Disclaimer and Notes: ::sigh:: You know, I'm tempted to beg for the characters of Nick Wolfe, Amanda, and Bert Myers since it's clear to me that someone no longer wants them now that Highlander: The Raven is over. However, since I know that won't happen, I hereby acknowledge that they belong to Panzer/Davis. Connor MacLeod, Heather MacLeod, and the concept of Immortality belong to those suited dudes too. The rain-soaked sandbox called Stonyland they're playing in is mine and I promise to send them back when they're through. (I make no guarantees on cleanliness. <g>) Elizabeth Kryler, Honor Whittenhall and Brian Whittenhall, however, are my creation.
A three-day Florida rain, Def Leppard's CD "Euphoria", and a marathon HL-watching session inspired this story. This picks up after Who You Will Run To, but it's not necessary for you to read that one first to understand this story.
Comments, constructive criticism, AriZona Green Tea coupons, and anagrams may be sent to: dayea@rainewynd.com. Or just write me to say that you read this; I often wonder.
Acknowledgments: to the usual suspects, Amand-r and Dana; as well as Bridget Mintz Testa and Robert Sacci. Major thanks to the participants of the VidCon '99 fic writing panel for their comments and suggestions.
by Raine Wynd
Chapter One
June 1999
"Anybody can die, not everyone can live." — Sandi Bachom, Denial Is Not a River in Egypt
Connor unlocked the door to the loft apartment above his antique store and entered warily. He'd felt the bittersweet song of Immortality even before he'd reached his home, and had chosen to confront his potential enemy rather than avoid a possible fight. He heard the strains of some up-tempo dance number twanging through his stereo and he frowned. Though he'd left the unit on when he'd gone to run an errand, he was certain that it had been playing something other than what was currently pouring through the speakers. There was only one person he knew who would change his music, only one person who could have gained entrance to his loft without a key.
The minx, as he'd come to think of her, was back. A brief smile graced his lips before he remembered Paris. His expression tightened.
Still keeping his sword at the ready, he looked around, not seeing her in the living room. He felt the whisper of movement on his blind side and pivoted to meet it. Steel met steel in a resounding clash of blades. A woman with short-cropped platinum blonde hair, dark eyes, and an almost elfin face smiled charmingly at him over an expertly held broadsword. "Why, Connor, is that any way to greet an old friend?" she drawled.
"Friend?" Connor asked archly. "What makes you think I still call you that after Paris?" Though it had been five years since that incident, he was still annoyed by that; he'd been contemplating relocating to Paris, and she'd completely ruined his plans.
The woman's eyes widened as Connor pushed against her blade. She swallowed nervously. Clearly, this had not been how she had pictured this scene. He grinned wolfishly, enjoying her discomfort.
"Paris?" she asked, trying for an innocent voice and failing. "You're not still mad at me for that, are you?"
In reply, he pressed his advantage, forcing her to retreat right into the wall.
"That was an accident, Connor, I swear!!" she said in a panic. "If that truck hadn't been speeding, you wouldn't have gotten run over!"
"You pushed me into the road, Amanda," he reminded her. Easily, he disarmed her, laying his blade against her neck as her sword clattered to the floor.
"I was only teasing!" Her eyes were wide, and her breathing was heavy. He could see that he was really scaring her. "Besides," she offered in her most beguiling voice, "if you cut off my head, who can you count on to always show up at your weddings? You certainly won't have me."
Connor narrowed his eyes, then laughed, and put his sword away. He knew he could never really hold anything against her; Amanda held a special place in his heart. She had been many things to him over the years: teacher, lover, friend, enemy, partners in crime, and sometimes, just plain annoying. She did not bother to hide her relief as she stepped into the hug he offered, returning the embrace warmly.
"Good to see you," he greeted. "Looking for Duncan?" He presumed that was the case; Duncan had left a day earlier after a week-long visit.
She shook her head. "No, I came here for you."
She smiled again, that oh-so-innocent smile that would've fooled anyone who didn't know Amanda half as well as Connor did, and Connor knew she was trying to set him up for something. Then again, anyone who knew Amanda knew that her showing up unexpectedly invariably meant trouble of some kind wasn't far behind. Unlike his kinsman Duncan, though, Connor did not always let her get away with it. Sometimes, he insisted that she take him along for the ride.
Silently, Connor sighed. As much fun as being around Amanda could sometimes be, he knew all too well that she had a talent for proving the old adage about good intentions.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Amanda rarely asked him for anything, preferring instead to bother Duncan, who, Connor knew, had very little willpower when it came to denying Amanda anything.
"Why me?" he asked simply.
Amanda's smile widened. "It's been ages since I've seen you— " she began, only to be cut off by Connor's snort of disbelief. "Okay, so it hasn't been centuries, but it's been a while, and I really wanted to see you."
"The answer is 'no.'"
"Please, Connor," Amanda pleaded. "I've nowhere else to go, no one else to ask. I've tried everyone else."
Connor crossed his arms and waited expectantly, scowling.
Amanda bit her lip at his forbidding expression and hesitated. "Maybe I should just forget it. You already said no."
"Amanda," he said warningly.
She sighed heavily and dropped herself into the sofa. "I killed someone," she announced soberly.
Connor's eyes narrowed, but he nonetheless waited for the other shoe to drop.
"Except I thought I was doing him a favor so he wouldn't die permanently."
Now it was Connor's turn to sigh. "What was he dying of?"
"Poison." At Connor's stare, she added quickly, "He was messing around in something he shouldn't have. I told him that he should stay out of it, but Nick never listened to me." Rather crossly, she added, "He never listened when he should've been. He always had to be the cop who knew everything, who knew what was right. He never paid any attention to my warnings."
"Why should he?" Connor drawled. "You only tell half the truth, and then the rest when it becomes necessary."
Amanda's eyes flashed. He knew she hated it that he knew her well; it didn't leave her much room to try and manipulate him. Mentally, he shrugged. It made little difference to him at this point; in his eyes, Amanda's inability to be completely honest was a part of what made her Amanda. It was a trait he found to be endearing or annoying at the same time, depending upon the circumstances. "Did you mention the fact that if he died of poison, he'd still come back?"
She winced. "He would?" she asked in a very small voice. Suddenly, she looked extremely young, younger than the thirty-some-year-old woman she'd been at her First Death. Connor couldn't remember ever seeing her like that.
Not trusting the sound or the look of that, Connor replied slowly, "Yes. Didn't you remember that?"
Amanda buried her face in her hands. Her response was muffled. Connor went to his knees to pull her hands away so he could hear her better. The comment he was about to make vanished from his mind as he saw her face.
"You forgot that?" Connor couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew Amanda was capable of recalling every detail of a meal she'd eaten centuries previously.
She nodded, and sniffled, blinking through her tears.
"You were the one who taught me that. How could you forget?" His mind flashed back to someone he hadn't thought of in a very long time.
Edinburgh, 1604
"How do you think Honor will survive in the Game like this?" Amanda nearly shouted at him as Connor knelt by the bed. Only her respect for the sleeping child, and their shared need for secrecy, kept her voice low, aware of the penchant of servants to listen when they shouldn't. They were in the house where Amanda had been hired on as a governess; it belonged to Brian Whittenhall, a business associate and close friend of Connor's. Honor was Brian's daughter, and from the moment he'd met her nearly a year ago, Connor's heart had been ensnared. He knew if he hadn't caught Amanda trying to pick his pocket, he wouldn't have had the opportunity — or the pleasure — her connection with Brian Whitehall provided.
Now, Brian was dead.
"I'll take care of her," Connor swore. Tenderly, he tucked the fallen doll back into the little girl's arms. A rare smile lit his face as he watched her unconsciously snuggle the cloth doll closer.
"For how long?" Amanda demanded.
