A friend of mine requested this fic. The parameters were just that Richie fun into Felecia during his travels. As always, none of these guys belong to me. They are borrowed without permission and belong to whomever owns them.
Richie sat back in his chair. From his corner of the pub he could observe everyone else. He felt comfortable with his back to the wall. He had been in Ireland for a week and his healthy paranoia told him someone was following him around. After his close call with Duncan and his so-called "Dark Quickening" Richie was worried it was Duncan who was after him.
With his back against the wall in public places he helped his chances of spotting his stalker. The night before in his hotel room, he shaved his head and left his trademark curls in the trash can. He bought a new jacket, new boots and changed hotels all before noon that day. So far, it seemed to have worked. He hadn't felt the presence of another immortal since the afternoon before. So tonight, he let himself relax a bit with his dinner. The pub was quickly filling with locals and Richie was confident he could feel the presence of the other immortal and be out the back door before they were able to spot him.
He didn't realize how hungry he was until he started eating. He hadn't eaten in almost two days. As he ate he formulated his plan. After dinner he'd go back to the hotel and get whatever sleep he could. As soon as he woke up, no matter what the hour, he'd go straight to the airport and buy the first available ticket regardless of the destination.
With his plan in place, he relaxed even further. He was settling his tab when the other immortal found him. Standing at the bar, he was trapped away from a quick exit. He dropped his money on the counter and pushed his way to the back,.
"Richie!" a voice called out from behind him.
For a split second he froze. He knew that voice. It wasn't Duncan following him, it was another immortal he had no desire to see or speak to.
He continued his way out of the pub, knowing she was close behind. His hand itched for the hilt of his sword. It had been over a week since he last took a head. Every time another immortal come near him, the buzz frightened him a first, reminding him of the fear of being a young immortal. That fear reminded him of Duncan. How scared he was, how sure he was he was about to die.
He waited for Felecia in the alley, his anger rising.
Every time before now he had killed out of anger at Duncan. He killed because of the betrayal of his mentor. He wanted Duncan to know what he was doing. He wanted Duncan to know what he had done to him. To feel the betrayal he felt.
But for Felecia, his hand itched for a different reason. With her it was personal. It was for what she did to him. For what she made him do.
"You're a slippery one," she said as she met him in the alley. "I've been following you all week. Almost lost you after your little make over."
"You want to talk or fight?" Richie demanded.
"We could do what we did last time," she hinted. "Remember how fun it was?"
"How fake, you mean? You really think I'm going to fall for that again?" He reached for his sword. "What do you need me to protect you from?"
"You did that on your own. I could have taken him."
"He was about to take your head and I stopped him," Richie reminded her. "I can finish what Mac started."
"Wouldn't he be proud?" She removed her sword from her jacket. "I'll make you a deal. Since you're so young I'll give you a chance to walk away," she said, even as they began circling.
"If you wanted me to walk away, you wouldn't be following me."
"I didn't want to fight."
"The sex wasn't that good," Richie shot back at her, lunging in for the attack.
She parried and they continued to circle.
"I saw the potential," she told him with a smile. "I bet you've learned since then."
Their blades clashed and they moved close, noses almost touching over the cross of steel. They both felt the tension, the draw. Richie once heard an immortal describe a fight as sex with swords, but he'd never felt it before now. Part of him wanted to kill her and part of him wanted to take her. Each time one of them drew blood he felt his lust grow. His need for a climax, any climax, burned inside him. He didn't care which. He needed that rush. Richie concentrated on Felecia. He could tell she was feeling the same way.
"You're right," she told him, jamming the tip of her blade into his thigh. "I didn't want you to walk away. I want your head!"
Richie dropped to his knees in front of her, his heart pounding, his body trembling, his mind racing.
"I want your head, and then MacLeod's!" She raised her sword above her head.
Without thinking, Richie lifted his own and stabbed her deep in the stomach, then rolled away as her sword dropped. Standing, he reached for the hilt, as Felecia tried to remove it herself. Anchoring his foot in her stomach he yanked the rapier out and kicked her down in one move.
"Right now, I'm first in line for that."
He brought his blade down, and hesitated at the nape of her neck. She looked up at him, sneering.
He raised the sword again, and brought it down, finishing the fight. He felt first the intimacy as their energies combined, then the raw power of the quickening.
As soon as he could manage, he sheathed his sword and stumbled out of the alley. In a near-by park he slumped down by a tree to recover. That was the first time since Annie Devlin he hadn't been able to kill. But that wasn't what scared him most. She had been his first lover. Even though she had used him, and probably planned to kill him, he couldn't help but favor her in some way.
What scared him was wanting to kill Duncan. Admitting it out loud. But he had once said the same about Felecia. One night alone, when his thoughts had wondered and he realized what she had done to him. How he had been used. How easily she had done it. How little she thought of him. She would have killed him, given the chance, and probably taken his mortal and immortal life in the same night just to get it over with.
He had trusted her. And if felt good to pay her back for what she had done. He leaned his head against the tree. He knew he'd never be able to bring himself to kill Duncan, even if he somehow got the chance. But he could at least tell him what he had done, show him. Show him what he had created. Show him that he wasn't going to lay down and take it. He didn't need him. He could take care of himself.
He heard sirens as police cruisers rounded the corner, headed for the alley behind the pub. Gathering himself, Richie got up and headed for the hotel. He'd play the curious tourist there. Ask a few questions about what was happening, then slip out quietly. He'd go home and wait for Duncan. It was only a matter of time before his former mentor tried to find him, too. And then he'd be ready.