When Day Breaks, Part 3
"Nick, I told you, I'm all right!" Natalie sat on Nick's couch, bundled up in several layers of warm clothes that she was sure hadn't been out of the closet since he bought them. Her hands and feet were immersed in cold water, and she was beginning to regain feeling in them at what she knew was a vastly accelerated rate. She couldn't decide if she was more annoyed at not knowing what on earth was going on, or thankful that the burning pain would only last a little while longer. She decided to be thankful for the moment. She'd have plenty of time to be annoyed on that subject later, when she wasn't gritting her teeth in pain anymore. Besides, she had her hands full for now, just trying to beat Nick out of this ultra-protective stage he was wallowing in. "Will you stop babying me? And while you're pacing, hand me those towels there on your left."
"But Nat, this just doesn't make sense! You should have died!" It was hard for her to tell, but he seemed almost... well, more afraid than confused. But that was to be expected, she supposed. He'd had a tremendous scare today. He's more than due a case of the jitters.
As was she, actually. But even the thought of trying to cope with it all made her instantly backpedal and slam the mental door shut with a crash. She wrapped the blanket more tightly against her, and let her breath out nice and slow. There was no way she could look at that. Not right now. She'd have plenty of time to relive things later. For the moment, there was still a puzzle to be solved.
She looked back up at Nick. "You're absolutely sure you didn't bring me across?" With the information she had, it was the only solution. The only problem being that she could only hear normally, could only see normally, and was getting a craving for some steak right about now. She almost smiled to herself. That's right, Nat. Dumb jokes and cold logic. Did wonders for keeping the mind occupied and out of trouble, when there were things you'd rather not think about.
Nick cast her an annoyed glance. "It's not exactly something you can do accidentally." And she had to believe him, if only because he never got that sarcastic unless he was really upset about something. And he did look honestly worried. "I promise you, whatever this is, it's none of my doing."
Nat sank back into the sofa and chewed her nail absently as she stared at the floor, cursing her situation silently. Why couldn't Nick have been a good little vampire and brought her across? Not the most ideal situation, to say the least, but it would at least have explained things in a nice and orderly fashion. Now, she didn't have the faintest idea what had happened; she knew what the extent of her injuries were, that was the first thing she'd asked him, once they were out of there and she was getting warm again. She shouldn't have lasted an hour, with wounds like those. But now, never mind being alive, you wouldn't even know that she had even stopped for a flat tire on her way home. She placed a hand protectively across her stomach. No pain, no wounds, no nothing.
To her horror, she found tears streaming down her face. There was nothing she could do anymore, it was too hard, and too much, to keep in. So she let it all come out, all the memories, the pain, the tension, the fear, the confusion, and the relief, it all came crashing down, all at once, and she sobbed. Nick sat down, put his arms around her, and didn't say a thing. There would be time for comforting words, for setting things back in order, tomorrow. Right now, she just needed to cry.
***
Much later.
"I guess I just thought I might finally have the world in order, everything back in place. And now I get stuck with this." Natalie took the glass of orange juice offered, and paused a moment to stare at her hand, now barely peeling from frostbite, and no longer in any sort of pain. Then she looked back at Nick. "I'm not you, and I'm not what I used to be. But what else is there? What have I forgotten? What's the missing piece I have left to find?" Fear and tension had finally been washed away, and left her with an acceptance, of sorts. She was what she was, whatever that may be. And whatever may happen, she could deal with things as they came. No need to give her imagination a head start on the matter. But that didn't leave her without some hefty frustration at the world in general, for making itself even more strange, just for spite's sake.
Nick hesitated a moment before answering her. He looked more worried now than ever. What could he possibly have to be worried about? "Nick, is there something you're not telling me?" He shot a glance at her, and his expression darkened even more. "Nick? Tell me."
Unwillingly, he spoke. "I think... I might have an idea as to what it might be." Natalie opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to the punch. "I need to make a phone call." He launched himself off the couch and headed for the phone on the table, but she grabbed his arm as he passed by. "What is it, Nick?"
He snapped, "Nat, I don't know!" He put his hand on top of hers, and resumed in calmer tones, "I need to be sure about this before I can tell you anything. You have to trust me on this one." But his fear was beginning to feed her own again, and that she almost couldn't forgive him for. She closed her eyes and told herself that he wouldn't put her through this unless he thought it was absolutely necessary.
