see her, make things right, hold her in his arms. But he was afraid, and the way she was leaving things now made him a little angry. "I'll be home tomorrow morning," he said. "Can we meet for breakfast? At the pier, around nine?" "Yes," he said. The voice spoke again, too low for Richie to hear. "I have to go," Andrea said. She gazed squarely at him. "Richie, I really do love you." Then she severed the link. *** MacLeod came back to Seacouver with him the next afternoon. "I've been meaning to check in on Joe," the Highlander said by way of excuse as the airpod lifted into the gloom over Scotland. "He's not getting any younger." "He's doing fine," Richie said absently, rubbing his hands against his pants. He caught himself and stopped. Three hours later they descended into Seacouver's sunny skies and warm temperatures. Methos was waiting on the roof of the mansion, his white jacket flapping in the wind, and with a grin of delight he took immediate custody of MacLeod. Richie headed for his suite for a quick shower, with David close on his heels. "What's going on?" Richie asked from over the pulse of hot water in the shower. David, in the doorway, waved a datachip. "Jeremy Greven's criminal history, Donna Greven's medical records, and where you can find Jeremy. He's laying low with some friends in Bishop's Hollow, working at what I think they used to call a "chop shop."" Richie had almost forgotten about Jeremy. He rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, turned off the water, and groped for a towel. Bishop's Hollow was an old industrial town in the countryside, out past Amos Lake, with more bars and chop shops and junkyards than actual buildings. A rough place, but not a place an Immortal would be afraid of. Richie threw on a robe and, still dripping water, inspected the crisp new blue jeans and white shirt his maid had just laid out on the bed. "They look okay?" Richie asked David. "They look fine," David said, a trace of amusement on his face. "They look great," Richie said. Impulsively he kissed the maid on the cheek. "Thanks, Emaline. Take the rest of the week off, with pay." David shook his head as Emaline left. He liked it when Richie was this excited, but hated to deal with the aftermath sometimes. "Meeting Andrea?" he hazarded. "I have no secrets, do I?" Richie asked, but he didn't expect an answer. He'd tossed and turned most of the night, wondering what they would say to each other. But the most important part, that they loved each other, was not in doubt. Now he checked the clock. The time difference between Seacouver and Scotland meant it was only eight o'clock here. Okay, so he'd be early. "I'm taking the car." "You don't want a driver?" "No. And I don't mean the electric car. Have them gas up the T- Bird." David warned, "You know every time we put that on the road, we have to pay a triple surcharge for using a combustible engine." Richie grinned. "I'm a very rich young man, remember?" David couldn't help but smile back. "And getting younger all the time?" Richie grinned wider. He was thirty minutes early at the pier. The sun, seagulls and ocean made for a postcard-perfect setting. The outdoor restaurant they both loved was half-full of diners. Richie waited patiently to be seated, intending to bribe his way to the best seat in the house, but Andrea had arrived even earlier and stood up now, her blue and white dress catching his attention. He smiled tentatively. She smiled back. He went to her table, wondering if he dared to kiss her, but she made the decision first and pressed her mouth hard to his, one of her hands cupping his face, the other stroking his hair. "Oh, Andrea," he said, everything in those two words, when they broke apart and looked at each other. They sat, their chairs close together, their hands linked beneath the table. She smelled of lavender, and was gorgeous. "How are you?" she asked softly. "Better." His free hand went to touch her face. On closer inspection he could see that her carefully applied makeup covered dark circles beneath her eyes, and that she must have cried recently. "What happened? Why were you crying?" She shook her head ever so slightly, but her eyes stayed dry. "I went before the board of Watchers yesterday. That's why I couldn't talk to you long." Richie turned that information over in his mind. He remembered when Joe had gone before the board for interfering with the affairs of Immortals. Gross dereliction of duties. It had been in response to the night Joe shot MacLeod to save Richie's life, right after the Dark Quickening. Richie's Watcher had done his duty by reporting Joe's actions. It took months for Joe to regain his equilibrium after losing his job, his way of life. "I'm sorry," he said. "Was it