TITLE: The Creation of Death

AUTHOR: Kylia

(kylia_bug@yahoo.com)

DISCLAIMER: Nobody belongs to me, unfortunately. They belong to Rysher & DPP, and a few other people I don't know.

ARCHIVE: Yes. My site, List archives, anywhere else, let me know where, and its yours.

RATING: R

PAIRING: Richie/Methos - some A/N

CATEGORY: action/adventure; Romance; some angst.

SPOILERS: Up to "The Modern Prometheus" - See Author's notes for more info.

WARNINGS: This will eventually have m/m sex… I know… why else would you be reading, but I thought I should stick the customary warning in here anyway :)

SUMMARY: The past comes calling… and it's brought some not so pleasant things with it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first strictly HL fic, although I've written numerous Xovers. First things first, Archangel never happened… we won't even discuss *that* insanity. However this does take place in 'present' time. If you're familiar with HL:The Raven, it's post "DOA". Also, the events in HL:Endgame, didn't happen. I'm in serious denial, I know. Humor me.

FEEDBACK: Please. I'd like to know whether I should stick to my other fandoms.

DEDICATION: Kaitelynn, my kindred spirit, and all the wonderful R/M authors out there. :)


The Creation of Death
by Kylia

The room was dark. So very dark. No windows, and only one door. The hard cement floor was dirty and grimy and still held the smell of death. The room's sole occupant tried to block out the smells, and the knowledge of his fate that went along with it. He knew he would die today. There was no doubt in his mind that his time was running out. He had been held captive for days, although he wasn't entirely certain how many. He had been beaten, tortured and starved, all for the desire of some small slip of information. Unfortunately it was information he didn't have access to. Not really. Sure he knew where he might find such information. He could even guess to what it was his captor wanted to hear. But he couldn't. Not now, not ever.

He had taken an oath, and unlike other's in his calling he refused to sully the name and reputation of the thing that had given him a purpose in life. He refused to allow what others had done, and continued to do undermine all that they were supposed to stand for. So, he refused to give in, and tell his torturer what he wanted to know. But soon, his time would run out, and peace would claim him.

The lone door was pushed opened and his captor walked in. He was dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt, a long leather coat hiding his frame and his weapon of survival. The man's face appeared to be that of a twenty-year-old. But it was his eyes that drew attention to him. They were a crystalline blue, and held a coldness one would find unimaginable for someone who looked so young. The expression on his face promised death to anyone who was foolish enough not to run.

He looked down at his prisoner and shook his head in a mockery of sadness.

"I grow weary. Tell me what I wish to know, and you can die in peace… if not," Zachary Traiste' shrugged, "No matter… there's always another of your kind to answer my questions."

Zachary took a step closer to the bloodied and beaten man, trailing the tip of a dagger down his swollen cheek. He bent down until his face was mere inches from the mortal man. "A location, that's all I want. Where is he?" His voice had grown colder as he asked the question.

"I… I don't know." The beaten man's voice shook with the agony, which gripped his body.

Zachary moved the knife away from the man's face and made a path along his bloodied chest. "Who does?" He asked menacingly as he imbedded the weapon into that tender flesh, adding just one more wound to the slowly dying body.

"Paris…" The words were gasped as the knife was twisted and shifted within his body, tearing a whole right through his heart.

Zachary smiled evilly as he watched the life leave the mortal body. He dropped the weapon to the ground and made his way out of the small room.

"Paris," He whispered, "Soon, old friend, soon."

****

Joe Dawson sat heavily on the barstool as he hung up the phone. This latest bit of news was only another piece of horror that he had to deal with. He wasn't sure how much he could handle. How much he should handle. He wondered if perhaps he wasn't partially to blame for the death of the young watcher. He had been so idealistic, so determined, so trusting. He had believed in what the watchers had once stood for, in what they were supposed to do, and hadn't allowed what they had become to taint that vision.

