Title: Mourning

Author: tarotgal

Fandom: Highlander

Spoilers: This takes place in the middle of season 2- sometime between episodes 2-8 (Revenge of the Sword) and 2-12 (Under Color of Authority). It talks heavily about events that happened in episodes 2-4 (The Darkness) and 2-5 (Eye for an Eye). So if you don't have any idea about those and don't want to be spoiled, don't read :-)

Rating: G (maybe PG for brief mentions of murder, but probably just G)

Warnings: het romance(s) mentioned, no slash, some boy-bonding

Disclaimer: Ha! They're not mine! Davis & Panzer are the lucky blokes who hold the rights. I just play with Widen's lovely creations

Summary: As another year's end approaches, Duncan and Richie are both rather miserable and take a trip to the cabin to help sort things out

Notes: Written as Friday Fic #12. Briefly started for the sneezefic winter challenge 03-04

More Notes: Don't ask me about the cabin. I envision it to have running water and a working stove and toilet and refrigerator... but can't imagine how that would be possible in a cabin built a hundred years ago on an island in the middle of nowhere. So I naturally just ignore logic when it comes to the cabin

Even More Notes: The image of sick!Richie was planted in my mind waaaaay back while reading 'Of Sound Mind and Body' http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Rampart/2940/mind.htm and I will probably never write Richie using tissues or handkerchiefs when he sneezes for that reason. LOL

Mourning

     Richie slammed down the phone with a sigh as Duncan strode into the dojo's office, pulling his wet hair back into a ponytail. "Phone being mean to you again, is it?"

     Smirking, Richie leaned forward, elbow on the desk. It wasn't his phone, and he knew perfectly well he should treat it better. But right now he wasn't in the mood for a lecture about respect from his teacher. "That was Christine canceling on me for New Year's because she's come down with something."

Duncan nodded as he rooted through the files Charlie had left on the desk for him to oversee. Charlie was perfectly capable of managing the training establishment, but didn't seem to mind Duncan looking over the files just in case. It wasn't as though it made money when it was solely in Charlie's care, anyway. "Sorry to hear that," he said casually, though there was sympathy in his voice.

     "Not half as sorry as I am." Richie threw up his hands and leaned back, propping his legs up on the desk and crossing them. "We were supposed to go to this fancy-shmancy party. I paid top dollar for those tickets, and I had a pull a few strings to even get that far. But now... I don't know what I'm going to do."

     "You can get your sneakers off my desk for starters," suggested Duncan, tapping a pen against the offending shoes. Richie obeyed with a sigh. "Look, I was going to go alone, but I think I'd enjoy some company. Want to go over to the island with me for the new year?"

     Richie raised his eyebrows. "What, to the cabin and all to meditate and have you kick my butt training?"

Duncan smiled and shook his head. "No, just to get away. Really... I just don't want to be in the city and see all the celebrations. It just doesn't feel like I have a lot to celebrate as another year goes by." Such was the hazard of having a birthday so close to New Year's as well. And after four hundred years, yet another year passing reminded him of his few achievements and many sorrows. This last year had been particularly painful with the deaths of many close friends. "So what do you say?"

     After thinking it over for a few moments, Richie gave a decisive nod. "Okay. Yeah, all right. Let's take off. Forget Christine and her party." He stood. "Maybe next time I should find an immortal to take. That way she wouldn't come down with something at the last minute."

     "Immortals get sick," Duncan corrected him. "Course it's rare considering how our systems rejuvenate. In fact, the longer you live, the rarer it is to get sick."

     Richie raised both eyebrows in surprise. "So you're saying the oldest immortal might go decades without being sick?"

     "Centuries easily," Duncan nodded. "Well, that's if you believe that myth about Methos, the eldest immortal, at over five thousand."

     Richie exhaled with a whistle, indicating how impressed he was at the number. He had been immortal less than a year now, and was already starting to feel outside of time. But five thousand... even five hundred was incredible, almost mind-blowing to a kid who a few years back never thought past Friday, let alone years into the future.

