With a huff, Richie stormed down the street, heading for the French cafe he'd been frequenting recently. It was bad enough he hadn't won a single race in two weeks, but to explain to Mac what exactly happened to the new bike the Highlander had financed.... It wasn't going to be pretty. He barreled through the cafe door, barely missing a gentleman with a bag, spotting a nice, secluded table where the expected fireworks might not be noticed. Too much.
He waved to Pierre, setting his helmet on the table with a bang. Habit made him sit facing the door, the other half of the cafe at his back. The waiter arrived with his usual croissant, the only thing capable of taking his mind off MacLeod's reaction at the moment. He tore into the bread with a vengeance, suddenly aware someone was behind him. He caught a whiff of perfume, unconsciously standing as he turned, almost choking when he focused on Anne's face.
"Anne," he started, words failing. She was smiling. She looked fine, even rested, her hair longer than he remembered her keeping it. He smiled, answering her own happiness. "You look great," he exclaimed, opening his arms and hugging the doctor.
"You do too," she breathed in his ear. Time stopped for a second, memories crowding his brain, the last time they had seen each other. "I couldn't believe it was you when you walked in," she continued, finally stepping back to admire him. "What are you doing in Paris?"
"Racing bikes," he answered, a nagging thought creeping into his brain. "It's a little more exciting than running a dojo..." Mac, he thought. Oh, God. He quickly walked around Anne, trying to look like he was checking her out, turning her away from the door. "What are you doing here?"
She pointed behind Richie, at a group of four women in the back. "There's a seminar on genetics and DNA this week, and I thought it would be a good time to take a break..."
"Hold that thought," Richie interrupted, turning back to her and raising a finger. "You know, I think I forgot to turn off my bike..." The puzzled look on Anne's face stopped him. "Really, I'll only be a second..."
"Richie..." the voice began, coming from behind Anne. Low, accented. Husky. Unconsciously, she started to turn, realizing halfway around it couldn't possibly be... Him. Those dark eyes, sometimes flashing, sometime mischievous. The hair pulled back, exposing all of the handsome face. She raised her hand, brushing his cheek, his lips. The neck, his strong neck, following down to his chest. It couldn't possibly be him.
She saw him die, saw him fall for so long, landing with a sickening crunch. Had checked his pulse, his breathing, before Richie had dragged her away, screaming. The dull ache without him. The lonely, empty nights. But he was here. How could that be? He was so full of secrets, secrets he wouldn't share. Twins? No history, no scars, like a newborn baby. Like someone who had never lived... "You're a clone. No, I mean, he was a clone. If you had just told me it was a government secret...."
Duncan silenced her the only way he knew. They kissed passionately, words no longer needed. "It's not like that," he began, knowing he would have to finish, knowing he would have to tell her all of it. Sometimes the choice is not ours to make.
Richie walked up to the counter, letting the pair have their privacy. Picking up the phone, he quickly dialed a number. "Hello, Phoebe? Still want that racing lesson? Seems I'm free tonight..."
Chapter Notes:
Someone on the list mentioned a short scenario where Anne runs into Duncan in Paris, and then she finishes the season on the show. Somehow, this popped into my head and won't go away. So here, I forcibly remove it from my brain. Enjoy.
The End.
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