What had he done? Had he actually said those things out loud? Had some hitherto underestimated capacity for idiocy actually prompted him to think for a moment that life without Richie was even bearable, let alone desirable?
Even if he had thought it, how had a brief mental hiccough gotten so far out of hand that he was sitting in the Jimmy with a stack of boxes in the back? Richie was upstairs in what had been their apartment, and he was down here, trying to make sense of the raging argument that had just taken place.
Tempers had been gradually shredding for weeks, but he had never really believed it would come to this. Nothing they’d bickered about had seemed so terribly important that it would mean the beginning of the end. How had he missed it? What sign had he ignored, what clue had he overlooked, that would have told him to just shut his damn mouth for once?
Bloody hell.
And here was the pain, right on schedule. First squashing his heart into a tiny ball, then tearing it out of his chest, and finally content merely to kick him every now and again just as a reminder.
Just breathe, damn it. You screwed it up, now you have to live with it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Oh, great. Now here’s some moron wanting directions, or the doorman come to tell me I can’t park here. Well I will bloody well park here if I....
Richie. Oh, gods, it’s Richie.
“Richie...” the bewildered immortal began, rolling down the driver’s side window.
“Methos, I swear, you are such a moron sometimes.”
“Gee, thanks, Kid.”
“Where were you gonna go? Were you even gonna tell me?”
“I’m sorry, but wasn’t that you a few minutes ago doing a pretty good impression of never wanting to see me again?”
“Is that what you thought?” Richie asked, disbelieving. “We definitely needed to cool off after that fight, but I didn’t mean permanently or anything.” Richie sighed heavily and then met Methos’ eyes once more. “What is going on with you? I have tried to figure it out on my own, tried to read your mind, but obviously that didn’t work. You’re just going to have to lay it out for me, Meth.”
The oldest immortal reached for his usual eloquence, but couldn’t find it. Finally he had to settle for, “I don’t know, Richie. I just don’t know.”
“Well, is it done? This... thing you were going through, is it over? I’m tired of walking on eggshells all the time.”
“Don’t bother to sugarcoat it for me,” Methos drawled.
“Methos,” Richie responded impatiently.
Waving off Richie’s tone with one hand, Methos took a moment to consider the answer to the younger man’s question. At length he shrugged. “Yes, it’s done. I still don’t know what it was, but it’s over now.”
Thank God, Richie sighed to himself, his knees nearly buckling with relief. That was close. Reaching for the handle, he opened the car door. “Come inside, Old Timer. It’s cold out here.”
After passing Richie the backpack lying on the passenger seat, Methos took his keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. Retrieving a box from the back seat, he followed Richie up the stairs to their apartment. It felt good to be home, even if he hadn’t actually left.