It was that belief which had no doubt gotten him killed. The reports had said he was tortured, brutally for days, by someone no doubt looking for information. Joe knew that this particular watcher wouldn't give up such information easily. But then, it hadn't been easy, had it?

Who knew what information his killer had been after? Who knew what information he had walked away with? The situation brought back memories of Kalas and the havoc he had almost created. Would this… person, whoever they were cause just the same amount of trouble? Would it be worse?

Joe didn't know, and was afraid to find out. He pushed his thoughts aside and tried to concentrate on things he could actually do something about. Like the new band and whether or not they were good enough to stay longer than one week.

****

Nick Wolfe walked cautiously into the room. He looked around nervously. Something was… off. He could feel it. It wasn't another of his kind, that much he could sense. But something was most definitely wrong.

Not for the first time he wondered if his immortality was a curse or a blessing. When Amanda had shot him and he had woken to find himself immortal, he had been so angry, so betrayed. She had made the decision for him, not giving him a say in the matter. She had taken away that basic right. He never wanted immortal life. Never wanted to spend eternity in a game no one understood, and only one would survive.

But yet, here he was, doing just that. Living, killing, surviving.

His thoughts were broken off as he walked into another room and discovered he was alone. He shouldn't have been. Amanda was gone, but an old friend of hers had come to visit for a few weeks. A friend who was delighted to learn that their business was on holy ground. He had to admit that fact appealed to him as well.

Looking around once more and finding that he was indeed alone, Nick grabbed his sword and headed towards the door. Something *was* wrong. He only wished he could figure out what it was.

He had barely made it more than two feet past the front door when he heard the shriek. It came from the side of the building, near where the side entrance of the club was, the closest area not residing on protected soil.

When he rounded the corner he found Lucy hunched over something on the ground. When she heard him she looked up, her face paling slightly. Nick stepped closer to get a better look.

There on the ground was Paul Stechan, Amanda's friend, with his head lying almost a yard away. There was a knife sticking out off his stiff chest, pinning an envelope to his body.

Nick wasted no time in removing the knife and tearing open the envelope. A small lock pick fell from the envelope. He recognized it almost immediately. It was Amanda's. A kind of good luck charm she hadn't had the heart to get rid of since it had saved her during a tricky job nearly a decade before. He had found the story amusing. He hadn't figured her for the sentimental type. Shaking his thoughts away, Nick picked up the pick and looked at the paper still in his hands. He was almost afraid to read the message, but he knew that a delay could prove deadly.

"What's it say?" Lucy asked after she had regained her composure. She too, was afraid of what it would say.

Nick read the note aloud. "I want Death. You have three days to find him, or the thief dies."

Nick turned to face Lucy. "Death?"

****

"Is that all you've got old man?" Richie Ryan's voice held the faint traces of amusement as he held out his hand to help Methos to his feet.

"I was distracted." Methos replied indignantly.

And it was true. Sparing with the young immortal was more distracting that he wanted to admit. There was a time when he wouldn't have bothered. Not bothered to Spar or even have more of a passing conversation with him. Their first meeting was tense. The Kristin situation hadn't gotten them off to a very auspicious beginning. And shortly there after Macleods 'Dark Quickening' had caused Richie to flee, thereby making any kind of contact impossible as well as improbable. It hadn't been until much later when the man claiming to be Methos had shown up and swayed Richie with his words of peace that the young immortal had learned the true identity of the man he knew as Adam Pierson.

That new information had not helped Richie to trust him. Why should he? It was true he had lied to Richie and many others about his identity. Macleod's student had been irritated by the deception. At first. But shortly after he had killed Culbraith, Richie had come to see him.

The meeting was awkward at first. Neither really knowing why Richie had come, or what he hoped to accomplish by the visit. In the end it had been the younger immortal that spoke. He had wanted Methos to know he understood why he had lied and that his true identity was a secret he would keep. It was odd, but that short conversation had comforted him in a way he couldn't understand. When Richie had left he felt better than he had since first meeting the young immortal, and he was uncertain as to why.

