Holland
Richie walked into the room, smiling. Watching his lover as he read the paper. Rustle, snap, flap, rustle. Repeat. The ancient immortal would spend a minute scanning a page before it would start anew. Rustle, snap, flap, rustle.
"Looking for something, Old Man?"
"Not really. Perhaps something more important than ‘Millie Cartwright saves pig from lightening’, Brat." Slowly the older immortal looked up at his lover, "What are you up to?"
"Nothing... much. How would you like to go to Holland? I hear the tulips are in bloom. Then there is ummmmm... all things Hollandy to do. Like visit the Museum het Rembrandthuis and ummmm..."
"Stop trying, child. What’s so interesting about Holland? Are you hoping to get some culture?"
"Well... you see Holland..." Richie slipped into Adam’s lap, plucking paper from between dark fingertips. "Holland will <mumble>."
"Richie... I don’t speak Mumble. I know, I know, it’s an appalling lack in a man my age, but you must speak clearly."
"Holland just passed a bill. They would let us marry. We could go there."
"You don’t speak Dutch."
"I’ll learn."
"Why do you even want to get married? We are fine as we are. Besides, marriages are not practical for immortals. The ‘death do us part’ and all that."
"Ok. Methos." Richie said. "So how about Chinese for dinner?"
"Yeah, but later, k?"
"Sure." Richie slipped of Methos’ lap, strode out the house, and the next sound Methos heard was the sound of a motorcycle roaring out and away.
* * *
The Presence of another Immortal snapped the five millennia old man out of his fugue state several hours later. Drawing his ivanhoe out gently, he faded into the shadows. The unknown immortal opened the door and walked in.
"Put up yer sword, you bloody bastard. It's Connor."
"Ahhh, so good to see you, Connor. And To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"What, no offer of a wee drink? Be a good host."
"What would you like to drink, Connor?"
"Naught but a glass of ice water."
"Very well," Methos grumbled, his lips curling into a snarl as he handed Connor his water
"Sit down," Connor ordered taking a sip. "That's very cold. Sit." He waited for Methos to sit down, then threw the water into Methos' face.
Methos looked at the old Scot. "What the bloody hell?!"
"That's my question. You see, right at this minute, I have one very young immortal boy at my place. Now the abaisd is lying in my spare room, sleeping off a hell of a drunk, and trying not to cry in his sleep. I get enough doom and gloom with Duncan, so what did you do to him?"
"Nothi..."
"Say 'nothing' and we fight. And I'll win. What did you do to Richie?"
"I have no idea. He came in earlier talking about visiting or moving to Holland, getting married. We talked, then he got on his bike and left."
"Methos..." Connor shook his head, "Ye didnae hear? Holland has approved gay marriages and adoptions."
"Wonderful. And how is that important for us?"
"How many times have you been married? Sixty seven, sixty eight times? Why would they put up with you? Let me use small words so that you can understand in your dotage.
"Richie is an orphan, like us all, but unlike Duncan and I, Richie never had a family to love him. He lived on the streets since his early teens, finally he gets caught by my cousin and given a home. He gets happy then he loses Tessa. To top it of, Duncan tries to kill him. He loses his home, he for some reason falls in love with you, hey he's not perfect.
"After all this, he still believes in such things as the promises made on the altar. I guess it's the romantic in him, but he does, so he essentially asks you to marry him. He proposes, and you say no. Not only do you say 'no,' but, knowing you, you say it in a way that makes him feel stupid for trying to make you and him into a family, right?
"Why did they marry you again? It couldn't have been for brains or sensitivity."
During Connor's rant, Methos paled bit by bit. "Hey! I can be sensitive."
Angry Connor stares into his eyes. "Methos! Stop thinking of yourself. Think of what you just did and go fix it! I'm going home, and I'm sending him home to you. Don't hurt him again." Growling, Connor stormed out of the house, mumbling something about 'bloody egocentric, idiotic, sword carrying bastards'.
* * *
Richie entered the house and knew immediately it was empty. I must have really pissed him off. Damn it, Ryan, next time keep your big mouth shut. You'll be lucky if he comes back. Slowly he climbed the stairs and tumbled onto the bed. Closing his eyes, he was soon asleep.
* * *
Methos watched as the sun came up. First one ray snuck its careful way through the tight knit curls of the strawberry hair he loved so much. Leaning down, he ran the tip of his tongue over the curves and valleys of his angel's face. One startling true blue eye cracked open and stared at the old man.
"Hey," Richie murmured sleepily.
"Hey. Hate to do this, but you need to get up."
"Why? I don't have practice at the track. You don't have to teach. Let's stay in bed."
"We can't. We'd miss our flight. I already packed our bags."
"Huh? Where are we going?"
"Well, I was thinking Australia and then Hawaii, but first stop: Holland. Get a move on, Richie."
The bright smile on Richie's face was well worth the water in the face, though next time Connor did that, they'd really have to fight.