Awakening (3/3)

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III


He woke with the aroma of coffee in his nostrils.

And was instantly aware of the presence of another
Immortal. //Amanda//, he thought lazily. //Always in
such a rush for her coffee.//

Snug and warm under a mound of blankets, lulled by
the gentle motion of the barge, he felt no sense of
urgency about opening his eyes. Drifted down, down...

**Years had fallen away, but he was still on the barge,
still relaxing in bed with his eyes closed. He knew Tessa
was beside him, her soft body inches from his. And on
the other side of their privacy curtain, Richie was
sacked out on the couch, a happy-go-lucky teenager
with no concerns beyond his next date. Or maybe it
was Richie who'd gotten up to start the coffee--**

Whoa. //Richie.//

Memories came flooding back. They'd been on deck.
Richie, about to take his head.

A dream? Richie's being alive, a DREAM? OH NO,
NO!

His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright.





And was engulfed in a bear hug. "Mac! Thank God
you're all right. You are all right, aren't you? Talk to
me!"

*"Richie?"*  Suddenly, he was laughing and crying at
once. "I'm fine. If you're really here. Let me look at you!
Oh, Richie..."

Seen close up in the candlelit cabin, Richie's face was
even more haggard than it had appeared on deck. But
MacLeod noted with relief that the muscles under his
black sweatshirt were still rock-solid.

At the same time, he remembered Amanda was half a
world away and he hadn't seen her in months. //I won't
be that careless again.// All of a sudden, dying seemed
like a very bad idea.

"I, um, I told you, um, um--" Methos sauntered into
view, balancing a plate in one hand and waggling a
fork with the other. He swallowed, said, "I told you he
was all right, Richie," and stuffed another forkful of
pancakes into his mouth.

//Pancakes?//

Richie glared. "Can you believe this guy, Mac? I knock
myself out to get hold of an Immortal doctor, and he
just comes over here and feeds his face. The only
remedy he could think of was smelling salts!"

"*I* suggested the smell of coffee might bring you
around," Joe Dawson said virtuously. MacLeod noticed
Joe was helping himself to the coffee.

He fended off the solicitous Richie and scrambled out of
bed, pleased to discover his friends hadn't undressed
him. Fresh as a daisy he wasn't, but at least he wasn't
naked or clad only in his briefs. "Has anyone seen my
shoes?"

Richie produced one shoe, and Methos found the other
and propelled it across the floor with his foot. While
MacLeod was putting them on, Methos said, "You
should be thankful for my good sense. Richie thought
you were in a coma. If it were up to him, you'd be
attached to an IV! I told him you'd just fainted--years
of strain catching up with you--and you needed a few
hours' rest." Then he snickered. "As a matter of fact,
I detected a wee bit of the hair o' the dog on your
breath."

MacLeod opened his mouth to protest, but Richie beat
him to it. "He wasn't drunk!"

"No," MacLeod chimed in. "Just a little...fuddled." He
caught Richie's eye, and they both grinned. "No trace
of a hangover."

Then he decided the banter had gone on long enough.
"Richie. Why didn't you kill me?"

Methos drifted back to the table, and he and Joe seemed
suddenly absorbed in their breakfast. They'd
undoubtedly heard the whole story, but now they tried
to make themselves invisible.





Richie sank down on the edge of the bed next to
MacLeod. "I...I still get the shakes when I think
about...how close I came."

"It's okay," MacLeod said quickly. "If you don't feel like
talking about it, that's okay too. We're both alive. I can
accept that and go on."

"No." Richie stared down at his clenched fists, battling
to bring his voice under control. "I want to tell you.
Have to tell you.

"Mac, I was so sure you were Ahriman. Not a doubt in
my mind." He shuddered. "I just let you talk to see how
you'd try to weasel out of it. I thought you were trying
to stall till after midnight, the turn of the millennium.

"But I was prepared for that. I'd waited till almost the
last minute in hopes of catching Ahriman drunk, or at
least off guard. I had a tiny transistor radio in my ear,
broadcasting the celebration in the heart of town. That
last half hour, they were giving the time every five
minutes. And I knew there'd be a one-minute
countdown at the end. So I was never in any danger of
delaying too long."