It wasn't long after that when Kronos had reappeared and tested the friendships Methos had made. He had been unsurprised by Duncan's judgemental attitude towards some of the things in his past. However it was the lack of any judgements on Richie's part which had surprised the oldest immortal.

After he had taken Silas' head, Richie had come to see him, again. At the time, Methos believed it would be another round of 'you did what?'. He was wrong. Richie had come to tell him that while he didn't know or pretend to understand all of the things Methos had done in his long life, he didn't care. Whatever he was, whatever he had been, he still wanted to call him friend.

Richie had left before Methos could even articulate a response. He was too shocked by the understanding of one so young. The next time they met, neither commented on Richie's short visits. It was never mentioned, but there was understanding there. And so there relationship changed.

They were no longer acquaintances. Two people who had only met because of their friendship with the Highlander. They were friends. And if there was more than friendship, neither one acknowledged it, for to do so would bring up more questions neither was prepared to answer.

Methos blinked and noticed that Richie was staring at him with an odd expression on his face.

"What?" He asked, shaking his head away from his thoughts.

"You alright?" Richie asked concerned.

Methos smirked and was about to come back with a sarcastic reply when the buzz of another immortal interrupted him.

Richie's body tensed slightly as he picked up his sword from the ground where he had dropped it sometime in the middle of their sparring session.

Methos tensed slightly as the knock sounded. He moved towards the front door and lifted his own sword. Opening the door, Methos found an unidentified immortal on the other side. When he saw the sword raised he held up his hands nervously, showing that he wasn't armed, at least not visibly so.

"I'm not here to fight." The man reassured.

Methos raised an eyebrow as he stepped away from the door. "Why are you here?"

The newcomer looked past Methos to Richie, and seemed to be eyeing him carefully before turning back to Methos. "I'm looking for Adam Pierson."

Methos turned to Richie and stared questioningly at him. They were at Richie's house, and as far as he was aware no one knew he was there. How did this immortal know where to find him?

"Why?" He asked cautiously.

The man smiled. "My name is Trent Bradley." He held his hand out to shake.

Methos ignored the gesture and waited for an answer to his question.

"I think I have the wrong address." Trent apologized and started to turn away.

Richie stepped forward. "Come in." He motioned for Trent to enter and ignored the glare he knew Methos was throwing his way. "Excuse my friend… he's not used to be around people… well sane ones anyway." He smiled, knowing that Methos wasn't likely to forget that remark.

Trent looked warily at the two immortals as he stepped inside the room, and felt suddenly vulnerable when he heard the door click closed behind him.

"Why are you looking for Adam?" Richie asked curiously.

Trent looked up at Richie, trying to avoid the gaze of the other immortal. "I was told… He knows about Methos."

This statement both intrigued Richie and caused Methos to eye their visitor with a predatory eye.

"Methos? He's a myth, isn't he?" Richie asked with a raise of his eyebrows, which he hoped would lend credence to his 'I-don't-have-a-clue-what-your-talking-about' attitude.

Trent grinned widely. "That's what I thought too." He nodded his head in excitement, all worries cast aside. "But, last month, I noticed this guy was following me. I thought I was imagining it at first. I mean who would want to follow me? I'm just a computer geek. But then I went out of town on this computer expo presentation, and there he was, again. I wasn't worried… I mean who would want to stalk me? But I was curious. So I followed him." He stopped speaking as if that explained everything.

"And?" Methos asked, somewhat impatiently.

"Oh, right." Trent smiled sheepishly. "He was staying in the same hotel I was. So I snuck into his room and hacked into his laptop." He paused and turned his excited eyes from one immortal to the next. "Did you know that there are people out there who go around following us, taking pictures and writing about our lives?" he shook his head. "Of course you do. You know Adam Pierson, so you must know he's a watcher." He smacked his head slightly as if reprimanding himself for his stupidity.