Something in her voice made Connor look up at her, and he saw pain in the high-boned face he'd come to cherish. Love wasn't a word for how he felt about Amanda, who'd picked his pocket one day, then had gone on to teach him more than he'd dreamed at that point in his life. She'd managed to charm her way past the defenses he'd erected after Heather's death, and he knew that she'd always have a special place in his life. Still, that didn't automatically grant her special dispensation. Right now, all it meant was that Connor thought that Amanda was being uncharacteristically harsh.
"What if you wake up one day, and she's wandered off? Or someone starts believing you're both witches?"
"I won't let that happen."
"You think that now that you can read and write, you know everything?" Amanda scoffed. "Honor was poisoned, Connor. Someone meant for this child to die, and die she did."
Amanda's eyes reflected her anger at the situation, yet Connor got the impression she had already distanced herself from the situation, as she had buried her emotions deep and was concentrating completely on what had to happen next.
Connor stared at her, as if to say "So?"
"She would've been better off dead." Amanda's voice was cold.
"How can you say that?" Incredulity laced his tone. He knew Amanda had loved Honor as if she was her child; she had said so the morning before the girl had gotten sick. The morning before the world fell apart.
His mind flashed back to how thrilled Brian had been about his daughter's christening, how he'd named Connor as Honor's godfather in appreciation of Connor's friendship, and a hundred other plans. It seemed incredible to Connor to think that had only been yesterday Brian had been alive. All Connor had been concerned with then was how Brian was taking his recent breakup with Elizabeth Kryler, a merchant widow. There had been something about Elizabeth that hadn't sat well with Connor, but he'd chosen not to enlighten Brian with his feelings. Even Amanda had hinted that Elizabeth wasn't all that she seemed. He couldn't help but wonder if he had made a mistake, been too quick to dismiss Amanda's beliefs as being just simple gossip.
Even so, he had a hard time believing Amanda could be so cruel.
"Look at her, Connor. Take a good look." Amanda grabbed him, shaking him. "She'll live forever as a six year old. Her parents are dead. How much will you sacrifice of your life to protect hers? What happens to her if you lose your head?" Her voice rose with the fervor of her emotions. "Damn it, Connor, I love her, but she can't survive like this. She's too small, too easy of a mark, and she'll never have the strength to wield a full sword."
Connor hesitated, beginning to see the ramifications of his rash oath. "I'll make arrangements for her."
"With who?"
The question hung in the air like a just-sprayed perfume. Honor had no living family; her parents had died as well.
"You could," Connor said at last. His eyes pleaded with her.
"I won't," Amanda refused. "I tried once to take care of a child Immortal, and I hanged for it. I don't care to repeat the experience."
"So you'll just do nothing?"
Amanda held his demanding gaze, but remained silent.
"This is insane," Amanda hissed at Connor as he watched Honor playing in the field with a short sword he'd found. "She thinks that sword is a toy, not anything she can really use against anyone."
Connor ignored Amanda. It had been a week since Honor's death, and though he'd managed convince the household staff that Honor had merely been ill, not dead, Amanda had kept reminding him that he was running out of time.
"Do you honestly think Elizabeth won't figure out what's happened? She's not dumb, Connor."
Connor shot Amanda an annoyed glance. "So if you think Honor's in trouble, why aren't you helping?"
Amanda set her hands on her hips and sniffed haughtily, then ruined it with a snort of exasperation. "Fine," she told him. "You think you can handle this, so I'm leaving."
So saying, she turned, and walked away.
Two days later, Elizabeth slit Honor's throat while she was sleeping. Connor 's first realization that Honor was dead was when the Quickening hit him. Elizabeth was tried and convicted of murder, only to be reborn as an Immortal with a grudge against Amanda... and Connor.
Paris, Present
"How could you forget Honor?" Connor demanded. His heart ached for the little girl he'd once loved, in a time when he'd been far more naive than he was now.
"Like you've thought of her in the past three centuries?" Amanda shot back.
Caught by the truth, there was nothing Connor could say. Still, the faded echo of a Honor's bright, trusting smile reverberated through his mind. He stared at Amanda, willing her to remember the past.
As if realizing that her words had come out harshly, Amanda lowered her head.
"I wasn't thinking then," she excused herself, shaking her head slowly in bitter self-mockery. "All I could think of was that Nick had already been through too much pain. I was so sure he'd die forever if I didn't kill him first. I didn't want to live without him in my life, not after everything we've been through. Now he won't forgive me." She drew in a ragged breath, and gestured expansively. "He left, and I'd hoped that he took one of my old swords with him, but he didn't. All he has is a gun."
"That's more than some," Connor pointed out, suspecting what was coming next.
Amanda looked at him, tears in her eyes. "Please, Connor, you have to help him."
His eyebrows went up at that. "To do what?" Connor asked reasonably. "How much does he know about us?"
"Everything." She sniffed again, and this time, Connor rose to his feet to grab a nearby box of tissues. She took one with a quick, grateful smile. After blowing her nose, she continued, "He's been a part of my life for almost the last year, and he's even taken two heads. I got the Quickening on one. I can't say I didn't want it, just not that way."
Connor said nothing, moving only to sit next to Amanda on the couch. He had a feeling that she needed to talk, so he let her, drawing her into a loose embrace as he did so. She leaned into it gratefully, seeming to take strength from the simple gesture.
"Some people, it's enough to tell them what they are and the Rules, and send them on their way," she said after a moment. "I didn't want to do that with Nick; I thought we'd have time together."
She lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture and smiled tremulously. "I thought I'd give him a few days to think it over, and then things would be back to the way they had been... but I got home, and his things were gone." She held her breath, and released it slowly.
"Please, Connor. Help me make it right."
He was inclined to refuse. Amanda's problems were her own, and getting involved in fixing anything she had screwed up had the potential of being too dangerous for his own safety. Even if he hadn't heard about her exploits from Duncan, Connor had his own experiences with her as proof. He cared deeply about her, and there was a lot he'd do for her, but he generally preferred to stay out of her troubles.
Connor shook his head, refusing, knowing as he did so that his refusal would only make Amanda try harder.
"Connor, Elizabeth Kryler is after him, and there is no way he can cope with her."
Elizabeth. Connor recognized the name instantly, and his blood grew cold. Elizabeth had been the reason Honor had died. Elizabeth had been jealous of the comfortable friendship Brian had shared with Amanda, and had tried to discredit Amanda by poisoning Honor. The only problem was that Honor would never eat anything unless her father ate with her. As a result, they'd both died.
"You know Elizabeth hates me," Amanda continued. "She's tortured every one of my male friends that she's come across."
Amanda stood, and for a moment, Connor thought she was leaving. Then he saw her grab a long black case from behind the sofa and set it on the coffee table. Without opening it, he knew he'd find a sword nestled inside.
"Maybe Honor would've had a chance if I'd listened to you," Amanda admitted now. "You didn't believe Elizabeth was capable of murder when I first accused her, but you were willing to try and prevent Honor from dying. That should've been enough reason for me. I should've given her something, anything, instead of just walking away. I — I couldn't teach another child again." Her voice cracked on those words. She closed her eyes, and took another deep breath. "I know Nick isn't a child, but... "
Her voice trailed off as Connor silently completed her sentence: "... but to me, you all are children."
"Would you give this to him? Please? For Honor."
At the mention of the name, a muscle twitched in Connor's jaw. Images flashed through his mind: echoes of a little girl's laughter, her wavy blond hair bouncing as she ran to greet him on a six-year-old's legs, the smile that had never failed to remind him ever so painfully of his beloved Heather... He shut his eyes briefly against the wave of half-forgotten memories, memories that demanded emotions he'd thought he wouldn't be feeling today. The images tore through him, leaving him feeling battered and bruised for the experience. Even before he opened the case, he knew he'd do as Amanda had asked.
He unlatched the case on the table and looked inside, unfolding the oilcloth that hid the inner contents. His fingers slowed as he recognized what lay there. It was a sword, and one that he'd made for a friend. Amanda had watched him painstakingly craft it; she'd even given him the rubies for the eyes of the wolf's head on the crosspiece. It had been one of the last swords he'd made before Honor had died. There were a lot of memories wrapped up in this sword. He glanced up from the blade to catch Amanda's eyes, and he could see that she too, was remembering that night before he'd presented it to his friend.
