Note: This story takes place immediately after "Dead on Arrival" when Nick has left Amanda after he learns he's an Immortal.

Going Home
by Maril Swan

I stood, paralysed by his words, by my actions, as he staggered away from me like a wounded soldier leaving the battlefield, …leaving me alone in no-man's-land. As his footfalls died away, I waited, waited until all sense of his Presence was gone, fearing to meet him again, to see the hate and reproach in his eyes.

What have I done? I asked myself, as I slowly walked back to my car. Did I have a real choice? Did he? What choice would he have made if he had known he was pre-immortal?

I sat in the car for a long time, leaning my head against the steering wheel, trying to muster the strength to turn on the ignition.

Why had I waited so long? Why did I let Nick suffer all that anguish? Was I hoping for a miracle? What right did I have to take Nick's life into my own hands?

I went over and over in my mind all the steps that led us here, to this warehouse where Peyton had set me up for an ambush. His Quickening was loathsome and exhilarating. I still felt myself trembling slightly from it. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly after the Quickening. Maybe there was something of Peyton's vileness inhabiting my mind while I watched Nick dying slowly. Was this Peyton's final revenge on me – forcing me to do something so wrong and yet so inevitable?

From the moment I met Nick, I knew what he was, would become eventually. I never thought it would be me who brought about his transformation. I expected he would die in the line of duty, as his partner had.

Knowing what his future held, I felt a strong attraction to Nick, and a responsibility to be there when he found out about himself. I was afraid of his reaction to it. I knew he hated my Immortal side, was repelled by the necessity of defending myself against other Immortals. The beheadings revolted him.

But mostly, he was sickened by the thought of the Quickening. I recalled his reaction to seeing me receiving a Quickening. He was shaken, his face showed disgust. It was as if he had watched the face of a serial killer enjoying the evil pleasure of killing a helpless victim. The power, the pain and the ecstasy of the Quickening. He had watched it in horror. It had changed his feeling toward me and nothing I have done since has retrieved his love. Especially today.

Pull yourself together, Amanda, I told myself sternly. I knew what I had to do and there was no point in putting it off. I drove back to Sanctuary and went into the coolness of the main lounge. Going into my office, I picked up the phone, hesitating over the necessity of making this call.

I punched in the familiar numbers and waited, scarcely breathing as the warm, gruff voice on the other end said, "Joe's..."

I cleared my throat, trying to strengthen my voice which seemed to have faded into a hoarse whisper. "Joe?" My throat closed, imagining Joe Dawson, so near on the phone and yet so far away. I needed his help desperately, but couldn't seem to get out the words. My voice sounded harsh, raspy even to my ears.

"Amanda? Is that you? Something wrong?" Joe sounded anxious, and added, "Is it MacLeod?"

"No, Joe. It's Nick. He's dead." There was silence for several seconds as I could hear a sharp intake of breath, then I said, "I killed him."

Joe seemed to be at a loss, and I continued. "I need you to do something right away, Joe. Put a Watcher on him."

If Joe had been too shocked to speak before, he regained his equilibrium very quickly on hearing this revelation. "Amanda!..." Joe's voice expressed disbelief and an element of reproach. I couldn't blame him. I had been reproaching myself for what seemed like centuries, though it had only been a few hours.

"He was dying of a slow-acting poison, Joe. I couldn't let him die, could I?"

Was I expecting Joe to exonerate me? He didn't.

"I know you as well as anyone could, Amanda. You've done some damned crazy things, but this..." his voice trailed off, as he seemed to be trying to get control of his emotions, then he added, with a resigned sigh, "I'll get on it right away. Where is he now?"

"I don't know. Here is his address. And, Joe, will you keep me posted on how he is? If anything happens to him..." I couldn't finish.

"He'll be OK, Amanda. He's a pretty tough customer from what I've seen." His tone changed to the warmth I always loved about Joe. He protected his friends. "What about you? Are you OK?"

All I could answer was, "Yeah, I'm fine." Then I hung up, trying hard not to give in to the storm that was threatening break inside. There was more yet to do before I could let go.

The drive had been arduous and I was tired. My eyes felt dry, sore. But I reached my destination late in the day, as the sun was setting behind the rocky hills.

On a tor, I saw the lone figure silhouetted against the red sky, and started up the narrow path toward it. He turned as I approached and waited, as he had for centuries.

As I walked into that warm embrace, I thought, whatever comes tomorrow, for now ...I am home.

END

©Going Home - Maril Swan - May 2001

Feedback - yes, please - Maril Swan