MacLeod tried to suppress a shudder of his own. "Good
strategy. But of course, since I'm not Ahriman, I wasn't
thinking about any such thing. After I saw you, I didn't
even remember what night it was."

Richie nodded. "Finally, I reared back and swung--" His
voice broke. "But at that moment, something
happened. You don't remember any of this? Suddenly,
there was...a *light* shining within and around you.
Pure white radiance. I had never understood what
'transfiguration' meant, but I do now. I didn't know
what you were, but definitely not a demon." His eyes,
brimming with tears, searched MacLeod's face.

"No," MacLeod breathed. "I don't remember. I'm sure I
wasn't aware of it. Were my eyes still closed?"

"Yes."

"And I wasn't even praying... Did some supernatural
force stop your sword, Richie? Or did you stop the
swing yourself?"

"This gets even more unbelievable." Richie's voice
dropped to an awed whisper. "I tried to stop the swing,
but I...I couldn't...stop it...quite in time. I nicked you. I
swear it was hardly more than a paper cut, Mac!
There's no scar on your neck." They both knew cuts on
the neck or throat were among the few injuries that
would affect an Immortal as seriously--and
permanently--as a mortal.

MacLeod resisted the urge to put a hand to his neck.
"That's all right," he said, sure something more was
coming.

"There was...blood. Just a few drops, but it was on my
sword. And the sword was still in my hands." Richie
gazed at his palms as if some secret lay hidden there. "I
felt something flow through the sword and into me.
And all at once, I *knew*--Mac, *I knew everything you
were thinking!*" Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Everything you wanted to tell me through the
Quickening. I even knew that you thought you saw
Tessa, and pulled away from *Tessa* because you were
so concerned for *me!*"  He buried his face in his
hands, and the sobs came at last, wracking his sturdy
frame.

MacLeod put his arms around him and held him,
barely aware he was also in tears.  "It's all right, it's all
right. It's all over now. I love you. But then, you
already know that."

In time the sobs eased, and Richie straightened and
managed a shaky smile. "Do you understand it?"

MacLeod shook his head. "No. Divine intervention?
Magic? The strength of some special bond between us?
I wouldn't presume to guess. All we can do is give
thanks...and keep a special place in our hearts for
Pellinore. He never had a happy ending."

"That's right." The haunted look in Richie's eyes told
MacLeod how closely he had identified with the long-
dead hermit. "Anyway, after all that, I dropped my
sword and...and I remember I fell on my knees. Just in
time. On the stroke of midnight, you passed out in my
arms.

"Mac, I can't tell you how scared I was. I was afraid that
somehow, I had really injured you."

"I'm sorry, Richie. I can't explain that, either. When I
woke up, I thought for a horrible second I had only
dreamed you were alive." MacLeod realized he was still
holding Richie, seeking assurance he was real.
Reluctantly, he released him. "But how did you find
Methos and Joe?"

A sheepish grin. "That actually wasn't hard. Once I
knew you were you, it was clear you'd been telling the
truth when you implied Joe was still your Watcher. If
you'd lived in Paris all this time, he'd be here too, and I
guessed he'd have another blues club. The phone
number was in the book--the name of the place cued
me in right away. And Methos was hanging out with
Joe. They were staying sober so they could keep the
bar crowd under control."





"I heard that," Methos piped up. "Do you think *getting
here* was easy, right after midnight? I need my
nourishment now because I was run over and killed
twice, trampled to death three times."

At MacLeod's stunned look, he sighed. "That was a thing
called a *joke*, MacLeod. You really have to start
getting your act together."

"You're right, I do." MacLeod smiled broadly. "And you
have to improve yours."

Joe chuckled. "Sounds like things are getting back to
normal around here.

"We've been trying to coax Richie to eat," he told
MacLeod. "Maybe now we can interest both of you.
Breakfast, a belated dinner, whatever?"

MacLeod and Richie exchanged glances, and started to
nod.

Then something prompted MacLeod to stride to the
nearest porthole and look out. "What time is it?"

Richie, at his elbow, said, "Almost daybreak."

MacLeod turned, and their eyes met. "Shall we--?"

"Oh, yes."

"Breakfast can wait," MacLeod told the others. "We're
going on deck to watch the sunrise."





And the new day dawned bringing the new
millennium.




(The End)

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