Richie turned to look at his friend, a slight smile on his face. "You hacked into this guys computer?"

Trent nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. It was wild. These people know everything about us. Who were are, what we've been. Who we've killed." He said the last part a bit more quietly and Richie was struck with the realization that this guy was either very newly immortal or he had a hard time dealing with the Game.

Methos was getting irritated. So far he hadn't told them anything they didn't already know, and he didn't appear to be getting to the point anytime soon. "That doesn't explain why you're looking for Adam Pierson."

Trent looked up, surprised. He had almost forgotten there was another immortal in the room. "Yeah, well…" He trailed off, his face shutting down, and losing the excitement it had held before.

"What is it?" Richie asked, suddenly realizing that although the man had first appeared to be nothing more than a fan, there was probably something else going on.

"My teacher was killed, six months ago."

"And?" Methos asked in exasperation when Trent seemed to stop talking.

"His killer left me alive. I followed him halfway across Europe. He left a trail of corpses. Both mortal and immortal." He paused taking a deep breath. "Three months ago, I met a woman. She seemed to know the man I was following. She told me that I couldn't fight him. I knew that. I mean, I haven't been immortal for very long and while I know I could hold my own, most days. This guy was good. And probably really old." He shook his head, remembering the immortal that had killed his teacher. "She told me that he was another mistake which she would have to rectify and that I would be wise to return home and forget anything I had seen." He looked warily from Methos to Richie. "Before I left, she told me that the myth was real. Death still walked the earth." Trent ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake of the chill that he could still feel at her cryptic words.

"I didn't know what she meant, and was confident to do as she asked and return home. But a couple of weeks ago, I hacked into that database again, and found, quite by accident that she had been killed. It got me to thinking. About what she said, what she could have meant? So I did some digging, and it led me to the Methos Chronicles."

Trent looked up, his eyes excited once more. "Don't you see? He's whom she had to have been talking about. I need to find Adam Pierson. Maybe he can confirm my findings for me. Or at the very least tell me I'm crazy, and I can go home and pretend this past six months was all some strange dream."

Methos grabbed his sword and walked outside before anything further could be said.

"What's with him?" Trent asked, as the door was slammed shut. "Was it something I said?"

*****

Joe Dawson paused momentarily before pushing the gate up. He didn't know what he was going to say. How was he supposed to tell his best friend that one of his oldest and dearest friends might be dead?

This wasn't supposed to happen. They had lost so many friends in the past few years. And had come so close to losing others. And now this. What would he say? How would he explain? Could he explain?

"Joe?" Duncan Macleod stood up and looked at his friend as he entered his apartment above the dojo. There was something about the watcher's expression, which made him nervous. It was the same look he wore when he had to tell him one of his old friends had lost a challenge.

"Mac." Joe stepped further into the room. "I have some bad news."

Duncan closed his eyes, bracing himself. "Who?"

"Amanda." Joe spoke with great sadness. "But it isn't what you think. At least not yet."

Duncan looked up sharply. "She's not dead?"

Joe shook his head. "No. She was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Duncan turned around, his mind trying to figure out why someone would kidnap one of his oldest friends.

"Who? Why?" Duncan sat down on his couch, needing something stable underneath him before he heard anymore.

"I don't know. Whoever it was… they killed Raleigh Simone'."

Duncan looked at Joe in confusion. "The sculptor?"

Joe nodded, "Yeah. He was staying with Amanda and Nick in Paris. Whoever did this killed Simone' and kidnapped Amanda, leaving a note pinned to Simone's headless body."

"So, then, it's one of us." Duncan stated. "What do they want?"

It was Joe's turn to be confused. "What?" He had lost track of the conversation, his mind trying to figure out what had happened to Amanda and why.

"You said there was a note. What did it say?" Duncan asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know. Nick didn't want to discuss it over the phone. He should be here in the morning." Joe turned around, not really wanting to say anything further, but knowing he should. "I'm on my way over to Richie's now."