Even with the distance of centuries, he could hear Amanda's laughter when he'd told her she couldn't test out the sword, and how she'd promptly launched into a catch-me-if-you-can game around the room they'd been sharing. They'd ended up at crossed swords, and then Amanda had taken his blade and disarmed him. She'd kissed him senseless, and he'd forgotten all about being annoyed with her for using the new blade against his express wishes. He'd had no idea then that would be the last time they would spend as lovers, or that it would be one of the last times he'd feel less world-weary than he did now.
He shook his head; Amanda was playing dirty. He would never give a sword he didn't trust to a student, and to have one that he'd made as part of the deal was only more incentive. He knew that was precisely why Amanda had chosen it. He glared at her, not liking her manipulations.
She laughed, and turning in his arms, she kissed him fully. She kept the kiss brief, but it was enough for him to remember a time when they'd been more than the close friends they were now. For a moment, he let himself remember, let go of the tight self-control he kept on his emotions, and he felt her smile. With a sigh, he realized she had won.
She smiled, though he was glad that she wasn't gloating over her victory. "Always," she replied lightly.
He chuckled ruefully then. He considered himself to be an honorable man, but he knew he wasn't above using whatever means were necessary to get what he wanted, if the circumstances warranted it. Amanda was similar in that regard, and she'd pulled no punches this night.
He sighed. "So where am I going?"
Chapter Two
Torago
One week later
The summer thunderstorm cascaded down in thick sheets, but it only served to hamper Nick's vision as he ran through the park. He could still feel the other Immortal's Presence just whispering at the edge of his consciousness, and wished his mysterious tormentor would just end this cat and mouse chase. His gun was useless; he'd run out of ammunition several minutes ago. All he had left to use were his feet and his knowledge of the city, but every time he came close to Holy Ground, his pursuer would cut him off from that avenue of escape, sometimes killing him.
Nick was exhausted. He hadn't understood what it felt like to be hunted. He'd been so certain that he could handle the Game's various players. He had had enough pride in himself, and enough experience in fighting Immortals without a sword, to feel confident that he could live by his gun.
His experiences over the past three days, however, had left such convictions behind. He'd been shot, stabbed, run over, and he'd yet to see who it was that was hunting him. Only the faint scent of hyacinths had given him a clue as to the gender of his hunter... or should he say huntress. Now, all he wanted was for her to end his torment.
Out of breath, he leaned against a traffic post as the first wave of nauseating, migraine-like pain hit. Nearly blind with the pain, he was powerless to do anything except lean against the post. Some part of his brain registered that this sensation of Presence was almost as strong as Amanda's had been, even while it rejected the possibility of it being Amanda. It had to be his huntress, some old Immortal who liked to play before she took her prey's head. Nick was beginning to understand what Amanda had meant when she'd repeatedly told him to stay out of Immortal business because it was too dangerous.
Nick raised his head, wincing at the pain as he smelled hyacinths over the scent of the rain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something brown and vaguely human moving quickly.
Just get it over with, Nick thought, exhaustion and pain overriding his normal fighting nature. I never wanted to be Immortal anyway.
The scent of hyacinths was strong. He felt, more than heard, feminine laughter close to his neck. Without warning, a racehorse-lean, but still notably womanly, body pressed against his back. Nick's headache eased as his instinct adjusted to her proximity, but he had only seconds to enjoy the cessation of pain as she ran him through with her sword. He gasped, his hands instinctively going to grasp the blade in a futile attempt to push it out.
"Hurts?" she cooed with mock sympathy. Her voice held the ring of English aristocracy. "Where's Amanda?"
"I don't know," Nick said truthfully. Even through his exhaustion, he found it incredulous to think that he'd been targeted because he knew Amanda.
The sword in his gut twisted. "Don't protect her from me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Nick choked out. "If she was here, I'd kill her."
"Liar," his attacker decided.
White blinding pain became his companion as she twisted the sword more, pulling him away from the post as she did so. His body tried vainly to compensate for the wound. Then, abruptly, she pulled the sword out. Nick fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and parts of his body he didn't want to think about but was suddenly naming in clinical detail, certain that he was going to die.
New Presence flooded his senses as he crouched there, desperately trying to stuff his guts back into place and recover. He heard an unusually accented male voice call out, "Why don't you try a real challenge, Elizabeth?"
Nick closed his eyes against the blurring of his vision, trying to cope with the double pain of his slowly healing wound and the sensation of another Immortal. The pain was a million times worse than being shot. Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Elizabeth reply. "You can't interfere, Connor," she said, and Nick realized that Elizabeth and his attacker was the same person. "I won this round. His head is mine to take."
A short, staccato laugh met her words.
"Who is he to you, Connor?"
Connor didn't answer. Steel met steel in a resounding clash.
Nick took advantage of the distraction to crawl away. He wasn't sure who his rescuer was, or how Connor came to be there at exactly the right moment, but Nick wasn't about to question the reprieve. He managed to get himself back to the traffic post, and propped himself against it. He knew the better thing to do would be to get away, but he knew he was too weak to do anything except watch the battle before him unfold.
He saw that his rescuer wore a battered brown raincoat, faded jeans, dirty white sneakers, and moved very easily despite the now-steadily-falling rain and the slick pavement of the nearly empty parking lot. Out of long habit born of his years as a cop, Nick pegged his description at five feet, eleven inches, with a lean, compact build and sandy blond hair. He had high cheekbones and an angular jaw. The sword he held had a slight curve to it; Nick knew he'd never seen anything like it. Adrenaline shot through his system as his body tried to heal itself. He was having problems concentrating, but there were some things he couldn't ignore, not with the battle directly in front of him.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed to be having some difficulty. Perhaps it was the high heels she'd been forced to kick off, maybe it was the hip-length auburn hair that, with a flick of Connor's wrist, tumbled out of the black beret she wore, or it could have been the vicious slice to her spandex-covered right thigh; clearly, she had been expecting an easy kill. She parried a few thrusts, nearly tripped over her feet, then seemed to recognize that she was against a far superior opponent.
"Till next time," she called as she retreated into the darkness.
Connor started after her, then halted at the edge of the parking lot. Nick watched as Connor turned and strode back to where Nick was. Nick wondered if Connor meant to take his head, now that he'd chased off Elizabeth. Nick struggled to get to his feet, but his stomach felt all wrong, and he doubled over with the effort.
"Easy," Connor cautioned, catching Nick as he fell. "I won't take your head."
Gasping with the unexpected pain, Nick ground out, "I'm supposed to trust you just because you say so?"
A short, amused laugh met his words. "Fair enough," Connor replied. "But you're still going to be dead."
Nick looked at him uncomprehendingly. He followed Connor's gaze to his stomach, and blanched at the gory mess he saw there. As hardened to injury as Nick had become as a cop, he discovered it was an entirely different perspective to see the same injury on himself. Exhausted, weak from blood loss, Nick did the only thing he could do.
He died.
Connor grunted with the effort of wrestling Nick's body onto the ground. Not wanting Nick to revive while he worked on fixing the improperly healed stomach and intestinal wound, Connor stabbed him through the heart. Then he picked up the younger immortal in a modified fireman's carry and into the back seat of a nearby convertible.
****
Nick awoke to the alarm of a blindly strong Presence buzzing in his head. The intensity was similar to the worst migraine Nick had ever had, forcing him to swallow past the bile that threatened to erupt from his throat. He winced at the pain, and put one hand to the side of his head even as the other grabbed for the gun underneath his pillow.
"Breathe," a male, oddly accented voice commanded. "Shoot me if you like, but you might want to check where your guts are first."
The hand that had been attempting to keep his head from exploding slipped downward to feel his stomach. It took only a second for Nick to open his eyes and see that he was healed. He took a deep breath, and stared at his rescuer.
