The Healing

     "Mac?"
     Richie entered the suite hesitantly. He hadn't heard from
MacLeod in a couple of weeks. The last he'd seen him was when
Duncan had handed him the keys to the store and said "Sell it."
He'd done what he asked, even though he'd been uncertain at first
what to do with some of the things in it. He'd never had to deal
with the aftermath of a loved one's death before. What to do with
her clothes, her sculpture, the pictures...Duncan had simply left
everything. After the funeral, when they had returned from
France.
     It had taken just three days for Duncan to close that
chapter of his life.
    

     Richie had given the clothes to a shelter, sold everything
in the store to an auction house, and put the pictures and
Tessa's work into storage. Someday Duncan might want them again.

     And now he was here, at the address Duncan had given him. A
nice hotel on the other side of the city, as far as he could get
from his memories without leaving town.
     Richie felt the Buzz as he stepped into the main room. It
was late and the room was dark, curtains pulled against the
lights of the city, not a single light shining in the room.
     "Duncan, are you here?" his hand went automatically to his
sword, chosen from the ones in the store, hidden in his coat. He
was new, but he wasn't stupid. Duncan might have been easy prey
in his recent condition. Not that Richie was good enough to fight
anyone yet.
     "I'm here."
     The rough whisper was filled with pain. He heard the
unmistakable clink of a heavy bottle on the floor and followed
the noise around to the small space behind the sofa on the wall.
     There was just enough light coming between the folds of
curtain to make out a shadow on the floor, wedged into that dark
space.
     "Oh, Mac." Richie was shaken to find him like this. Duncan
could always cope, he always came out on top. Had he given up?
     He crouched on his knees in front of the narrow space and
reached in, catching a leg and pulling. Duncan didn't resist, but
didn't help either, and Richie thought he was going to throw his
back out as he tugged, Mac's heavy body unresponsive.
     "Mac, you can't stay back there." he scolded gently, then
made a face and snorted as he got a whiff of him. "Do you think
Tess would want this?"
     "Tessa's dead." Duncan said, his voice matching the words.
He still didn't move to help as Richie slowly got him moving,
inch by inch, over the polished wood floor.
     "But you're not." Rich sat back with a sigh, having gotten
him all the way out. Several bottles had come with him, in his
lap and tangled in the blanket he'd half wrapped himself in. "How
long have you been back there?"
     "Na' long enow." Duncan flopped back as if sitting were too
much work. He raised the bottle still in his hand and took a long
drink.
     "Hey." Richie grabbed for the bottle and Duncan let him take
it. Richie held it up, squinting. It was almost empty, barely
enough to slosh in the heavy green glass. He tilted it back and
choked as liquid fire burned its way down his throat, sputtering
it over his clothes. It was several seconds before he could take
a breath, he briefly feared he was going to pass out. "What is
that?" he croaked.
     "Poison." Duncan reached for it but Richie held it away.
With a deep breath he finished it off. It was just as bad the
second time, an overwhelming taste of burnt licorice but he
managed to get it down without making a mess.     
     "Well, now it's empty." he said after the burning had
lessened enough so that he could talk.
     Duncan didn't say anything, just reached behind himself and
scrabbled under the sofa before pulling out another bottle.
     "Mac!" Richie reached for it, but Duncan held it away
clumsily. On his knees Richie lunged for it, but overbalanced and
fell across his friend, who fell back and stared up at him.
     In the dark Duncan's eyes glittered like a crazy man's.
     Richie pushed himself up. There wasn't much room, so he had
to put a hand on Duncan's chest and he gagged when he felt the
sticky wetness oozing there. The stench was awful.
     He sat up and grabbed Duncan's hand.
     "You need a shower, Mac." he tugged, standing. "You can
drink all you want after you're clean."
     Duncan just stared at him with dead eyes and began to open
the new bottle, fingers clumsy.
     "Mac, Tessa would be so disappointed to see you like this."
Richie hardened his tone. "She never liked it when you drank."
     Those were the only times he could remember Tessa getting
truly angry with Duncan. It had only happened twice since they
took him in, and he'd been frightened by it both times. Afraid
the people he was learning to love, the family he was learning to
trust, it was all going to fall apart and he'd be right back
where he started. Alone.