Duncan nodded. "Thank you." He knew Richie would want to be told but he didn't think he could handle telling him himself.

Joe nodded and let himself back into the elevator.

Duncan watched his friend leave and tried to figure out why someone had taken Amanda. What possible reason could an immortal have for kidnapping her instead of just taking her head? He shuddered at the idea of Amanda dying.

******

Methos sat in a bench in the cemetery staring unseeingly at a perfect row of tombstones. He had walked around for hours after living Richie's. He didn't know exactly how many hours, or exactly how he had gotten to the cemetery, but somehow he always ended up here. Why should this time be any different?

There was something about the story the young immortal had told them that was nagging him. Some piece of information that wanted to reach out to him, to explain this odd feeling he was having. Unfortunately, despite his ours of solitude, nothing had come to him.

So instead, he sat, staring out at the leveled grass and stone markers of people who had come and gone from this world, while he lived on. How many people had he seen die in his time walking the Earth? How many had he killed? How many had he saved? He didn't know. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

In the back of his mind, he recognized the approach of another of his kind, but didn't move. He knew who it was and was somehow not surprised to feel their presence. Unlike anyone else who could have stumbled across him here, he *welcomed* this presence, for reasons he didn't know, and wasn't ready to think too hard about.

"Hey. I thought I'd find you here." Richie smiled as he sat down on the bench next to Methos. "You know most people come here to visit, or mourn," His lips quirked slightly, "Or plot someone's death." He turned to grin at Methos. "You're not planning on killing anybody are you? I'd hate to be caught without an alibi."

Methos smirked. "Not today, but I'll let you know."

The two immortal's sat in silence for several minutes; each lost in their own thoughts. It was Richie who finally spoke.

"Joe came by."

Methos looked up, waiting for the rest. It wasn't that the statement was odd, or that it was unusual for the watcher to come by and say hello, but the way in which Richie spoke told Methos that there was something going on. Most likely something that wasn't good.

Before Richie could elaborate further, both immortals's felt the presence of another. They looked around, trying to place where it was coming from. But the sun had long since set, and their surrounding darkness was making it difficult.

They stood up warily, each reaching for their swords. Despite being on holy ground, they knew that it was always wise to be careful. Richie heard footsteps on the cement to his right, and turned to look. The sound stopped as the newcomer stepped onto the wet grass.

"Is that any way to treat a tourist. I don't think I've been to this part of Seacouver before." The words were friendly, but the voice sound tired, and rough with sadness.

"Nick?" Richie asked as he walked towards the voice, the owner of which had just stepped out of the darkness.

"Richard." Nick smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes.

Richie came forward and wrapped his arms around Nick in a comforting hug. "I heard about Amanda. Are you alright?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders. "Not really, but I will be."

Anything further he was going to say was halted by the sound on Methos coming up behind Richie. He eyed Nick carefully.

Richie stepped back to introduce the two immortals. "Nick Wolfe, meet Adam Pierson. Adam, this is Nick Wolfe. I told you about him."

Nick and Methos took stock of one another, eyeing each other carefully, trying to reconcile what Richie had told each about there other with who they saw standing before them. After nearly a minute, Methos held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Nick nodded and shook Methos' hand before turning back to Richie.

"Joe said you wouldn't be here until tomorrow." Richie commented as the three men started walking away from the cemetery and the safety of Holy ground.

"I lied." He snorted to himself at the words. There was a time when he wouldn't have thought it necessary, or possible that he would lie to someone he called a friend, and certainly not as easily as he had.

Richie nodded in understanding. "You don't know who to trust."

Methos slowed his pace a bit while Nick and Richie continued to talk quietly. He wasn't sure what was going on exactly. He knew that Nick was involved with Amanda, and guessing from Nick's attitude and the things he said, something had happened to Amanda. Although common since said that she was still alive. They seemed to be more confused than angry, as he knew they would be if she had lost her head.