     "We do get sick. I, myself, have not been sick for decades now," Duncan went on. When he got a topic, he ran with it until exhausting it. "We just can't die from whatever we get." And, seeing the pensive look on his student's face, he added, "Look, I'll explain it to you on the canoe right over if you like."

     Richie coughed. "Ah, promise that and I might just decide to stay home dateless..."

     "You already said you'd go," Duncan said, pointing at him accusingly. "Can't go back on it now."

     Chuckling, "I'll just swing by my place and pack."

     "Great," replied Duncan, taking a seat at his desk and propping his own feet up on the desk with a grin. "I'll just wait here for you, then."

     One very cold and mistake-ridden trip later found the two men scrambling up the gentle slopes of the island shore, frozen and dripping wet. It had rained nearly the whole way, and when it wasn't raining, it had been snowing. Of course the particular choice of precipitation of the wintry mix had made little difference to the men who had both managed to fall in the icy water for one reason or another. Be it a dropped paddle or being slightly off balance while bailing water.

Duncan's teeth were chattering as he carefully secured the boat. Richie headed inside at once to make a fire. It had begun snowing again and this time, as the sun went down and the temperature dropped, it seemed the snow would settle in to stay a while. As there was nothing on the island but woods and the cabin, there was no problem in being snowed in. Duncan still secured the boat and carried in as much wood as he could in addition to his bags.

     Richie had a measly fire burning in the fireplace, and knelt in front of it, holding out his hands to warm them. Richie had always been a city kid, great if you wanted to sell something on the black market or know which store to break into. But as an outdoorsman he still had much to learn. Apparently, fire-building was top of that list. Duncan sighed and knelt down as well, breaking up the small pile of flaming sticks with several large logs, putting them into a teepee structure over the kindling. He pulled back quickly, but one of the flames leapt up at him, burning his hand. Duncan growled and cradled it a moment, gritting his teeth against the pain. At least the had stopped chattering this way. The pain passed in a few seconds, and when he looked down, his hand was as good as new.

     "hahshhhh!"

Duncan looked over to see Richie not with his hands out towards the fire any more, but up against his nose, straight and flat as though in praying position only covering his nose. "Bless you," he said lightly. "We'd better get out of these clothes and get warm." He meant, of course, that Richie should. But he did so as well. Though the chill had already left him, and he was feeling quite warm already.

     There was little in their packs that hadn't been soaked to some extent. The water-tight bags had been the ones with the perishable provisions, and it seemed Duncan had packed better than Richie had. Soon, Richie's clothing was hanging over the edge of the claw-footed bathtub, and Richie was wearing one of Duncan's wool sweaters, just a little bunchy in the sleeves where they were too long. They both claimed blankets and wrapped up in them, settling down again in front of the fire.

     "Too bad you didn't bring marshmallows," Richie commented, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

     "I don't think we'll need the extra sugar," Duncan replied. "Though I do believe we've got some wine in that far cabinet."

     Richie was technically still too young to drink, even with the extra months added to his nearly-eighteen years. Though Richie never refused when Duncan's wine was offered. The immortal had collected bottles for years and had a very expensive, and pleasing, collection. This time, however, Richie shook his head. He didn't feel much like drinking right now. Furthermore, he didn't feel much like getting up. Though his sweatpants were warm and dry, his legs still felt cold. And even as he sat on his feet, they still felt like ice.

     Suddenly, his head snapped down, and he sneezed again. This time he dropped half his blanket to cup at his nose and mouth. "hehhShooo! hahShew! Uhhh..." Richie sniffed, rubbing the side of his hand beneath his nose. "What were you saying again about immortals getting sick?"

Duncan looked him over critically, then reached over, pressing the back of his hand to Richie's forehead. "You feel warm," he said. Too warm. Too warm for a kid sitting in front of a fire, in fact. "Why don't you go curl up in bed and try to get some sleep?"