Nick realized that Connor had gotten him back home, and that they were in his bedroom. Connor leaned casually against the door frame. He was attired in a blue pinstriped oxford and jeans that had seen far better days. Nick could see dark splotches in the denim where, he surmised, his blood had splattered Connor.
"This isn't some kind of sick setup where you play the not-so-white knight, and later on, you'll take my head?"
Connor snorted. "If I wanted your head, I could've taken it when you were dead."
"Who the hell are you?" Nick demanded.
"Connor MacLeod."
Cautiously, Nick approached his guest. Now that the signal had muted into a dull throb, Nick was able to think more clearly. The last name sounded familiar to him for some reason, but even with a slightly clearer head, he couldn't think of why. Therefore, he grasped at the only straw he had. "Amanda sent you," he accused.
"Maybe I came on my own," Connor offered.
Nick didn't believe that for a second. "You don't know me. Why the hell should you be here, if it wasn't for Amanda?"
Connor said nothing, just watched him steadily. It was the kind of stare that measured a man, and Nick couldn't read what the assessment was. The realization left him feeling more than a little wary, which, he suspected, was somehow exactly what Connor wanted.
"What the hell do you want?" he snapped off, irritated.
"You," Connor replied calmly.
Nick looked at the other man again, seeing suddenly the infinite patience in his expression. He was reminded of the image of a hunter, lying in wait, and he grew angry at Connor's presence.
"If you aren't here for my head, then get the hell out," Nick told him. "I don't need you."
"I don't think so," Connor told him. He stared pointedly at Nick's neck.
Nick flushed at the silent reminder of just where he would be right now had Connor not interfered. Grudgingly, he holstered his gun. "Okay, so you're not after my head. What do you want from me?"
In reply, Connor walked out, leaving Nick to follow. As he walked into the living room, Nick noticed the long, slender, black case that sat on the coffee table. The leather of the case shone with the patina of age and the kind of wear from shipping and handling.
"What is it?" Nick was almost sure what it was, but he wanted confirmation.
"Just something I thought you'd need," Connor said offhandedly. He gestured towards the case, inviting Nick to open it.
Nick approached the case warily. He didn't trust the casual attitude Connor radiated; it was one more reason to not trust Connor. He kept his eyes on Connor until the last possible moment as a tense silence enveloped the room.
The latches of the battered case popped easily, and Nick lifted the heavy lid to reveal an object wrapped in oilcloth. The scent that rose off the cloth as he carefully lifted it could only be described as old and faintly spicy. The sword that gleamed in the glare of the floor lamps showed no sign of rust. It was a good four feet in length and had a flaring steel crossguard bent in opposite directions. The grip was wrapped in black leather. Where the hilt met the shank of the blade, a snarling wolf's head, a broken collar around its neck and rubies for eyes, had been engraved into the metal, forming the crosspiece.
A part of him found the sword utterly fascinating. He wasn't an expert in swords, but his exposure to Amanda had given him an interest in them. Even with that, he couldn't tell what kind of sword it was. He started to pick it up, and discovered that it was heavier than he thought.
"It's a hand-and-a-half sword made of Damascus steel in 1604," Connor informed him. "The perfect weapon for cutting or thrusting."
It looked impossibly beautiful and lethal at the same time. With a start, Nick realized the sword was meant for him. He'd left Paris without one, and the only person who knew that was Amanda. He hadn't even spoken to Liam before leaving, not wanting anything to do with another Immortal. That meant Amanda had to have sent Connor to give this sword to him. He wondered if she intended it as some kind of atonement for her decision to kill him and trigger his Immortality. The thought infuriated him.
Letting go of the sword, Nick took an unconscious step back. His gaze landed accusingly on Connor.
"I didn't ask for this," Nick exploded. "I don't want it. Tell Amanda that she's screwed up my life enough. I've managed just fine without her."
"You think you can survive just with that gun of yours and your wits." Connor sneered, his expression clearly stating that an Immortal with a gun was a repugnant idea.
"I've managed so far. I can handle myself." The words tumbled out before Nick could think about what he was saying. He found Connor's amused gaze back on his neck once more, and reddened with embarrassment. "Most of the time," Nick added belatedly. He paused as a thought occurred to him.
"What kind of life is it when you have to chop off someone else's head?"
Connor shrugged. "C'est la vie immortelle."
Nick stared at him, unbelieving. "Well, if that's the saying on the souvenir T-shirt, then I'd like to return it before I even buy it."
"Too late now," the other Immortal returned. "Of course, I can always just take your head and then you won't have to worry about it anymore." He rose to his feet now and laid his hand on the sword's hilt as if to take it from its case.
"You're insane."
Connor laughed again. That short, staccato laugh was beginning to really annoy Nick. Quickly, efficiently, Connor wrapped the sword back in the oilcloth and shut the case. "Do you want to live, Nick?"
"I don't need a sword to defend myself." And yesterday you were wishing you had one just so that you could take Elizabeth's head and be finished with it, a mental voice reminded him. He ignored it; accepting the sword meant accepting that he was truly Immortal. "All I want to have a normal life."
"How much?" Connor asked.
Nick looked at him, not understanding. "How much what?"
"What price would you pay for that normal life?"
"Anything," Nick answered without hesitating.
"Would you make new friends? Change jobs? Move across country? Keep secrets?"
"Within reason, sure."
"You said 'anything,'" Connor reminded him.
Nick glared at Connor, guessing where the questions were leading. "I'm not going to kill anyone over it."
"No?"
Damn those eyes, Nick thought. Connor had a way of looking at him that made Nick feel like the other immortal could see straight through his soul and know what he was thinking.
"No," Nick said again. "It's one thing to kill someone in the line of duty, but just to keep my life the way it is, no."
"Isn't killing in the line of duty protecting your way of life?"
Nick stared at him. Connor had him there. "It's not the same," Nick argued finally. "What I did as a cop was right; it was justified. Chopping off other people's heads makes no sense."
"You'd shoot someone if they were committing a crime, but you wouldn't cut off their head if that was what it took to kill them?" Connor made a disgusted sound, rose to his feet and slipped on his coat.
"If they were in the wrong— " Nick started to say, before he caught himself. "I've done it," he admitted. "That doesn't mean I want to do it again."
"Then you'll die."
"If I die, what business is it of yours? Why do you care? Why don't you just take my head when there can be only one?"
Connor turned then and faced Nick. "If that one is someone of great evil, mankind will suffer an eternal darkness."
"Amanda never mentioned that." Nick noted that Connor didn't look surprised at that statement, and filed that tidbit away for future reference. "Good versus evil, huh? And you think I'm one of the good guys? I swear, Immortality looks and sounds more and more like a B-grade movie the more I know about it. So what role do you play in this? You didn't just come here to drop off a sword."
Connor smiled then, and turned to exit. "Actually," he informed Nick, "that's exactly what I came to do." He pulled open the door and walked out into the drizzle. As the door shut behind Connor, Nick heard him say, "We'll meet again, Nick Wolfe."
Nick stared at the closed door and then at the sword case, unable to believe what had just occurred. He didn't know what to feel, but the longer he thought about it, the more his anger grew. He felt like he'd been somehow manipulated.
Connor hadn't offered anything to prove he was trustworthy save the fact that he'd saved Nick's life, Nick thought upon further reflection. Connor could have just been giving him the sword as a way of leveling the playing field... but that didn't make sense. Nick considered himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and whatever else Connor might be, he didn't strike Nick as the kind of guy who would arm his enemy just to kill him later. Yet, if Nick accepted that as fact, he also had to accept that Connor knew more about him than Nick knew about Connor. That did not sit well with Nick.
He was tired of meeting Immortals who knew more about him than he did, who seemed to believe they knew better than he did. Moreover, the gift of the sword felt like Amanda's attempt at reconciliation... something Nick wasn't prepared to do. He gave her credit for using an intermediary; if Amanda had shown up at his door, he wouldn't have answered it.
Correction, you would've had to throw her out, Nick thought sourly. She would've already broken in and been waiting for you.