She consciously let go of his arm, and smiled faintly. "You know how much I hate hanging on a limb, Nick."
He mirrored her smile and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "I know. I'll make it as short as possible, I promise."
"You'd better."
****
Over the next two months, Natalie searched on her own. It wasn't that she didn't trust Nick. It was just... she couldn't just sit there on her hands and wait for him to tell her what she needed to know. Even if she didn't learn anything, it would do her good just to be doing something... anything... other than waiting. So she did multiple tests on herself, even simpler than the ones she did on Nick. He at least knew what he was, and had had eight hundred years experience with what he could and couldn't do. She had no idea where to even begin to find out things about herself. So she started with what she knew. Wounds and frostbite healed. Nick would come in to the morgue from time to time to see her make another tiny incision on her arm, and record the results. It seemed that it didn't matter where she made the mark, how deep, or how long. The greater the wound, the longer it took to heal, if you could call a matter of minutes "long."
But after a time, she finally exhausted the basics in that area, and next tried diseases, harmless ones, the flu and a few colds. They had absolutely no effect. Over time, she advanced to more and more adventurous diseases, until finally she was dabbling in deadly things. It was then that she collapsed, for the first time since starting it all. She was home at the time, fortunately, so no one saw her. When she woke, she checked the readings on the machines she had on extended loan from Dave, an old friend who worked in ER.
Normal, normal... then a spike, and everything flatlined, even the brainwave monitors, all of it... until it popped back up to normal, where it stayed.
As if nothing had ever happened.
***
And in two months' time, Natalie was walking out to her car from work. She'd managed to convince herself that the new model with the fast-heating system was purely practical, saves gas and all that. Someday she might even convince herself that that was the real reason she bought it.
Just as she was turning the outer lock, a very strange sensation came over her. The hairs on the back of her neck raised, just slightly, and she whipped around, mace in hand.
"Wait! I give up!" A man approached her with his arms raised, a relaxed smile on his face. "I suppose this means you don't remember me?" He was handsome, early to mid-thirties, by her guess, with a disarming British accent. His smile faded at her blank look. "Ah well, that's all right. I don't have much of a memorable face. We met about two years ago, over that nasty beheading business..." He rubbed the side of his nose absently as his face grimaced slightly in embarrassment.
A name forged its way out of Natalie's memory to fit the face, and she smiled. "Adam Pierson. Yes, I remember you. How are you?"
"Very well, very well indeed." He paused, and regarded her contemplatively for a moment. "But I rather think the real question is, how are *you*?"
Cautiously, she kept her smile in place while she tried to figure out what exactly he was doing here, now, asking her these questions. "I'm fine."
"Are you? Are you really?" He continued to watch her closely, as if he were looking for something.
Natalie smiled wryly. "Was that not the answer you were looking for?"
As suddenly as it appeared, the intensity vanished, and he smiled amiably. "You could say that. Tell me, Natalie, when were you born?"
All right. She would answer this one last question, then he either had to get somewhere with this, or she would politely duck into her car and drive away. "1960."
He actually had the grace to look surprised. Then he melted into a kindly expression, like that of a man to his favorite grandchild. "Awfully young, aren't you? Have you met any more like us?"
Now *that* was an interesting question. "Like us?" she repeated.
Adam didn't seem to consider the question odd at all, but resumed in a businesslike tone, "Yes, like you and I. Have you ever had the sensation you felt when I came near before?"
How on earth had he known that? "No, never." But, she reasoned, if he knew that, he might know other things. And she had had little progress so far in ascertaining what she was. She couldn't let an opportunity like this slip away so quickly. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me about it?"
Adam's face had transformed again. Now he looked sad, and strangely enough, profoundly resigned. "Yes, I suppose I'll have to, won't I?"
Suddenly no longer sure she wanted to hear this news, Natalie led him to her car.
***
While the two were driving, Adam asked Natalie about her past, seemingly insignificant things: who her parents were, how often she got broken bones, etc., etc. By the time they had reached her apartment, she was starting to get sick of all the pussyfooting around.