     The word echoed in his mind as he thought about it. Alone.
     Duncan had been alone for more than two weeks now. Without
Tessa, without Richie, without Connor or anyone else to comfort
him. Richie knew that it had been what he wanted, but maybe he
shouldn't have listened. Maybe he should have left the store
until later, and settled Duncan first.
     Feeling a sudden increase in guilt he went back to his knees
and pulled Duncan back to a sitting position. With a deep breath
-- not because he was anxious, though he was, but because he
didn't want to have to breathe in close proximity to his friend
just now -- he leaned over and wrapped his arms around him in a
tight hug, his head close to Duncan's.
     "Mac -" he searched for words. "Tessa wouldn't like this.
She'd want you to go on living."
     Still in his arms, Duncan didn't respond. His arms remained
at his sides, on the floor, but his head leaned forward as if it
was too heavy to lift, laying on Richie's shoulder, his tangled
dark hair clumped with vomit brushing Richie's neck.
     "Mac." Richie fought down the urge to shove him away. "Mac,
that's disgusting. Come and take a shower, okay?"
     He stood, and Duncan let him pull him up, too. He leaned
heavily on Richie, who staggered under the weight.
     "Okay, I guess a bath would be a better idea." They
staggered into the bathroom and Richie set him on the toilet
before turning on the light.
     Turning back to Duncan he gasped. Mac looked even worse than
he'd expected.
     His jeans were ripped and stained with things Richie didn't
want to think about, his shirt was thickly smeared with more
stuff, and his face was blanched green. His eyes were dark,
haunted hollows staring out from a stubbled face framed in angled
bones that should have cut through skin.
     "You look awful." he couldn't think of anything else to say.
He went to the tub and turned on the water, then reconsidered,
turning it off and going to the separate shower stall. Mac
wouldn't want to sit in that stuff after it washed off. If he
needed help standing Richie would just help him.
     A soft groan behind him made him turn and he was just quick
enough to catch Duncan as he slid from the toilet and collapsed
in front of it on his knees, his body beginning to convulse in a
way Richie definitely recognized.
     "Shit, Mac." he caught his head with one hand and lifted the
toilet seat with the other, propping it up and holding Duncan's
head in both hands as he retched helplessly, his big body
boneless, only the muscle spasms keeping him on his knees. Richie
leaned over him and pressed Duncan's back with his legs to give
him stability. His fingers brushed the hair back out of his face,
hating to touch it.
     The thin fluid that ran from his mouth quickly turned red
and Richie felt a surge of panic, but fought it down. It
shouldn't kill him, and even if it did, he'd come back.
     The red became chunks -- clots, Richie guessed, he must have
really torn up his stomach -- and then Duncan sagged, hitting his
head on the bowl when Richie wasn't fast enough to catch him.
     He didn't make a sound. The bottle he'd held in his hand the
whole time fell with a clink on the cold ceramic tile.
     Richie let him slip all the way to the floor and began
peeling the fouled clothes off him. The jeans stuck to his legs
as he touched them, wincing, not sure what all the gunk was, but
very sure he didn't want to know. Duncan wasn't wearing anything
beneath them, and Richie tugged them off trying not to look at
that part of him.
     He'd never been comfortable with male sexuality. There had
been times -- times he tried hard not to remember -- when he'd
needed money and done what he'd had to. To survive. On occasion
he'd done it to feed his friends or get them all a place to stay
when it was cold and the shelters were full. He'd never told
anyone but Angie, and when he'd turned to theft she'd understood.
He hadn't been able to do the other anymore. Anything was better
than that.
     While he knew Duncan was nearly 100% straight, sometimes
Richie wondered. Especially when he talked about Connor and his
eyes softened suspiciously. But he'd never approached Richie.
Richie didn't know what he would have done if he had. It would
have hurt so much, felt like such a betrayal...Duncan would never
know everything he'd done. Richie had decided long ago that he
would never tell him. He didn't want to see the pity, the shame
in his friend's eyes.
     Speaking of pity...he shook his head and tried to get Duncan
up and into the shower.