     Richie, his hand out from beneath the blanket, regarded his watch. "It's not even seven yet," he said. The trip out had somehow felt much longer. Perhaps it was the season or the fact that the sun setting on an overcast sky had made it seem darker earlier, but it did feel much later than it actually was. And, oddly, he was feeling much more tired than normal. "Besides, I'm taking the couch," Richie said, nodding over towards the lumpy old couch that barely belonged in the place. It wasn't a real sofa, just a bunch with a back and arms and some feather cushions neatly arranged along it.

     "I know," Duncan nodded. "But if you're feeling sick, you should take the bed. The couch is uncomfortable. You'll be stiff on top of sneezy."

     "I'm young, I'll bounce right back," Richie said, shaking his head. "Besides, it's just a little head cold."

     "I'm afraid your youth is much of the cause of your head cold," he said. "So you can't use it to help you here."

     Richie had every intention of coming up with another argument. But his head snapped down again, this time without restraint. "hahShoo! huhShoo! huhShhhhew!" They bent him nearly in half, and he sat there, hunched forward, sniffling and shivering afterwards.

     "That's it," said Duncan sternly. "Off with you right now. You need to lie down."

     With a groan at how much his body was already starting to feel the effects of the cold, he pulled himself up to his feet, bringing the blanket along with him. He tugged it back over his shoulders, trying to manage its largeness while he held it closed in front to keep the warmth inside. He was already feeling chilled from being a foot or two further from the fire. He looked down at Duncan. "For someone who hasn't been sick in decades, you sure know a lot about what sick people should do."

Duncan chuckled. He had lived around sick mortals enough to know what should be done. Through his four hundred years there were countless advancements in the field of medicine. And, yet, colds were something that had not changed much over the centuries. Nor, truly, had the treatment for them. "Go, get some sleep," Duncan waved him away.

     Richie nodded and went straight for the couch, flopping down upon it before he could be stopped. Duncan sighed deeply, shaking his head. The impertinence and misfortune of youth. He left the warm spot in front of the fire to retrieve a pillow and blanket from the bed, guiding the first under Richie's head and tucking the other around Richie's half-curled form.

     "Thanks, Mac," Richie whispered, eyes closed. If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine he was back on the couch on the barge. It was a comforting thought, until he remembered the last time he had been there, Duncan and Tessa had been in the bed together on the far side of the spacious boat. Pushing that thought from his mind by reminding himself it was a hard, lumpy bench he lay on now, he fell to sleep quickly to keep himself from experiencing too much discomfort.

* * *

     For a while after the incident, the nightmares came every night. He barely slept for fear of having another one. Well, that and the indigestion from Rico's chili dogs. Richie kept forcing them on him to get him to eat something despite protests that he wasn't about to die from hunger. But, with time, the nightmares decreased to only a few a week... and now they were down to a few a month at worst. Given the date and new location, however, it seemed Duncan was due for another one.

     This time, the dream was about that New Year's Eve he spent with Tessa in 1989. He had been lured from the party by Reinhardt and they took their fight up to the roof to keep others from seeing. He left Tessa alone downstairs at the party, while he fought Reinhardt. It was a cold night, and his muscles were stiff. His breath came in white clouds as he moved about, trying to block and thrust. But Reinhardt ended up stabbing him and, seconds later, lowered his blade to Duncan's neck.

Duncan woke with a start, gasping for breath. The room was cold, but nothing like in his dream. And, unlike his dream, he was still alive and Reinhardt was dead. He knew full well what had happened that night, and remembered buttoning up his jacket to hide the blood on his shirt as he rejoined Tessa at the party, very much alive. But the emotions sparked by the dream still felt too real. Now, he was the one alive and she dead. And he hadn't been able to do a thing about it. He'd been helpless, just like in his dream. He'd left her alone.