"Look, Adam, I don't know what you think you can tell me, but I do know some things about myself. I know that nonfatal things, like a bad cut, or a nasty disease either heal practically instantly, or don't affect me at all. Fatal things *appear* to kill me, but I always seem to wake up. Is there anything more that you can tell me?"
Her outburst had no outward effect, as he continued to regard her with a wistful expression. "Yes," he replied simply. But before he continued, his features smoothed, like those of a man about to confess. "I suppose I ought to start by saying that there are more of us. Immortals, I mean. Many more."
Natalie put aside the rather alarming use of the word 'immortal'. He couldn't know the uncomfortable parallels it raised in her mind. "There are others..." she sat, intrigued. "I suppose I just never thought there would be more than one."
"You think you're unique in the world?" Adam's eyebrows lifted speculatively, and a corner of Natalie's mouth quirked against her will.
"Well, you have to admit, the odds that there are more of... us," she admitted with a nod toward him, "is close enough to zero anyway..."
He nodded, and continued. "No, there are more. Some will be your friends, your best friends. And some will try to kill you."
And so the other shoe dropped. Natalie sighed. There had to be a catch in there somewhere. There always was.
Adam stared at the floor hesitantly a moment, then his earnest gaze returned to her, decision made. He even smiled a little as he began, "Let me tell you a story, Natalie, about a man, a very long time ago, who went by the name of Methos..."
Of course, there were parts of the story Adam (Methos) didn't tell her. This is one.
***
The Shires of England, 1456
Nick landed softly on the new spring grass outside of town, just out of sight of the taverns and lodges. Dawn was near, very near, and it was past time for him to seek shelter. He didn't feel weary at all, but he knew he would be able to sleep from dawn to dusk, if he tried. He smiled at his own exuberance. It was both exhilarating and exhausting, to finally be on his own. Though he suspected Lacroix was not far; it had taken quite some convincing on his part that he was ready to see the world on his own terms. He didn't think he actually persuaded Lacroix at all, but that he finally conceded simply to get Nick out of his hair for a while. Which was perfectly all right... he got his way in the end. A fairly rare occurrence, he was learning, where Lacroix was concerned.
All of this ran through his mind as he approached the first lodge. He knocked politely, and when no answer was forthcoming, he stepped inside. It was a large stone room, many tables and chairs strewn about, with a center stove from which a pleasant warmth emanated. Next to the stove sat a small, squat woman efficiently kneading the day's bread. She glanced up momentarily at his entrance, then went back to her kneading. "Meal'll be ready in an hour."
Nick smiled. "I'm not here for breakfast. Do you have any rooms open?"
Not wanting food, she seemed to find no need to waste any more effort on him, and didn't even look up as she replied, "Booked up last night, and they're all still abed."
Frowning, Nick inquired, "Isn't that a little unusual, to be full this time of year?" Springtime, while affording him spectacular views and favorable winds, left the roads between towns treacherous with mud.
For some reason, that question at least seemed to regain her interest in him. She paused in her work to stare up at him. "This is the week of the town's spring festival. It's been planned for months. All the taverns are full." Her brow furrowed as she tried to get a better look at him, honestly confused. "Why else would you be here?"
No taverns. No shelter. With mere minutes to spare till dawn, he worked to keep from panicking. There was a solution to this problem. He merely had to find it. As his mind fought madly for another plan, he muttered offhandedly, "I'm just passing through."
The woman nodded. Her life, at least, having resumed its order, she went calmly back to kneading her bread, "Well, why don't you go on to Devonshire, three miles south." She pointed. "They had rooms open yesterday, so I hear. You should have no trouble."
"Here, even the stables are packed." She shook her head in astonishment, then smiled with pride. "It will be a good festival. You should stay to come and join us."
Three miles was a mere eyeblink of time by air. It was an eyeblink he didn't have. Eyes wide, he still tried to grasp the enormity of his mistake. "No room at all?"
"None." He had a problem. To even dig himself a hole would take time, too much time...
... for dawn touched the land, and his time ran out.
He bolted out of the tavern, mercifully facing west, not east, and came up short at the sharp shadows of light and dark that the buildings made against the land. Fortunately, with dawn just breaking, they were still very long, and he was able to make it to the far side of the street quickly. He slipped behind the nearest house, now at least out of sight of the main road through town.