There was something else bothering him, but he wasn't sure what. Something, which he knew he should recognize, but just, couldn't. Picking up his pace, the oldest immortal caught up with the two other men, hoping he could figure out what he was supposed to know before someone lost their head.

*****

Amanda paced the stone floor in a show of extreme irritation. Three days. Three days she had been held in this less than comfortable prison. There was no way out. She had checked. She didn't know who had kidnapped her, or why. Only that it was another immortal, and that they had only been within sensing distance on three occasions since her incarceration.

They hadn't come to talk to her, and she had no clue as to what they wanted with her. An annoying mortal with greasy hair and a bad complexion had come to bring her food and ask her a bunch of useless questions.

She ate the food, but ignored the questions.

And now, she was losing her patience. She had been stripped of all her belongs, save the clothes on her back, including her sword. That made her nervous. Although her greasy-haired friend assured her they were on holy ground. It did little to assure her.

She wasn't even sure if anyone knew she was missing. She had been out of town, doing a one-person job for Bert Myers, and had finished a few days early. She had planned on spending a few days shopping in the famed malls of Beverly Hills, and pampering herself before returning to Europe.

This was *not* what she had in mind.

Amanda scowled to herself as she continued to pace.

*****


Richie grabbed two beers out of his refrigerator and brought them out to the living room. He didn't even find it odd that he kept his apartment well stocked with the Old Man's beverage of choice. It seemed completely natural. If he had stopped to analyze it, he may have realized why it seemed natural, but since he didn't, he remained blissfully ignorant.
"Here." Richie tossed the cold beer at Methos, who barely acknowledged his presence as he caught the cold bottle and popped the top.

Richie sat down next to Methos and sipped his own beer in silence. The Old Man was staring at some distant point only he could see. After several minutes, Methos turned his gaze to the young immortal, studying him intently, not sure what it was he wanted to say. Finally he sighed and said nothing.

"What?" Richie asked with a puzzled look on his face.

Methos raised in eyebrow in silent question.

Richie grinned. "I know that look. Something's on that moldy mind of yours."

Methos chuckled and shook his head slightly. It surprised him how well the immortal could read him. It was almost frightening, except that it wasn't. "That kid, today."

Richie nodded. "Trent."

"What happened after I left?"

Richie shrugged. "Nothing really. I told him that I didn't know how to find Adam Pierson."

Methos raised an eyebrow at that. "Why?"

Richie frowned at the question. Truthfully he wasn't sure why. He opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head. He couldn't quite name the reason for his reluctance to tell the young immortal anything.

"You don't trust him." It was a statement, not a question.

Richie looked up, surprised at the ease with which Methos seemed to be able to read him, even when he wasn't sure what there was to read. "Not exactly. I don't *not* trust him."

"But?" Methos asked with a raised eyebrow as he took a swallow of beer.

Richie watched the muscles in the older man's throat move as he swallowed the liquid. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the answer to the question. "There's something… off about this situation." Richie stood up and began to pace around the room, taking his own beer with him.

"Who was his teacher, and why was he killed? Was it just a random attack? Another challenge in the Game, or was there more to it?" He spun around to face Methos, who was staring at him with an odd expression on his face.

"And why wasn't he killed? I mean this guy is young. Younger than me. He had to be an easy mark."

Methos stared at the younger immortal as he thought about the questions. He couldn't come up with any answers, but he had to admit that his attention was somewhat divided at the moment. He watched Richie walk around the room, trying to figure things out for himself. Every once in awhile he would take a swig of the beer in his hand. Methos found himself staring at the way Richie's jeans seemed to mold themselves to his body. The way his shirt fit snugly around his shoulders and chest. His eyes trailed up his legs, to his chest, and finally rested on his face, their eyes locking.