     He grunted as he tried to lift him. Duncan was a big guy,
solidly packed. There was no way he was going to be able to lift
him. As he tried he looked at his face, searching for the
consciousness that would mean he could talk Duncan into helping,
Duncan's eyes rolled back and then shut. He sagged even further
in Richie's arms.
     Rich checked his pulse. He wasn't dead, just passed out,
dead drunk.
     "Dammit!" he shouted and it echoed in the tiled room.
"MacLeod!"
     He didn't know how long it took, but, by force of will,
pulling several muscles in the process that healed quickly -- he
still wasn't used to that sensation -- he got him into the shower
stall, slumped in a corner. He turned on the water, very hot, but
Duncan still didn't move.
     "Shit, Mac. Do I have to bathe you too?" he took off his
boots and jacket, setting them carefully aside, and stepped into
the stall with his friend, his clothes sticking to him in the wet
heat. 
     With a soapy cloth he began to wash the worst of the mess
from Duncan's face.
     "Unhhh." his friend groaned and leaned over as he came to,
retching again, right on Richie's feet. With a disgusted noise
Rich stepped out of the way and held his shoulders until he was
done. Then he reached for the hotel shampoo and lathered up
Duncan's hair as Duncan leaned back against the wall, eyes
closed. He rinsed it and did it again. When he finished the
second time he saw Duncan's eyes on him. Not curious, just
becoming aware of his presence.
     "Can you stand?" he asked, squatting down beside him. At
least there was plenty of hot water. He'd have to order some
coffee from room service when they got done in here.
     Duncan looked at him, his eyes registering him for the first
time since Richie walked into the suite.    
     "Richie?" it was slurred, even the brogue drowned beneath
the alcohol haze.
     "Yeah, it's me, Mac. How ya feeling?"
     "I need a drink." Duncan closed his eyes again. "Is it
done?"
     Richie knew what he was talking about.
     "It's taken care of." he felt a little proud to say that --
he had taken care of things. "Now I need to take care of you."
     "...fine..." Duncan breathed, one hand brushing clumsily at
his chest.
     "Then stand up and finish washing yourself." Richie grabbed
his upper arms and lifted with his back, feeling the strain and
regretting it. But Duncan came to his feet, leaning against the
wall, eyes still closed. Richie pushed the cloth into his hand,
but Mac didn't move.
     Richie considered. His hair was clean, his face and
chest...the rest probably wasn't that dirty after being under the
hot water so long.
     "C'mon." he tugged on Duncan's arm and the cloth fell to the
floor. "You need to get some sleep."
     Duncan followed him like a sleepy child as Richie led him to
the bedroom.
     "Lie down." Rich said, and Duncan crawled over on top of the
covers and lay there. The curtains were cracked open in here and
a sliver of early sunlight caught his flank, highlighted his
muscular torso. Richie looked away, then back.
     Duncan shivered.
     Richie sighed. Then he climbed up on the bed after him and
pulled the blankets from beneath him and covered him up warmly.
Duncan lay still, on his back, and Richie slid off the bed.
     A large hand reached out, shaking, and missed a grab at his
arm.
     "don' go..." Mac's voice whispered. "....don' wan' be
alone...'
     Uh-oh, Richie thought. What did this mean?
     Duncan opened his eyes, and they were filled with tears.
     "Richie..." he breathed low. Then - nothing. He simply
stared and Richie felt a flush on his cheeks. Duncan saw it and
withdrew his hand, closed his eyes.
     Richie stood and stared for long minutes. Duncan was still,
but tears were leaking from beneath his closed eyelids, trickling
down his haunted face.
     I can't leave him like this. Tessa would never forgive me if
I left him here to cry alone.
     With a mental shrug -- he's not going to try anything in
this condition -- he stepped out of his jeans and slid into the
bed beside his friend in his boxers and t-shirt. They were both
wet, but he didn't even want to consider sliding in there naked,
so he compromised by stripping off the T-shirt, throwing it to
the floor, then slid deeper beside his friend. He shivered, but
it was nerves, not cold.
     Duncan was less than a foot away. He didn't move when Richie
lay back, but, after a few minutes, he tried to speak.
     "You don't have to." his voice was clearer -- the effects of
the booze must be wearing off.