But what to do now? He could either enter a building, or dig himself a hole in the dirt. Digging was fairly out of the question, so close to civilization, and curious dogs. Which left entering a building. House or lodge? Lodges had more people, which meant it would be harder to keep himself out of sight, out of light, for the whole day without being noticed. Houses had less people, more room, but more of a likelihood that they would be noticed if they were suddenly forced to go "missing."
Nick eyed the rapidly shortening shadows, and made his decision. It would be a house, and it would have to be now. He chose one close to him, and managed to get behind it fairly quickly, racing across the lighted spaces between houses and pausing each time to wait a moment for the burns to heal. And just as he was about to lay his hand on the door to sneak inside, a voice came up behind him:
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Nick spun around and snarled. Someone had been watching him! Fortunately, the fool was in shadow. Easy enough prey.
The other continued, seemingly oblivious to his danger. "You see, that's a church you were about to march into. Not the most pleasant place to spend the day, I hear."
Oblivious to the man's jabbering, Nick launched himself at him. But somehow the other was already in the process of pulling out his sword so that, though Nick was obviously faster, he was met with a leveled blade. Sinking his teeth into the other's throat meant slicing open his own, that much was obvious.
To his astonishment, his prey looked actually amused. "Jittery thing, aren't you? Finished?"
Nick's eyes flared from gold to red, as insult was added to injury. "No," he rasped, and disappeared from the other's view, to instantly grab him from behind and yank his head to the side, for best access to his jugular. It was at just that moment that he was impaled by his prey's sword.
As he sank to the ground in pain, he felt the sword touch his neck. The stranger continued conversationally, as if he'd never been interrupted, "You know, I've always said that vampires enjoy killing far too much. Get so caught up in it, they sometimes forget that their prey isn't dead yet."
Calmly, he sheathed his sword, smoothly took off the thick hooded cloak he was wearing, and offered it to Nick. And for the first time, Nick looked at his enemy's face, and saw warm eyes smiling down at him. "My name is Methos. Come with me, and we'll find you some shelter."
Some friendships are born quite strangely. This one went quite tamely, in comparison.
"Nick, I told you, I'm all right!" Natalie sat on Nick's couch, bundled up in several layers of warm clothes that she was sure hadn't been out of the closet since he bought them. Her hands and feet were immersed in cold water, and she was beginning to regain feeling in them at what she knew was a vastly accelerated rate. She couldn't decide if she was more annoyed at not knowing what on earth was going on, or thankful that the burning pain would only last a little while longer. She decided to be thankful for the moment. She'd have plenty of time to be annoyed on that subject later, when she wasn't gritting her teeth in pain anymore. Besides, she had her hands full for now, just trying to beat Nick out of this ultra-protective stage he was wallowing in. "Will you stop babying me? And while you're pacing, hand me those towels there on your left."
"But Nat, this just doesn't make sense! You should have died!" It was hard for her to tell, but he seemed almost... well, more afraid than confused. But that was to be expected, she supposed. He'd had a tremendous scare today. He's more than due a case of the jitters.
As was she, actually. But even the thought of trying to cope with it all made her instantly backpedal and slam the mental door shut with a crash. She wrapped the blanket more tightly against her, and let her breath out nice and slow. There was no way she could look at that. Not right now. She'd have plenty of time to relive things later. For the moment, there was still a puzzle to be solved.
She looked back up at Nick. "You're absolutely sure you didn't bring me across?" With the information she had, it was the only solution. The only problem being that she could only hear normally, could only see normally, and was getting a craving for some steak right about now. She almost smiled to herself. That's right, Nat. Dumb jokes and cold logic. Did wonders for keeping the mind occupied and out of trouble, when there were things you'd rather not think about.
Nick cast her an annoyed glance. "It's not exactly something you can do accidentally." And she had to believe him, if only because he never got that sarcastic unless he was really upset about something. And he did look honestly worried. "I promise you, whatever this is, it's none of my doing."