     But now he was the one alone. He wrapped both arms around his pillow, hugging it. It seemed like only yesterday that he was toasting the New Year with her, and pulling her close for celebratory kisses. And now he was facing the next new year very much without her. Duncan closed his eyes tightly, trying to relax himself and send himself back to sleep. But it was a restless, uncomfortable sleep, filled with terrible images and feelings. The whole purpose of going to the cabin was to try and escape those feelings he knew would present themselves on New Year's. They had followed him there, however. Even in sleep, it seemed, he could not escape the guilt and sorrow.

     It was late in the night when he felt the bed sag a bit in front of him. Roused lightly from another dream of Tessa, and not yet in a clear mind, he reached out instinctively. "Tess," he murmured sleepily. The sensation of the warm body against his front was comforting, until he realized that it was not Tessa. In fact, it was not a woman at all. It was Richie. He pulled back at once, rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake himself up.

     "Sorry," Richie whispered with a sniffle. He was lounging on the side of the bed, wrapped in a blanket and shivering. "It got very cold." It would be cold, of course. It was the middle of winter and the cabin was being buried under feet of snow. Duncan looked over at the main part of the room. "The fire died out."

Duncan noticed this as well. He stretched and sat up automatically. "I'll go build it again." His voice was deep from the fatigue, and his body moved on its own as his mind was still trying to process it all. For a moment there, he really had thought it was Tessa back in bed with him. They had shared this bed many times, after all. Though the last time he had been to the cabin was with Richie. It had been snowing then. And the boy had slept on the couch then, too.

     "No!" Richie called out, stopping him before he could do more than sit up. "I mean... the couch was lumpy."

     "I told you it... would be," Duncan answered, holding a fist to his mouth as he yawned. He started to gather a blanket and pillow. "You take the bed tonight, as I suggested before. And I'll go sleep on the couch if--"

     "No!" he said again, quickly. "I... was just wondering if I could sleep in bed with you?" he asked hesitantly, as though he were a kid again. Of course, even as a kid he'd never had anyone to crawl into bed with in the middle of the night when he was sick. He desperately wanted to explain, but quickly turned his head and cupped hand over nose and mouth instead. "hah... hahSHooo! hehShhoo! hahShhhhhhh!" He sniffed hard and rubbed his hand at his nose. "Don't suppose we've any tissues here?"

Duncan shook his head, then a thought occurred to him. "Wait. I'll get you something." He shivered as he slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He returned presently with a roll of toilet paper and tossed it over before he even got back to the bed. "Use that." Duncan slid back beneath the covers before they had a chance to get cold. He was quite thankful for their warmth, and noticed that Richie still shivered as he blew his nose miserably on a stream of toilet tissue. He sighed deeply, then scooted over in the large bed. "Come on, get under the covers before you get any worse."

     "Are you sure?" Richie asked skeptically.

     With another deep sigh, "Yes, now just get under and warm up before you die from a chill."

     Richie shrugged but smiled as he got under the covers. If he died, he'd just come right back again, feeling just as sick and miserable. It was somewhat cold on his side of the bed, though Duncan's body was present in small amounts. The covers seemed thicker and the mattress was a delight compared to the lumpy cushions on the bench they called a couch. The only thing left to deal with was his cold.

     And that, it seemed, presented a considerable challenge. "heh..." he started, tearing a piece off the toilet roll in preparation. "hah-UHshooo! KShoo!" Richie rubbed at his nose and sighed. The warmth and comfort of the bed as well as having something to blow his nose into only went so far. He still felt miserable, and hoped he wasn't keeping Duncan awake on the other side of the bed. It was good to have the company of his friend and teacher, but not at the expense of having a grumpy, tired Duncan MacLeod to face in the morning.

     However, though Duncan was still awake, he was not the least bit grumpy about that now. Duncan rolled over, scooting closer, and felt the younger man's forehead. "You're still running a fever," he said critically. And then, "Can I get you anything? I could heat up some warm milk or make some tea."

     Richie shook his head. Neither sounded particularly appealing at the moment.

     "Hot chocolate then? I could make another fire or find you another blanket. Or maybe a hot towel at your feet?"