He stared at the sword case. He thought about how he'd contemplated asking Liam to teach him before remembering that Liam had made it clear that he wasn't a fighter. He'd moved himself back to Torago, hoping for some distance from Amanda to clear his head, but even after a month, there were a lot of things on which Nick was unclear. He had enough pride in himself, and enough experience in fighting Immortals without a sword, to feel confident that he could live without a teacher.
He'd beheaded two Immortals, one by shooting a pane of glass down, the other with a sword, but in Nick's mind, those had been justified. Even knowing what he knew about the Game, he couldn't imagine having to behead another Immortal just because of some ancient set of rules no one seemed to have a reason for anymore. For as long as Amanda had been the Immortal, and he the mortal, Nick had taught himself how to cope with the danger she faced. He'd believed that justice was the key, that what he did was out of love and friendship for Amanda... but now that he was Immortal just like her, he wasn't sure what to believe.
Moreover, his recent experience with Elizabeth had hammered into him the fact that without a sword, his choices were limited to either hiding out on Holy Ground or simply running until he couldn't run anymore. Neither prospect appealed to him; he preferred action over surrender, and yet... Nick took a deep breath. For one long moment there with Elizabeth, Nick knew he'd been willing to throw it all away. The realization left him feeling off-balance and confused.
All he knew for sure was that he'd wanted so much to love Amanda. He'd been willing to accept that his feelings for her were complicated, but he had never once dreamed that he might one day face her as an enemy in the Game. He knew he didn't want to retreat to Holy Ground like Liam had, trusting blindly in some higher power. Nor did Nick want to go on some "kill-them-before-they-kill-me" rampage. He had never wanted to be Immortal, and he did not see the point of fighting for some vague, undefined prize.
I am not going to be manipulated by anyone. Just because I don't have a sword doesn't mean I need one.
For the longest minute, he seriously considered just tossing the sword into the trash. Then he remembered Connor had mentioned the age of the sword, and Nick reconsidered.
Maybe he could sell it, Nick decided. Something that old certainly had to be worth a couple grand. He certainly didn't need it to protect himself. He ignored the voice that reminded him he couldn't expect to shoot all the Immortals that came his way.
With that thought in mind, Nick picked up the case and shoved it into the nearest closet.
Chapter Three
Three days later
"So what happened between you and Amanda?" Bert asked with his usual lack of tact as he swaggered into Nick's garage.
Intent on tightening a lug nut on the motorcycle he was restoring, Nick jumped at the sound of Bert's voice and swore viciously as the wrench slipped. With an absurd sense of relief, Nick was glad the injury was nothing more than a mild scrape, healed almost as soon as it had occurred. He found himself in the rather awkward position of trying not to call attention to his now-healed hand, when he had the urge to rub it to make sure it wasn't scraped anymore.
"What did you say?"
"Amanda?" Bert gestured vaguely with his right hand and looked exasperatedly at Nick. "I called her on her cell phone looking for you, and she said you'd left Paris for good."
"We had a difference of opinion," Nick told Bert, picking up the wrench again.
"I left you in charge of my European operations, and you decide to just move back to the States without clearing it with me because you have a lover's quarrel?"
Nick finished tightening the lug nut and put the wrench down. He stared pointedly at Bert. "I called you and left messages on your voice mail."
Bert opened his mouth to argue that point, then snapped it shut as he realized Nick was right. He brushed the matter aside with a wave of his hand, saying, "Whatever. The point is, it's a good thing you're back here, because I would've made you come back anyway."
Nick eyed his friend and erstwhile employer suspiciously. "For what?" He wiped his greasy hands on a nearby rag and rose to his feet.
"Got an assignment for you," Bert began. "Missing persons case. Woman wants to find her mother, you know, the usual I-was-given-up-for-adoption crap. Except the woman claims she grew up knowing who her birth mother was, and that her mother promised to give her a very old sword when she turned eighteen." Bert laughed cynically. "Like what good is a sword in this day and age?"
Nick didn't answer. His blood had run cold at the mention of swords. Instantly, he thought of the sword in his closet.
Bert didn't seem to notice his friend's silence, or the abruptly tense way Nick held himself. "Anyway," Bert finished up, "I promised the woman I'd put my best man on the job. So, you want it?"
Nick's mind was racing. There had been a time when he would have dismissed the part about the sword as merely being unusual, but not threatening. Now the item's inclusion took on unnatural significance. His usual enthusiasm for accepting a job was replaced by wariness. "This woman, did she say anything about the sword?"
Bert took the question for assent, and handed him a thin file folder along with a thick envelope. "All you need is there, and here's a grand for expenses." Nick took the items automatically, not really thinking about his actions. "Listen, man, I gotta go. Thanks for doing this for me." So saying, Bert walked out.
For a long moment, Nick stared at his departing friend. Then he set the file folder down on the nearest flat surface, which happened to be the seat of the motorcycle. Balancing the contents of the file on the seat, he opened the file. A heartbeat later, the file fell to the floor as Nick grabbed a photograph from the file and tore through his house.
Swearing, he tried to remember where he'd stuck the sword, haste and dread hampering his ability to recall. At last, he found it, and with little regard for the case, he flung the case down on the coffee table. Impatiently, he flipped open the locks, brushed the oilcloth aside. The wolf's head glittered at him. Even before he compared the photograph to the sword, he knew he was looking at the same item.
Just how many of these could there be in the world? he wondered. His eyes narrowed as his mind figured out the angles. Connor had to have delivered this for Amanda, he thought. Therefore, Amanda had to have stolen it.
Almost before he gave the matter serious thought, his hand reached for the phone to dial a long distance number he'd memorized in a happier time. The phone rang five times before the answering machine clicked on.
A pleasantly cheerful female voice announced in French that he had indeed reached the number for The Sanctuary, and the evening's entertainment program followed. Nick waited, knowing it was merely the work of the professional script reader Amanda had hired that he was listening to, and that a tone would soon sound for messages. To his surprise, he reached an operator instead of a tone.
"The Sanctuary, Julita speaking," a woman greeted in French.
In the same language, Nick asked, "Julita, this is Nick. Is Amanda there?"
Julita hesitated. "She is away on business," she said at last.
Business... His heart contracted painfully. The word tumbled through Nick's mind like an article of clothing in a dryer, and he had to force himself to not think of the implications of that. He concentrated on the information he needed, ruthlessly shoving his feelings aside.
"She will be sorry that she missed you. Are you coming back to Paris soon, Monsieur Wolfe?"
Not in this lifetime, Nick thought, and realized abruptly how much more subtext that thought held. Rather ungraciously, Nick ended the call. He needed to find out more information about the sword; if Amanda wasn't available, that left only one other individual who could help.
With that thought in mind, Nick set the phone down and headed in the direction of his laptop. He knew he could find Connor MacLeod easily enough, if Connor was registered in one of the hotels under that name. The investigator in Nick, however, wanted to know more than just where Connor was; he wanted to know who he was.
Four hours later, Nick had his answers. A Connor MacLeod was registered at the Ramada Inn downtown in one of the penthouse suites. Nick also knew that the New York City police had a file on an antique dealer named Russell Nash who matched Connor's description. Nash had been declared dead, but Nick didn't buy that. Nash was the same person as Connor, as near as Nick could tell from the photographs in the police file he'd called a few favors in to see... and from all appearances, it looked as though Connor had nearly been caught playing the Game.
There was one more call Nick had to make. He dialed the long-distance number, wondering what kind of reaction he was going to get. It had been a number of months since he'd last spoken to Joe Dawson, and they hadn't parted on the best of terms. The number was answered by a sleepy-voiced woman who told him, with some irritation, that she had no clue who Joe was, and furthermore, didn't own a damned bar.
Nick disconnected the call and stared at the receiver a moment, feeling oddly disappointed that he hadn't been able to reach the Watcher. He'd been hoping to get any kind of information Dawson would be willing to provide. Guess Dawson has moved, Nick thought, and the number Lucy gave me a few months ago when I thought Amanda was dead is outdated.