because of me?" "No. It was because of me. Because I failed to file a report in Macau about what happened at the temple." "Why didn't you?" They had moved into difficult territory, and both knew it. Richie remembered very clearly the look on her face when he'd finally recovered enough after the Quickening to take note of his surroundings. But he didn't realize just how difficult Andrea's next words would be. "I wanted to protect you," she said softly. "I didn't want people to know you'd killed on Holy Ground. I was a little in shock about it, myself, because I didn't know then that he'd kidnapped you and forced you to fight. But also . .. " her eyes slid to the flower centerpiece on the table, then moved back to his face. "But also because I couldn't believe you'd killed Satoshi. I thought . . . you'd killed him over me." "Over you?" Richie repeated. The words sounded dull in his own ears. His subconscious understood far faster than his thinking mind, but a few seconds later both sides connected with a spasm that warned of even greater pain to come. "A long time ago," Andrea said, "Satoshi and I were lovers." "Oh." It was the only thing he could say. He tried to pull back in his seat, but she gripped his hand harder. "It was six years ago, long before I was even a Watcher. I was studying abroad in Hong Kong. Dad had sent me your address, and I took the boat over one day just for fun. You'd left about a month earlier, but I met Satoshi and . . . . he and I had a brief romance." Richie's imagination was conjuring up images of the two of them twisted in wild, thrusting sex. Satoshi's hands on her breasts. Her legs, wrapped around him. He could see them as clearly as he could see the tables, the customers, the waiter in a short white jacket. He didn't think he was breathing normally. His right hand, in Andrea's, was numb. "It lasted maybe a few months," Andrea said, talking more quickly now, as if her words were actually making a positive impact. "I went back to school. I never told Dad. After I became a Watcher, I checked Satoshi's records. Whoever his Watcher had been had left my name out of the list of women he'd gone through - and he'd gone through a lot." "Women liked him a lot," Richie agreed. He sounded crazy. He couldn't believe he was having this discussion. From nowhere, his mind brought forth the memory of them laying in the rented cottage outside the Black Forest. He'd wanted to make Macau and Satoshi the last stops on their trip before returning to Seacouver. She'd been strangely reticent, but had finally agreed. "Richie, it was a long time ago, and I was a young college student. I had no idea of what the future would bring. I've never asked you about your previous lovers, and you've never asked me." He nodded. That was true. He had no idea what expression his face was showing. "When we got to Macau, you started acting strangely," Andrea said. "You were distant, preoccupied. I thought you'd found out, and were mad." "I was distant and preoccupied because I found out that Satoshi had changed," Richie said. "He wanted to fight me. I refused. I was making plans for us to leave early when he kidnapped me." "I know that now," Andrea said, "but I didn't then. You disappeared. Satoshi called me at the hotel, said you were stalking him, said he feared for his life and was going to take refuge at the temple." Richie laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound. "And you believed him?" "I didn't know what to believe!" Andrea protested. "By the time I got there, you two were already fighting. And then you took his head on Holy Ground . . ." Richie let her trail off. He realized they hadn't even had time to order breakfast. He took out a debit card and left it by his plate without even realizing what he was doing. It was unfair to have taken up this table for so long without buying food. "So how did your meeting with the board go?" he asked. Andrea's eyes widened in surprise. For a moment she was at a loss for words. "I resigned." "Do you need a job?" he asked. "I mean, I'm sure David could help you find something." "Richie, what about everything I've just told you?" He stood up. She stood with him. He shrugged. "I understand," he said. "You didn't tell me about Satoshi. I never asked. Our former lovers weren't part of the picture. You thought I'd actually kill my teacher on Holy Ground. You got fired for trying to protect me. It makes sense." A flush crept up from her neck. "It's not that way at all!" "Of course it is," Richie said. "You explained it. I got to go now, some things I have to do, but I'll talk to you later." He kissed her on the cheek. He left the restaurant with blurred vision. He had nowhere to go, but nothing really mattered anymore anyway.