Nat sank back into the sofa and chewed her nail absently as she stared at the floor, cursing her situation silently. Why couldn't Nick have been a good little vampire and brought her across? Not the most ideal situation, to say the least, but it would at least have explained things in a nice and orderly fashion. Now, she didn't have the faintest idea what had happened; she knew what the extent of her injuries were, that was the first thing she'd asked him, once they were out of there and she was getting warm again. She shouldn't have lasted an hour, with wounds like those. But now, never mind being alive, you wouldn't even know that she had even stopped for a flat tire on her way home. She placed a hand protectively across her stomach. No pain, no wounds, no nothing.
To her horror, she found tears streaming down her face. There was nothing she could do anymore, it was too hard, and too much, to keep in. So she let it all come out, all the memories, the pain, the tension, the fear, the confusion, and the relief, it all came crashing down, all at once, and she sobbed. Nick sat down, put his arms around her, and didn't say a thing. There would be time for comforting words, for setting things back in order, tomorrow. Right now, she just needed to cry.
***
Much later.
"I guess I just thought I might finally have the world in order, everything back in place. And now I get stuck with this." Natalie took the glass of orange juice offered, and paused a moment to stare at her hand, now barely peeling from frostbite, and no longer in any sort of pain. Then she looked back at Nick. "I'm not you, and I'm not what I used to be. But what else is there? What have I forgotten? What's the missing piece I have left to find?" Fear and tension had finally been washed away, and left her with an acceptance, of sorts. She was what she was, whatever that may be. And whatever may happen, she could deal with things as they came. No need to give her imagination a head start on the matter. But that didn't leave her without some hefty frustration at the world in general, for making itself even more strange, just for spite's sake.
Nick hesitated a moment before answering her. He looked more worried now than ever. What could he possibly have to be worried about? "Nick, is there something you're not telling me?" He shot a glance at her, and his expression darkened even more. "Nick? Tell me."
Unwillingly, he spoke. "I think... I might have an idea as to what it might be." Natalie opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to the punch. "I need to make a phone call." He launched himself off the couch and headed for the phone on the table, but she grabbed his arm as he passed by. "What is it, Nick?"
He snapped, "Nat, I don't know!" He put his hand on top of hers, and resumed in calmer tones, "I need to be sure about this before I can tell you anything. You have to trust me on this one." But his fear was beginning to feed her own again, and that she almost couldn't forgive him for. She closed her eyes and told herself that he wouldn't put her through this unless he thought it was absolutely necessary.
She consciously let go of his arm, and smiled faintly. "You know how much I hate hanging on a limb, Nick."
He mirrored her smile and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. "I know. I'll make it as short as possible, I promise."
"You'd better."
****
Over the next two months, Natalie searched on her own. It wasn't that she didn't trust Nick. It was just... she couldn't just sit there on her hands and wait for him to tell her what she needed to know. Even if she didn't learn anything, it would do her good just to be doing something... anything... other than waiting. So she did multiple tests on herself, even simpler than the ones she did on Nick. He at least knew what he was, and had had eight hundred years experience with what he could and couldn't do. She had no idea where to even begin to find out things about herself. So she started with what she knew. Wounds and frostbite healed. Nick would come in to the morgue from time to time to see her make another tiny incision on her arm, and record the results. It seemed that it didn't matter where she made the mark, how deep, or how long. The greater the wound, the longer it took to heal, if you could call a matter of minutes "long."
But after a time, she finally exhausted the basics in that area, and next tried diseases, harmless ones, the flu and a few colds. They had absolutely no effect. Over time, she advanced to more and more adventurous diseases, until finally she was dabbling in deadly things. It was then that she collapsed, for the first time since starting it all. She was home at the time, fortunately, so no one saw her. When she woke, she checked the readings on the machines she had on extended loan from Dave, an old friend who worked in ER.
Normal, normal... then a spike, and everything flatlined, even the brainwave monitors, all of it... until it popped back up to normal, where it stayed.
As if nothing had ever happened.
***
And in two months' time, Natalie was walking out to her car from work. She'd managed to convince herself that the new model with the fast-heating system was purely practical, saves gas and all that. Someday she might even convince herself that that was the real reason she bought it.
Just as she was turning the outer lock, a very strange sensation came over her. The hairs on the back of her neck raised, just slightly, and she whipped around, mace in hand.