He swore and set the cordless phone down on the coffee table. He really didn't want to think about Amanda, and yet his whole existence now was her fault. He would be dead now except for her interference, and Nick wasn't so sure that he wasn't grateful for it.
As if in a daze, Nick headed back to the garage to pick up the file he'd dropped. The simple, mindless task took little time, and it wasn't long before Nick had all of the pieces spread out again on the coffee table. He looked at the notes he'd taken, trying to find out who exactly Connor MacLeod was, and looked again at the file.
Okay, he told himself. We have an antique dealer who's Immortal, a sword that he claims to be nearly four hundred years old, and a woman who says it rightly belongs to her. The simple thing to do, Wolfe, is to just take it back to her. So what is stopping you?
He stared at the files for several minutes, pondering that question. His eyes strayed to the sword case that lay open beside the assorted paperwork. He saw again the deadly beauty of the sword's craftsmanship and was reminded once more of why he had it.
He was Immortal.
The thought was less than reassuring, and opened the door to more questions. Why had Connor dropped off the sword? Were there strings attached to the gift? Who was Liz Kryler — someone Connor or Amanda knew? Was the sword stolen, as it appeared to be? Why was this sword so important?
Nick rose to his feet.
He wanted answers and he wanted them now. Grabbing the address of the hotel from the stack of the paperwork, he made for the door. At the last minute, prompted by some nameless impulse, he turned, and headed back. With exaggerated care, he lifted the sword out of the case and took it with him.
****
Connor froze in the hallway leading to his hotel room as the sensation of another Immortal washed over him like a gentle wave. From the intensity, Connor could tell that the Immortal waiting for him in his room was either young or inexperienced or both. Still, he didn't discount the power of another Immortal, age and experience notwithstanding. He moved warily to the door, katana in hand. Slipping his access card into the reader, he waited for the "click" that signified granted access and pushed the door open.
And found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
He glanced at the gun, then at the man holding it. "Nice," he complimented the gun holder, recognizing him as Nick Wolfe. For a long minute, Connor waited, silently debating whether or not Nick would shoot him or if Connor needed to disarm him.
Nick, however, chose to withdraw his weapon. Connor relaxed, putting his sword away, but remained on guard for any sudden moves.
"That sword you brought me," Nick began, his tone heavy with accusation, "was Amanda's idea, wasn't it?"
Connor didn't answer, suspecting that Nick was merely asking a rhetorical question. He waited for Nick to get to the point.
Nick laughed shortly. "Of course it was. She stole it and passed it off to you. She knows I don't want anything to do with her right now, and she probably figured a stranger might be someone I'd listen to more than her."
Connor heard the disgust in Nick's voice for that tactic, and smiled. So, Connor thought, Nick has a code of honor after all. He'd been worried, after discovering Nick's method of handling another Immortal, that Nick's ethics were questionable.
Nick's eyes flashed with annoyance at Connor's expression. "What the hell is so amusing to you?"
Connor merely shrugged.
Nick looked as though he was going to press the issue, but changed his mind. "Look, I just want to know if the sword is stolen. Someone named Elizabeth Kryler is looking for it."
That got Connor's attention. "I wouldn't give it back to her."
"Why the hell not?" Nick demanded.
Connor stared at him.
Nick started to shake his head, holding up a hand as if he could forestall the truth. "No. Don't tell me Elizabeth is the same lunatic who tried to kill me."
"Suit yourself."
"Damn it!!" Nick angrily paced the floor. "So if I give back to her, I'm screwed. If I keep it, that means I'll have to use it, and that means I'll have to forgive Amanda for triggering my Immortality."
"One does not necessarily mean the other."
"Oh, spare me the deep philosophical crap," Nick retorted, annoyed. "I don't want it."
"Then I suggest you go to Holy Ground."
"I am not going to live like that!" Nick shouted.
"Half a life or no life at all," Connor reminded Nick quietly.
Nick shook his head, denying those options. "And if you had to kill a friend, would you grieve?"
Connor stared at him, incredulous. Clearly, Nick was thinking of Amanda, and remembering what Amanda had said about her relationship with Nick, Connor could see where he would get the idea that he wasn't supposed to care about other Immortals. Still, it seemed like a fairly preposterous concept. Immortals weren't machines; just people born with a gift that came with the price tag still attached. As much as Connor had tried to harden his heart, to remain aloof from everyone else, he knew he couldn't stop feeling.
Nick moved his shoulders, clearly feeling uncomfortable with the silent rejoinder. "I wouldn't kill a friend in the first place," Nick retorted.
"Sometimes, you don't have a choice."
"Then I won't get myself into that kind of situation."
"Fate often has other plans."
"I don't believe in Fate."
"Then you are more of a fool than I thought."
Without warning, Connor struck. The katana came up to rest against Nick's throat, and Nick's back was up against the wall.
Nick's eyes were defiant even as Connor laid the blade against the other man's throat.
"Is this supposed to scare me?" Nick growled.
Connor stared at Nick, willing him to see just how defenseless he was without a sword, how easily a friend could turn into a foe. He could see the fight for acceptance rage in the other man's expression, knew that Nick wanted to deny who he was. Connor couldn't think of anything other than what he was doing, short of killing Nick, that would hammer the truth into the new Immortal. Connor watched as the light of understanding slowly blossomed in the younger man's face, then he lowered his sword without lapsing out of guard. Genuine relief shuddered through Nick, though he tried to hide it.
Nick stared at him for a long minute before apparently coming to a decision. "If I don't go to Holy Ground," he began, "what choices do I have? I don't know how to use a sword, at least, not against someone who can fight back."
Connor watched him carefully. He knew what Nick was asking for; Amanda's manipulations had ensured that Connor would take Nick on as a student, but Connor wanted to evaluate his potential first. It had been a while since he'd taught anyone, and Connor knew it wasn't an easy task. Therefore, he wanted to be absolutely certain of Nick's commitment before he fulfilled his promise to Amanda.
Nick met his gaze without flinching. Connor could see pride warring with a certain degree of frustration at his situation. Connor decided he liked what he saw.
"I could teach you," Connor said finally.
Nick's eyes narrowed. "Why? Did Amanda set you up for this too?"
Connor said nothing, suspecting that the question was more rhetorical than anything else.
Nick sighed, apparently taking his silence for assent. "Okay," he said resignedly. "You have a student. But just for the record, I'm not doing this for Amanda."
Connor smiled then. "That makes two of us," he told Nick.
Chapter Four
By some unspoken agreement, they headed back to Nick's place. If Connor noticed the sword wrapped in oilcloth on the back seat of Nick's sport utility vehicle, he made no comment during the trip. It was only when Nick started to lock up the vehicle after they had both gotten out that Nick became aware Connor had noticed the sword at all.
"Forget something?" Connor asked.
Instinctively, Nick checked to see if he was still wearing his gun. He heard Connor's amused chuckle before it dawned on him that Connor was referring to the sword Nick had left in the back seat.
Grimacing, Nick unlocked the SUV again and pulled out the sword. "Where the hell do you keep yours?" he asked Connor as he walked around the SUV, trying to keep the sword raised off the floor as the oilcloth billowed around the blade. It made for awkward walking.
Connor smiled and blocked Nick's path for a moment. Nick nearly tripped over the older Immortal, catching himself in time. Easily, Connor took possession of the sword and removed the oilcloth. Then he handed it back to Nick. "We'll have to figure out where to put the sword sheath," he told Nick. "For now, you'll just have to carry it."
"Great," Nick muttered darkly. "Why don't you just take a front page ad and call yourself a headhunter?" He held the sword a moment, trying to decide how to juggle it and his keys, before thrusting the keys at Connor and gesturing for him to open the garage-side door.
For some reason, this amused Connor. Nick shot him a disgusted look as Connor put his hand on the doorknob.
Without even putting the key in the lock, Connor pushed open the door. He glanced at Nick inquiringly. Nick shook his head, knowing he'd locked the door before leaving.