     Richie continued to shake his head. These all sounded much more tempting, but he did not feel bad enough for Duncan to get back up for them. He wasn't far into his cold yet, and if it got worse he might take the man up on them. But for now, he was all right with the warm bed and toilet paper. "For someone who hasn't been sick in a long time, you sure know how to take care of someone."

     "Been around a lot of mortals... lately..." Duncan's voice died away as he double-thought it. It wasn't entirely true. For the last ten years or so he had indeed been around more mortals than immortals. But now their numbers were few in his friends list. For as many mortals as he saw die, for as many lovers he lost, it was never any easier. And it was always difficult to work on a friendship with a new one when that happened. It was easier to not get attached. Which was, perhaps, why he had found himself in bed with immortals after it happened. They knew, they understood. Not wanting to get into all this right now, he turned over onto his other side. "Night, Richie."

     Richie coughed and rolled onto his back, attempting to settle in for the night. The bed was large, as all of Duncan's beds seemed to be. Even the bed on the barge was large. Richie knew of only three people who bought large beds. Rich people who didn't care how much they spent on beds, womanizers who considered the bed their domain for entertaining, and married men who knew forever they would have someone sleeping in bed with them. Taking past and recent developments into perspective, Duncan was really all three. Though to Richie, he was still with Tessa... that was how he'd first known them. That was the only way he'd known them for a year and a half. That was the only way he'd known them up until a few months ago.

     With another cough, Richie looked over at Duncan's back. He was breathing softly, but was clearly not yet asleep. "You were dreaming about Tessa earlier, weren't you?"

Duncan rolled onto his back, and looked over at Richie. "Yes... I was." He paused. "Did I wake you up?" Richie nodded. "I'm sorry about that." He sounded it, too, not just sorry for being overheard.

     "It's all right. I couldn't get back to sleep after, but that was because of my... cold..." He cupped a hand to his face quickly. "huhChooo! hahShooo! Sniff!" He spent some time, blowing his nose, sensing that Duncan was uncomfortable with the subject. Duncan never talked much about Tessa anymore. But there was obviously still guilt... and sadness... and Richie felt both of them as well. If only he'd known he was immortal. He would have stood up to the punk, pulled the gun away from him, protected Tessa. Sure, Duncan felt responsible because he'd sent them out to the car. But Richie had been right there by her side and hadn't been able to stop the guy from shooting them. The guilt over that was incredible.

     "Sure I can't get you anything?" Duncan asked. "You look..." Richie looked sad. That's how he looked. And Duncan wasn't feeling particularly cheerful at the moment either. They were both thinking about her. Both dancing around the subject. And Duncan knew Richie wasn't going to risk saying anything more about it. "You look... like you're about to sneeze," Duncan finished, noticing that look coming about the young man again.

Richie's eyes closed at once, and his mouth was already frowning but opening. He took in a deep breath as he tore more off the toilet paper roll and held it to his face this time. "hehhh... huh..." His breaths were quiet, but quiet in the otherwise silent cabin meant they were quite easy to hear. "hehShooo! hahShhhh!" Richie groaned and rubbed at his nose. "This is just great," he complained. "Yesterday I was set up to go out with a beautiful woman on New Year's. And now I'm out in the middle of nowhere with a damn head cold. All I need now is an immortal after my head and my life will be as miserable as possible." Richie winced as he blew his nose hard into the flimsy handful of toilet paper.

     "There won't be any immortals after you," Duncan said, rolling over onto his side and putting his hand over Richie's hot forehead to help calm him and cool him. "This is holy ground, remember? We can stay here as long as it takes for you to feel better, without worrying about any other immortals." He turned his hand over so the now cooler part could touch Richie's forehead. Richie shivered, but seemed thankful for the touch.