For a moment, their entire conversation was forgotten. Neither could remember what they were talking about or why it had seemed important. Time seemed to stop as Richie turned to face the older immortal fully.

Methos was still sitting on the couch, but his gaze hadn't left Richie's as the younger immortal moved forward, ever so slowly. Just as Richie had reached the couch, the shrill ringing of the telephone broke the trance.

Richie's head snapped around, as he was brought back to reality. He walked across the living room to grab the phone, which was still sitting on the kitchen counter from when he had call Joe earlier.

"Hello?"

"Richie? Richie Ryan?" an unfamiliar voice asked into the line.

"Yes?" Richie asked with a frown as he turned around to face Methos. He shrugged when the oldest immortal raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You don't know me. My name is Harmon. Bradley Harmon. A friend of mine gave me this number. He told me that if anything happened, I should call you."

Richie frowned. He didn't recognize the name. "Something has happened to… your friend?"

There was a pause, and for a moment Richie thought the man had hung up. "Hello?"

"Sorry." Bradley's voice was quiet, broken almost. "He's dead."

****

Nick lay in the bed in Richie's spare bedroom thinking about his trip to Seacouver, and why he had come. He knew Amanda was still alive. He didn't know how he knew exactly. It was just a hunch, but one he believed in whole-heartedly. Feeling confident that she was alive, caused the former cop to think about the reason's why she was kidnapped.

The note had asked for Death. It referred to Death as a person, and although he hadn't fully discussed the matter with Richie, he believed that there was more to Amanda's kidnapping than he understood.

Climbing off of the bed, Nick made his way towards the window. He looked out over the city and wondered how far Amanda's kidnapper was willing to go to find the person they sought. How many people were they willing to kill? How many immortals? How many mortals?

At the back of his mind, he thought about what a trip to the States meant. Seeing Joe again would be nice, however the former detective wasn't certain how he felt about finally meeting the famous Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod.

When Richie had come to Paris, they had become, close. It was during that time that he had come to terms with his immortality. It was Richie who had made him see that Amanda had done what she felt she had to.

Richie had helped him to understand that he couldn't change what had happened, and that short of cutting off his own head, there was nothing he could do about what he had become, what his life had become. He had never been a quitter, and becoming immortal wouldn't alter that.

It was also during this time that he had heard about Duncan Macleod. About Duncan in general, and specifically about the centuries-old immortal's relationships with both Richie and Amanda. About the history Amanda had had with the Scot, and about the sometimes-tenuous relationship Richie shared with him.

There was much he didn't understand, and even more he didn't want to understand. But one thing was clear, meeting Duncan Macleod would be an interesting experience. Although he wasn't entirely sure if it was a good one or not.

Shaking his head from his inner thoughts, Nick turned towards the sounds coming from the living room. Richie's voice reverberated through the apartment as he asked rhetorical questions trying to find the answers to some question Nick didn't know.

Nick listened as Richie spoke to his friend, Adam. He waited for the other immortal to respond to what Richie had said. Suddenly the apartment was filled with silence. It seemed to go on for minutes and the former cop was struck with the realization that maybe his presence in the apartment was interrupting something, although he wasn't entirely sure what.

Before he could analyze that thought any further, the telephone rang and Nick moved back towards the bed. He was tired, and knew that he had a long week ahead of him.

****

Zachary Traiste' hung up the telephone with a smile. He still was no closer to finding his teacher, but it wouldn't be long. He could feel it. Soon, his ransom would be met, and the Creator would return, to learn from the Pupil.

The anticipation of that reunion both terrified him and thrilled him. It had been so long since they had been together. So long since he had had a worthy opponent. So long since his teacher had been someone worthy to go up against.

But, the time was right. He was sure of that, now more than ever. He was close to fulfilling his destiny. There were only four left. Four more immortals who had learned from the myth, just as he had. Four more for him to find, and kill, before he could take the final prize. The teacher himself.

Yes, soon, his destiny would be at hand.

****

End Part 4