In silent agreement, the pair entered the house warily. The place was trashed. A quick search revealed nothing had been taken, but the case that had held the sword had been hacked to pieces. The files that Nick had left on the coffee table were also victim to the targeted attack, and now resembled confetti.
Nick set his sword aside for a moment while he tried to make sense of the chaos.
"Nick," Connor called from the bedroom, "I need a hand."
Nick entered the bedroom to find Connor ripping a blindfold off of Bert. He could see that the duct tape covering Bert's mouth was next, and he accepted the silent instruction to keep his friend still during the process of removal. Aside from being bound and sporting a black eye, Bert looked like he'd escaped the wrath the house had suffered.
"Damn it, that hurts!" Bert declared in annoyance. "I told the bitch she didn't have to do it."
Nick rolled his eyes and reached in his pocket for the key to unlock the handcuffs he suspected were his own. They were; he hadn't expected to use them when he'd gone to meet Connor, and had therefore left them behind on his dresser.
As he removed the handcuffs, Nick asked his friend, "Who was it?"
"Liz. I called her when you said you'd found the sword."
Nick's eyes met Connor's behind Bert's back. "I never called you, Bert."
Bert grimaced. "Okay, okay, so I lied. I thought for sure you'd have some info on it by now."
"So you called her and she what? I assume she picked you up because your car isn't here."
"Look, if I'd known she was going to act insane, I wouldn't have taken her on as client." Bert winced as he struggled to stand, but he waved off the silent offer of assistance Connor made. "Bitch kicked me when she found the sword case." Bert paused. "Say, did you find the actual sword? She was pretty pissed when she couldn't find it."
Nick started to reply, but he caught the warning glare Connor shot him. "No, I didn't," he lied. "You going to be all right?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine." Bert hauled himself forward. "You gonna call the cops?"
Uncertain of what to do next, Nick glanced at Connor, who shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I'd better do that."
It was several hours before Nick and Connor had the house to themselves. Nick stood in the living room, wondering where in the world he was going to start cleaning up.
"One piece at a time," Connor told him, startling him.
"What, you're Immortal and psychic?"
Connor laughed. "No," he answered. "I've just done this a few times."
"So how many is a few?"
Connor merely smiled.
Nick sighed. "Okay, so you've been around a while. Care to tell me how long?"
"I was born in 1518 in the Highlands of Scotland."
The simply stated words rang with unmistakable pride. "You don't sound like you're from Scotland," Nick commented.
Connor chuckled. "I've been to lots of different places."
"Yeah, I guess you'd have to move around a bit," Nick mused. He took another look at the chaos around him and sighed.
Nick started clearing space near an overturned bookcase as Connor joined him. Side by side, the two men worked to upright the bookcase and to restore a semblance of order to the room.
"So how long do you think it will be before Kryler's back, looking for the sword?" Nick asked Connor after they'd repositioned the bookcase.
Connor stepped away from the furniture and shrugged. "The sword isn't the point."
Nick paused in his re-shelving of books to stare at Connor. "That's what she hired Bert to find. I'm just another Immortal who happened to be in her way, and she's just playing the Ga— "
"No, she's not." Connor shook his head. "Elizabeth's sole reason for living is to chop off Amanda's head. Or mine. Preferably both."
"So why go after me?" Nick demanded.
"Anytime I've ever wanted to find Amanda, all I had to do was check in with the police."
The statement hung in the air while Nick absorbed its cloying connotations. He remembered that the desk sergeant on duty during the day tended to gossip. Nick assumed that any Immortal who'd lived past a hundred was skilled enough in conniving to charm anyone into revealing information, and now he swore. It wouldn't take much for someone like Kryler to learn that he was now associated with Amanda.
"So instead of just accepting that I didn't know where to find Amanda, Kryler tried to kill me instead? What kind of logic is that?" Nick began to pace. "So she'll be back, and she probably thinks I know where to find you too. Great, just fucking great. What did you two do to her to piss her off? Rob her blind?"
So Connor explained. Nick listened as he finished putting things back into place on the bookcase.
"That's all this is about?" Nick asked when Connor stopped speaking. "Kryler goes after your friends to try and humiliate you? So if she was a threat to you before she died the first time, why didn't you take care of it then?"
Connor sighed. "I didn't think she was going to take it this far."
"So you want me to do clean up for you, is that it?" Nick slammed a pile of magazines together.
"No," Connor answered sharply. "I want you to keep your head."
Nick stared at Connor, remembering everything he'd said.
"You can walk away," Connor told him. "Elizabeth and I have our own score to settle."
"She tried to kill me, and she hurt one of my friends," Nick returned. "That makes it personal."
Belatedly, Nick realized just what he'd committed himself to. His eyes narrowed. Connor met his accusing stare blandly. "Anyone ever tell you you're one sneaky son of a bitch?"
"Heh."
****
With a little help from one of Bert's numerous connections, Nick was able to secure a fifty-thousand square foot warehouse buried deep in the city's industrial district. It was here that Nick began his training. He quickly discovered that it wasn't as simple as getting to a higher spot than your opponent, sword in hand, and jumping down at an angle that would kill. His boxing training also led to a habit of getting in unnecessarily close and forgetting to allow for the length of not only his sword, but his opponent's as well.
Connor was patient throughout it all, though Nick was learning just how many ways to define "looks that could kill." Still, he caught on to the basics fairly quickly with the intense training, and it no longer felt strange to hold a sword in his hand. He also began to trust Connor; his instructions spoke of a man who knew what he was doing, and cared how he was doing it. Moreover, the little history Nick was able to pry out of Connor reflected a life spent fighting against those who would destroy the world.
One evening about a week after the break-in, Connor and Nick had just finished up their lesson for the day when the first waves of Presence hit.
Nick looked to Connor for confirmation of the feeling. Connor nodded; Nick started for the door, intending to confront whoever was there, but Connor shook his head.
"Wait," Connor told him.
Nick began to question the action, but then the strange Immortal stepped into view through the open bay doors of the warehouse's loading dock. The early evening sun silhouetted a womanly profile.
"Elizabeth," Nick said in recognition.
She heard her name and laughed softly. Then she snapped her fingers. Nick had only time to hear the hiss of something being fired before pain exploded in his chest and he fell backwards from the sudden impact. He looked down to see a spear jutting out from his chest. Gritting his teeth, he tried to pull it out, but he managed only to grasp the end closest to his skin. Swearing, Nick grimaced against the pain, fighting the urge to give in to the darkness of death, and pulled the spear out with both hands. It fell to the floor beside him with a clatter of steel and concrete.
Then he died.
****
Connor moved as soon as he heard Elizabeth's fingers snap. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nick fall, but didn't spare a moment for his student. Elizabeth was bound to have other helpers, other tricks up her sleeve, and he did not want to give her any unnecessary advantages.
"Time to settle this, you and me," Elizabeth announced as she drew near.
Connor nodded as Elizabeth drew her sword.
Elizabeth attacked first, a move Connor easily countered. She retreated, smiling, baiting him into attacking. He took the bait, feinted, and then scored a hit. She stopped smiling. She attacked again, this time from a different angle and with a combination parry, but Connor had been expecting such a move, and countered it easily.
He knew from their previous encounter that Elizabeth was not a skilled swordsman, relying heavily upon her goon squad to even the odds. Still, she gave a good fight, moving across the length of the warehouse, countering and attacking as she did so. Clearly, she had learned from their previous encounter as well, and was trying to wear him out with swordwork.
Still, she was no match for Connor's superior skill. She retreated too far, and stumbled as her back foot hit the wall. Taking advantage of the misstep, he quickly disarmed her. He was just about to take her head when something hit his back and he fell. Her laughter rang in his ears as he died, tasting failure.
***
Nick revived with a sharp gasp of breath. He rose painfully to his feet, grabbing the sword he'd dropped with his fall, just in time to see the same goon who'd shot him with the spear gun do the same to Connor. Nick didn't hesitate. Using his left hand, Nick drew his gun and fired rapidly at the goon, trusting his aim to be true. The gun clicked on an empty chamber, and he tossed it aside. He then he ran across the warehouse to take care of Elizabeth, who stood frozen over Connor's prone body, no doubt halted by the sensation of Nick's Presence.