     "Yeah, trading known safety for indoor heating. I guess that's a fair..." he paused, not because of an oncoming sneeze but because of a thought that just crossed his mind. "You knew I was going to get sick, didn't you?" he asked suddenly. He propped himself up to look over at Duncan better, and Duncan retracted his hand. "Mac, you dragged me out here because you knew I was going to be sick and you wanted me safe! Isn't that right?" Leave it to Duncan to know everything, and get his way about it as well.

Duncan gave a sigh and nodded. "You were looking pretty pale earlier, and what with Christine sick... it was a guess, but it looked like I was right. It's hard being sick as an immortal. You can jump off a hundred foot cliff and survive. You can take a bullet in the heart and come right back. You can train to draw swords against another in combat to the death, yet there's no way to fight a cough and a couple sneezes." He took another deep breath and went on. "I just thought this might give you a chance to relax and get better without the worry. Because I'm not really at my best to fight for you if it came down to that."

Duncan,"" Richie sighed, shaking his head. He started to respond, but found his nose was running. So he pulled off more paper and held it beneath his nose while he spoke. "You don't always have to fight for me. I know I'm young but I can take care of myself. I won against Annie, didn't I?"

     He nodded. "But you won't always know an opponent's favorite technique or how to counter it, will you? And my watching out for you is just part of being your teacher. But right now you needed some time away from the game, and so did I." His heart was weary yet. He needed more time to mourn. He didn't want to constantly have to watch over his shoulder and Richie's at the same time. "Immortals know that you're weak and not able to fight when you're sick. Why do you think there are so few young ones around? You're a big target when sick. I just thought it would work out better for us to spend a few days here and heal."

     Richie smiled. There was his teacher, always two steps ahead of him, always thinking about every option, every possibility, everyone but himself. Richie's smile turned into a grin, and he lowered his hand to show it to Duncan. "You said there was wine, right?"

Duncan laughed lightly, nodding.

     "I think I could handle a few more days out here then." He certainly didn't feel up to wine right now, however. And he was sure it wouldn't be particularly good for his cold. But it had made them both smile, and that was a rare thing lately. This year had been rocky, and Richie was sure the next wouldn't be any easier for him as a new immortal. He still hadn't taken his first head yet. But he wasn't in a rush, especially with the way he felt now. And under Duncan's protection, either by sword or logical and care, he felt safe to fall back to sleep. "Night, Mac," he said, lowering himself back down against the bed. He gave his nose one last hard sniff and closed his eyes.

     Though he did not fall asleep immediately, it wasn't his cold that was the problem. He opened one eye, looking over at Duncan, knowing he wasn't asleep yet, either. With a very deep breath, he took a stab at it. "Hey... Mac... I'm sorry I was the one to be immortal. I mean, of the two of us... sometimes I wish she'd woken up instead of me that night."

Duncan opened his eyes, looking back at Richie with a very serious expression. "She was a wonderful woman, a kind soul, an artist. The reason she was so beautiful was because it was fleeting. And the reason you're immortal is because you were meant for more. You were meant to play the game." Tessa, on the other hand, was as tough as they came. And, yet, Duncan would never have wished this life on her. He had felt guilty enough to involve her in it as much as he did. It was almost a relief to know she had moved on and he did not need to worry about her any more. And as for company, well, he did still have Richie. For a while, at least, until he really could take care of himself and did not need a teacher any more. He looked back, over his shoulder at Richie. "And I'm glad you were the one to be immortal. I'm glad you are here, Rich." He reached over and ran his hand against the short dirty blond hair in an affectionate sort of way. "Just don't get me sick, all right?"

     Richie laughed and promised with a nod. His face screwed up for one last sneeze of the night. It took a few moments of him breathing heavily into a handful of the rough toilet paper before it struck in full, with company. "hahSHHH! huhShew! KSheew!" He snuffled and blew, then relaxed again. He gave a nod to a concerned Duncan to indicate he was all right, then settled in for sleep, fresh squares of toilet tissue in his hand just in case.

     "Night," Duncan said, finally echoing the earlier sentiment from his student. He closed his eyes again to fall back to sleep, this time certain he would have no more nightmares about Tessa.