     "No big deal." Rich tried to blow it off. Duncan turned on
his side and faced him. He was still crying silently, as if the
tears had a life of their own and weren't a part of him.
     "Ii' iz." he rasped. Very slowly he reached toward Richie,
one hand, wanting to touch but not touching.
     Duncan was afraid of him. Why? Richie knew the answer and
silently begged his friend to pull back, to take this, which was
all Richie thought he could offer.
     "please." Duncan whispered. "Could I just - hold you? Just
for a little while..." his body shook once, hard, and Rich knew
he hadn't cleaned all the effects out of his system. "-it hurts
so bad." Duncan dropped the hand and closed his eyes again,
accepting the rejection.
     It was hard for Richie, but not as hard as he'd thought.
He'd touched Duncan before. Mac could be a demonstrative man, he
liked to hug and punch and goof around. Richie would never forget
the time during a sparring match when Duncan had reached around
and given him a wedgie.
     He had given Richie so much. Surely Richie could give him a
little human comfort.
     With a sigh, very tense, Richie moved closer to Duncan. He
pushed the fallen hand out of the way and scooted to within a
couple of inches.
     Duncan didn't open his eyes, but both arms came up and went
around him. He was pulled close, into a trembling embrace, and
Duncan buried his head at Richie's neck, his wet hair cool
against the younger immortal's bare skin, and the tears flowed
freely.  
     Feeling the sobs that shook his friend, Richie let go of his
fears and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, one
hand stroking his hair. He'd held girls when they cried like
this. When Angie had been raped he'd rocked her for hours as she
poured out her anger and pain. He'd been glad she'd come to him.
     He couldn't know how much pain Duncan was in. He'd never had
anyone who loved him, or that he loved, the way they had loved
each other. He could give him this, could hold him against the
storm, could make sure he wasn't alone, if only for a few
minutes. Or a night. But that was all.
     Duncan's sobs finally tapered off to heaving gasps. Richie
became aware of the great chest pressed to his.
     Duncan pulled away without a word, his hands going to his
sides. Richie smiled in the faint light and reached for him
again.
     "It's okay, Mac." he whispered. "I'll stay."
     His eyes came open and Richie saw that the pain wasn't gone,
just quiet for now.
     "Are you sure?" he saw knowledge of his fear, willingness to
let him go.
     "I'll stay as long as you need me to." Richie said quietly.
     Duncan didn't say anything, just reached for his friend.
Richie let him take him in his arms and turn him over, tucking
his back up close to Duncan's naked form. It was strange, but not
frightening. With his arms wrapped firmly around Richie's chest
Duncan sighed in his hair.
     Richie could remember having walked in on Tess and Duncan in
this same position, fallen asleep on the sofa or soundly in their
bed if he'd had some urgent reason to wake him. Duncan always
looked peaceful when Tessa was sleeping in his arms, her body
pressed to his.
     He took a deep, slow breath and forced himself to relax.
Duncan just wanted someone to hold, a warm body next to him. And
he didn't want some stranger, he wanted someone he knew and
trusted. Duncan trusted him, and he wanted to repay that. So he
closed his eyes and relaxed, letting himself feel the
overwhelming warmth of his friend's body, the strength in those
arms around him, the soft brush of his breath on the back of
Richie's neck.
     "thank you." the words were so soft he was thought he might
have imagined them, but then felt Duncan shift behind him and
became aware of something else, something that made him acutely
uncomfortable. Something hard and long and hot that pressed
against his ass.
     He held himself very still, and Duncan shifted again and it
was gone. He'd become aware of Richie's discomfort and moved to
alleviate it. Richie could trust him.
     Soon Duncan's even breathing told Richie he was asleep. He
was glad, it was probably the first good sleep he'd gotten since
Tess died.
     Richie was tired too. The bed was warm and Duncan's arms
around him were strangely comforting. He couldn't remember anyone
ever holding him in his sleep. He always pulled away from women
when he stayed the night, claiming his own space and sleeping in
it alone. But this was Duncan, and he needed him.
     Richie let his thoughts slow and, at last, slept.
     He woke once, hours later, the heat of tears against his
neck, and turned to hold Duncan in his pain, and then they both
slept again. The healing had begun.
    

The End

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