"Wait! I give up!" A man approached her with his arms raised, a relaxed smile on his face. "I suppose this means you don't remember me?" He was handsome, early to mid-thirties, by her guess, with a disarming British accent. His smile faded at her blank look. "Ah well, that's all right. I don't have much of a memorable face. We met about two years ago, over that nasty beheading business..." He rubbed the side of his nose absently as his face grimaced slightly in embarrassment.
A name forged its way out of Natalie's memory to fit the face, and she smiled. "Adam Pierson. Yes, I remember you. How are you?"
"Very well, very well indeed." He paused, and regarded her contemplatively for a moment. "But I rather think the real question is, how are *you*?"
Cautiously, she kept her smile in place while she tried to figure out what exactly he was doing here, now, asking her these questions. "I'm fine."
"Are you? Are you really?" He continued to watch her closely, as if he were looking for something.
Natalie smiled wryly. "Was that not the answer you were looking for?"
As suddenly as it appeared, the intensity vanished, and he smiled amiably. "You could say that. Tell me, Natalie, when were you born?"
All right. She would answer this one last question, then he either had to get somewhere with this, or she would politely duck into her car and drive away. "1960."
He actually had the grace to look surprised. Then he melted into a kindly expression, like that of a man to his favorite grandchild. "Awfully young, aren't you? Have you met any more like us?"
Now *that* was an interesting question. "Like us?" she repeated.
Adam didn't seem to consider the question odd at all, but resumed in a businesslike tone, "Yes, like you and I. Have you ever had the sensation you felt when I came near before?"
How on earth had he known that? "No, never." But, she reasoned, if he knew that, he might know other things. And she had had little progress so far in ascertaining what she was. She couldn't let an opportunity like this slip away so quickly. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me about it?"
Adam's face had transformed again. Now he looked sad, and strangely enough, profoundly resigned. "Yes, I suppose I'll have to, won't I?"
Suddenly no longer sure she wanted to hear this news, Natalie led him to her car.
***
While the two were driving, Adam asked Natalie about her past, seemingly insignificant things: who her parents were, how often she got broken bones, etc., etc. By the time they had reached her apartment, she was starting to get sick of all the pussyfooting around.
"Look, Adam, I don't know what you think you can tell me, but I do know some things about myself. I know that nonfatal things, like a bad cut, or a nasty disease either heal practically instantly, or don't affect me at all. Fatal things *appear* to kill me, but I always seem to wake up. Is there anything more that you can tell me?"
Her outburst had no outward effect, as he continued to regard her with a wistful expression. "Yes," he replied simply. But before he continued, his features smoothed, like those of a man about to confess. "I suppose I ought to start by saying that there are more of us. Immortals, I mean. Many more."
Natalie put aside the rather alarming use of the word 'immortal'. He couldn't know the uncomfortable parallels it raised in her mind. "There are others..." she sat, intrigued. "I suppose I just never thought there would be more than one."
"You think you're unique in the world?" Adam's eyebrows lifted speculatively, and a corner of Natalie's mouth quirked against her will.
"Well, you have to admit, the odds that there are more of... us," she admitted with a nod toward him, "is close enough to zero anyway..."
He nodded, and continued. "No, there are more. Some will be your friends, your best friends. And some will try to kill you."
And so the other shoe dropped. Natalie sighed. There had to be a catch in there somewhere. There always was.
Adam stared at the floor hesitantly a moment, then his earnest gaze returned to her, decision made. He even smiled a little as he began, "Let me tell you a story, Natalie, about a man, a very long time ago, who went by the name of Methos..."
Of course, there were parts of the story Adam (Methos) didn't tell her. This is one.
***
The Shires of England, 1456
Nick landed softly on the new spring grass outside of town, just out of sight of the taverns and lodges. Dawn was near, very near, and it was past time for him to seek shelter. He didn't feel weary at all, but he knew he would be able to sleep from dawn to dusk, if he tried. He smiled at his own exuberance. It was both exhilarating and exhausting, to finally be on his own. Though he suspected Lacroix was not far; it had taken quite some convincing on his part that he was ready to see the world on his own terms. He didn't think he actually persuaded Lacroix at all, but that he finally conceded simply to get Nick out of his hair for a while. Which was perfectly all right... he got his way in the end. A fairly rare occurrence, he was learning, where Lacroix was concerned.