"The challenge is between him and me," Elizabeth told him. "You can't interfere."
"Oh, really?" Nick drawled as he came closer. "Honor doesn't mean a damned thing to you."
"What do you know of Honor?" Elizabeth hissed, bringing her blade down closer to Connor's neck.
Nick stopped the blade's movement with his own. "I know it means not cheating," he told her. He yanked the spear out of Connor's body. "I also know she was someone you killed."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "She got in the way, just like Amanda and Connor did. Brian was supposed to be mine."
"Brian's been dead for centuries."
"It doesn't matter. They killed me and any chance I had at living."
Elizabeth disengaged Nick's blade and extended her sword threateningly. "I'll kill you too," she told him.
"Not now," Connor informed her as he tripped her, causing her to lose her balance. She'd been holding her sword lightly, and it fell as well.
Suddenly, she was the loser again. She knew it as well. "Finish it," she growled, and Connor did.
Instinctively, Nick stepped back as the Quickening fire rose from the headless body. He did not want to be caught in the unnatural storm that battered Connor. Still, the Quickening brushed past Nick like a match he'd lit and allowed to burn too close to his fingertips. He shuddered, instinctively refusing the Quickening, and heard Connor scream. The fire seemed to find direction with Connor's shout, leaving Nick feeling oddly bereft as he felt the Quickening leave.
He could only watch now as Connor struggled to channel the power that had been Elizabeth Kryler, watch as he had watched Amanda countless times before, and know that he could do nothing until it was over.
When at last the blue lightning had ceased, Nick walked over to his mentor and helped Connor to his feet. Without being told, Nick knew he still had a lot to learn, though the immediate threat had been handled.
Epilogue
"You give me strength to fight
To see that there's shades of blue
Everything's black and white
And then there's you"
— Steve Seskin, Paul Young, Pat MacDonald (as sung by The Wilkinsons)
"Then There's You"
"I guess this is it, then," Nick remarked as the boarding call for Connor's flight was called. He looked at the man who'd been his teacher for the last year, and knew he'd gained a friend he would trust forever. "Thanks for everything, Connor."
Connor smiled, clasped his arm. "Nick," he said by way of good-bye, then turned and walked away.
Nick watched him go, and thought about something Connor had told him over a round of drinks a few weeks before, about how Immortality was more than just an endless cycle of justified murder, drifting on a sunless sea alone, never to love anyone. What was the fun of living, Connor had asked him, if you couldn't love someone along the way? The heart never stopped loving anyone when that love had been true.
Nick had argued that there were times when you had to stop loving because honor demanded it, that sometimes the rules didn't allow for love.
Connor had smiled and countered, " Life has never been black and white; why should love be?"
Nick thought about that as he walked down to the parking garage. He got into his SUV and slid his sword out from its hiding place underneath the front seat. He stared at the jeweled hilt, seeing again the deadly beauty of the sword, remembering the woman who'd made sure he'd get it. He closed his eyes, thinking about how his life had been forever altered by her, not once, but twice. She'd opened his eyes to a world far bigger than he'd known, one filled with danger and secrets and long lives. Then she'd saved him from dying from a madman's poison.
Thanks to Connor, Nick knew now that there had been a chance he probably would've become Immortal regardless of Amanda's intervention. Despite Connor's words, Nick was inclined to believe that the truth was somewhere between what Connor had said and what Amanda had believed.
Nick opened his eyes and hefted the sword experimentally, feeling his arm muscles shift to compensate for the now-familiar weight. He smiled ruefully, recalling a time when the sword had felt strange and awkward in his hands.
He knew what he needed to do now.
Paris
Lightning split the darkened sky a heartbeat after the cannon of thunder boomed, and the late afternoon storm began in earnest. Steam rose as the cool water met the sun-heated pavement. Amanda ignored the rising mist and the rain that hit her brightly patterned umbrella and the less protected parts of her body with the force of nails. She had a plan, and there were things she absolutely had to get in order to make it reality. A little rain wasn't going to deter her, especially since she'd been through worse.
You hate rain, a tiny little voice reminded her.
As if I can do anything to change it? she retorted, gratefully ducking into the exclusive women's boutique.
Pulling her umbrella closed, she shook off the raindrops and smiled at the heavyset saleswoman with silvered hair who approached her.
"Perfect weather we're having, isn't it?" the saleswoman joked, and Amanda bit back a sigh at the predictability of that tired humor. "Perhaps I can interest you in something to take your mind off all that gloominess outside?"
"I need a dress and lingerie for tonight," Amanda returned. She thought about where she was going. "Something simple and sexy, but classy."
The saleswoman beamed, no doubt already calculating her potential commission. The expression annoyed Amanda, and she was half-tempted to make the woman really work for the sale. One glance at the slim gold watch she wore reminded Amanda that she didn't have that kind of time to spare, if she was going to make Joe's show at Le Blues Bar tonight.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged with an armload of purchases just as the warning of Presence assaulted her. It was still raining, but with less intensity as it had been previously. She swore, and glanced around for the source of the signal.
She found it in the form of a tall, athletically built man with brunet hair and blue eyes. All the breath left her body, and she dropped her bags. "Nick," she managed in a strangled voice.
"Hello Amanda," he greeted quietly.
It had been over a year since she'd last seen him, a year in which she'd wondered if she'd spend the rest of her life feeling the ache of regret for the choice she'd made. She'd called Connor a few times to check on how Nick was doing, but beyond that, she'd stayed away, afraid of revealing just how much she cared.
She could see a remoteness in Nick that hadn't been there before, the kind of distance that came with acceptance of Immortality and its confines, and sighed quietly for lost innocence. Instinctively, she knew Nick would not welcome a hug from her, or any of her usual enthusiasm. She drew herself to her full height and responded coolly. "Hello, Nick. It's been a long time."
He nodded. "I know. I just wanted to let you know a few things, and then I'll be on my way." He paused. "You don't have to worry about Elizabeth Kryler anymore."
She nodded. "I know," she spoke, her breath catching on the simple words. "Connor told me. He said you saved his life."
Nick acknowledged that statement with a short nod. "Well, he saved mine." He paused again, seeming to find speaking difficult. "Thank you for the sword, and for sending Connor."
She shook her head, refusing the gratitude. "It was the least I could do."
He smiled ruefully. "I do forgive you, Amanda; I still can't say, though, that I agree with your decision. I probably won't for a long time. You shouldn't have played God with my life."
Amanda closed her eyes, feeling the relief wash through her. He's not mad at me, danced through her mind dressed in flashy neon. She opened her eyes again as she nodded her head. "I can live with that," she told Nick.
He smiled gratefully. "Well, I better get going." He turned to leave.
"Nick," she stalled his leaving, wanting to say anything to make him stay just a bit longer. Love and hope, kept buried for so long, threatened to overwhelm her. The words dried up on her tongue as he turned to face her, and she fumbled for something to say. Failing miserably, she reached for the only thing she knew to be appropriate. "Watch your head."
He chuckled lightly, in what sounded like an echo of Connor's laugh. "You too, Amanda." Then, sticking his hands in the pockets of the stadium-length leather jacket he wore, he walked away.
In that moment, Amanda knew she couldn't just let him go. She forgot about her shopping bags and ran after him. "Nick, wait!"
He stopped, turned.
She didn't stop running until she had run right into him. Throwing her arms around him, she kissed him, mindless of the rain that soaked them both.
He resisted at first. Then his hands rose from his pockets to bring her closer and return the kiss.
— -Finis— -
End Notes:
1) C'est la vie immortelle" means "that's immortal life."
2) The child Amanda refers to in the beginning is Kenny.
3) If you're interested in reading a bit of the "behind the scenes"
silliness that helped me get through the writing of this fic, click
here.
4) Want to see Nick and Connor again? Check out Down Came a Blackbird, which uses some of the same events as canon for that story.