All of this ran through his mind as he approached the first lodge. He knocked politely, and when no answer was forthcoming, he stepped inside. It was a large stone room, many tables and chairs strewn about, with a center stove from which a pleasant warmth emanated. Next to the stove sat a small, squat woman efficiently kneading the day's bread. She glanced up momentarily at his entrance, then went back to her kneading. "Meal'll be ready in an hour."
Nick smiled. "I'm not here for breakfast. Do you have any rooms open?"
Not wanting food, she seemed to find no need to waste any more effort on him, and didn't even look up as she replied, "Booked up last night, and they're all still abed."
Frowning, Nick inquired, "Isn't that a little unusual, to be full this time of year?" Springtime, while affording him spectacular views and favorable winds, left the roads between towns treacherous with mud.
For some reason, that question at least seemed to regain her interest in him. She paused in her work to stare up at him. "This is the week of the town's spring festival. It's been planned for months. All the taverns are full." Her brow furrowed as she tried to get a better look at him, honestly confused. "Why else would you be here?"
No taverns. No shelter. With mere minutes to spare till dawn, he worked to keep from panicking. There was a solution to this problem. He merely had to find it. As his mind fought madly for another plan, he muttered offhandedly, "I'm just passing through."
The woman nodded. Her life, at least, having resumed its order, she went calmly back to kneading her bread, "Well, why don't you go on to Devonshire, three miles south." She pointed. "They had rooms open yesterday, so I hear. You should have no trouble."
"Here, even the stables are packed." She shook her head in astonishment, then smiled with pride. "It will be a good festival. You should stay to come and join us."
Three miles was a mere eyeblink of time by air. It was an eyeblink he didn't have. Eyes wide, he still tried to grasp the enormity of his mistake. "No room at all?"
"None." He had a problem. To even dig himself a hole would take time, too much time...
... for dawn touched the land, and his time ran out.
He bolted out of the tavern, mercifully facing west, not east, and came up short at the sharp shadows of light and dark that the buildings made against the land. Fortunately, with dawn just breaking, they were still very long, and he was able to make it to the far side of the street quickly. He slipped behind the nearest house, now at least out of sight of the main road through town.
But what to do now? He could either enter a building, or dig himself a hole in the dirt. Digging was fairly out of the question, so close to civilization, and curious dogs. Which left entering a building. House or lodge? Lodges had more people, which meant it would be harder to keep himself out of sight, out of light, for the whole day without being noticed. Houses had less people, more room, but more of a likelihood that they would be noticed if they were suddenly forced to go "missing."
Nick eyed the rapidly shortening shadows, and made his decision. It would be a house, and it would have to be now. He chose one close to him, and managed to get behind it fairly quickly, racing across the lighted spaces between houses and pausing each time to wait a moment for the burns to heal. And just as he was about to lay his hand on the door to sneak inside, a voice came up behind him:
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Nick spun around and snarled. Someone had been watching him! Fortunately, the fool was in shadow. Easy enough prey.
The other continued, seemingly oblivious to his danger. "You see, that's a church you were about to march into. Not the most pleasant place to spend the day, I hear."
Oblivious to the man's jabbering, Nick launched himself at him. But somehow the other was already in the process of pulling out his sword so that, though Nick was obviously faster, he was met with a leveled blade. Sinking his teeth into the other's throat meant slicing open his own, that much was obvious.
To his astonishment, his prey looked actually amused. "Jittery thing, aren't you? Finished?"
Nick's eyes flared from gold to red, as insult was added to injury. "No," he rasped, and disappeared from the other's view, to instantly grab him from behind and yank his head to the side, for best access to his jugular. It was at just that moment that he was impaled by his prey's sword.
As he sank to the ground in pain, he felt the sword touch his neck. The stranger continued conversationally, as if he'd never been interrupted, "You know, I've always said that vampires enjoy killing far too much. Get so caught up in it, they sometimes forget that their prey isn't dead yet."
Calmly, he sheathed his sword, smoothly took off the thick hooded cloak he was wearing, and offered it to Nick. And for the first time, Nick looked at his enemy's face, and saw warm eyes smiling down at him. "My name is Methos. Come with me, and we'll find you some shelter."
Some friendships are born quite strangely. This one went quite tamely, in comparison.