The Relic Hunter

by Tanya Reed

I will get this part over with right off the bat:

DEATH FIC WARNING! Yes, major character death follows.

This is one of two companion pieces focusing on a common theme with two completely different outcomes. One is a story of love and hope and the other is a story of pain and madness. (At least that's what I was aiming for with them anyway.) Each story is self contained...in fact, they each take place in a separate Syd and Nigel universe.

Though, I know that many people don't like death fic, I hope those brave enough to try my two pieces will like them. The Relic Hunter, I'm dedicating to Darren Blake because when I told him I was giving it up for a lost cause he went so far as to help me think out my block even though he thinks everything I write in the Relic Hunter universe is way too shippy. (He also thinks I'm madly in love with Nigel, but that's a story for another time. ;) ) I'd also like to throw in a dedication to Jo, who gave me a nudge just at the right time. The Demon Within, I want to dedicate to Aryea who encouraged me to finish and assured me that at least one person would read it even if it was a death fic.

All similarities between the two stories is intentional. (Though any similarities with my Due South fic "I Always liked the Rain" was completely unintentional. I just noticed there may be similarities towards the end of writing The Relic Hunter.) The Relic Hunter turned out differently than I expected. I hope you like it anyway.

Anyway, I'll get to the story before I scare off those of you who were actually brave enough to get this far.

Disclaimer: I have never owned The Relic Hunter, and I know that I never will.

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Nigel Bailey sat down, smiling at the very young, very blond reporter. She reminded him a bit of Jenny Fox, though not quite as pretty. She smiled back, her blue eyes glowing. Somehow, Nigel had expected her to be older. Though, nowadays, everyone looked young to him.

"I'm so glad you agreed to do this interview, Dr. Bailey," the reporter, Nigel believed her name was Meredith, said, "I know how busy you are."

"Ever since I discovered the Roric Stone last year, everyone seems eager to meet with me. They forget I've been relic hunting for almost twenty-five years."

"It must be terribly exciting."

"Exciting. Dangerous. But I love it. I wouldn't want to do anything else."

"What about the classes and workshops you teach and the volunteering you do at the museum?"

"I have to do something when hunting season is slow," he said and gave her a wink.

She raised an eyebrow and continued, "Well, I, for one, find relic hunting fascinating. How does someone get into a career like that? How did you get started?"

Nigel had a sudden picture in his mind of him as a very young man—a little clumsy, a little innocent—on his very first hunt. He had no idea back then what life had in store for him.

In the memory, there was also a woman, dark haired, with fiery, devilish eyes and an angelic smile. Nigel held her memory close for a moment before answering.

"I was the teaching assistant to Professor Sydney Fox. Have you heard of her?"

Meredith's eyes widened. "Sydney Fox? The Sydney Fox? She's considered to be the best relic hunter of her time. There are still stories going around concerning her exploits."

"Not of her time." Nigel shook his head. "Ever. If she were alive today, I'm sure she'd still be the best. She was amazing. If you could have seen her in action...We all thought she was invincible."

He looked down at his hands, but looked up when the reporter asked softly, "She died of an aneurysm, didn't she?"

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He had been gone less than fifteen minutes.

Nigel came into the office, sorting through the papers that Professor Watts had given him on The Demon's Heart.

Something felt wrong, making Nigel glance up. He froze, a flash of terror piercing his body. Precious research fluttered from his numb fingers onto the floor.

"Sydney," he whispered.

She was lying there in front of the door to her inner office, her body sprawled unnaturally, as if she had crumpled. Nigel rushed to her side, his heart beating wildly and the palms of his hands starting to sweat.

He knelt and brushed soft hair from her face. Thoughts of assailants didn't even enter his head. All he could think of was the paleness of her skin and the stillness of her body.

Frantically, he checked her pulse points. Then, in disbelief, he checked them again. He put his face down to hers, hoping to feel her breath on his cheek, but there was nothing. No pulse. No breath.

"Sydney," he choked out again, automatically starting artificial respiration and trying to ignore the fact that his heart had just broken into a million pieces so small he'd never find them all.

Over and over, he tried to revive her, denying the knowledge that it was hopeless. Karen found him there much later, still trying to breathe life into Sydney's lungs. He had fought against the secretary's attempts to pull him away from Sydney, and in the end it had taken three very large paramedics and the sight of Karen's tears to make him give up the fight.

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"Mr. Bailey?"

Nigel came back to himself with a start.

"Yes," he said, answering her question. "It was ironic really. A woman who had survived armed gunmen, explosions, falling into holes, and countless traps dying because her own body turned against her. It was completely unexpected, especially by me."

"How long did you work for her?"

"Three years. It was the most amazing time of my life. Relic hunting was new—exciting, terrifying. I learned a lot about myself."

"And when she died, you decided to continue on?"

"Yes," Nigel said, but didn't elaborate, and Meredith moved on to other, more recent things. Nigel answered her questions automatically, but his mind was still in the past. Had it really been over twenty years? When he closed his eyes, he could still see her face as clearly as if no time had passed. Sydney smiling; Sydney rolling her eyes at him; Sydney triumphant as a foe slumped senseless to the ground.

If the reporter noticed that Nigel was in his own world, she didn't mention it, and at the end she seemed very pleased with the interview.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Bailey."

"You're welcome. I was glad to do it."

The reporter stood up and offered her hand. As Nigel took it, instead of a shake, she squeezed it gently and gave him a smile that was completely different from the one she used for the interview.

"I think Professor Fox would have been very proud of you."

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It had been raining the day of Sydney's funeral. The memory of the graveside service was still as sharp as glass. Nigel had stood between Karen and Claudia, both weeping silently and clinging to him, with the rain falling down on him. He felt it dripping down his cheeks and falling with slight tickles from his chin in faint mockery of the tears he could not shed. His was a pain too deep to be expressed by tears. Instead, he was being consumed from the inside by a horrible, hollow, aching grief. It was almost a relief to stand there and let the sky give him the tears his heart could not.

"I can't believe she's gone," Karen whispered, her body trembling against Nigel's. Though she had only known Sydney a little over a year, the two had formed a strong bond based on respect and affection.

"She was one of the best friends I ever had," Claudia answered, the pain in her child-like voice unmistakable. "She's the only one who ever really listened to me."

Me too, Nigel thought but didn't say.

His eyes lifted from the man officiating the ceremony and wandered over the faces around Sydney's casket. So many people had come. Nigel had been amazed, though he knew he shouldn't be. She had touched so many lives with her passion, her fire, and her heart. No one who met Sydney Fox ever forgot her. Nigel knew he wouldn't. There were rival relic hunters there, the nicer ones that Sydney enjoyed competing against, many of her old boyfriends, including Francois, Reiner, and Dallas, friends, acquaintances, students. And Cate. Nigel noticed her standing a little behind the crowd, her pretty face troubled. Directly in front of her stood Randall Fox and a very pregnant Jenny. His face was white and drawn, and he looked like an old man as he leaned against his wife. Nigel wished he had someone to lean against but he had to be strong for Claudia and Karen.

When the words were finally over and after they lowered the mahogany casket into the ground, Nigel turned away. The girls left him, walking hand in hand together, joined in grief though they barely knew each other.

"Nigel."

He turned at the sound of Dallas Carter's voice. The tall blond looked at Nigel with broken sadness in his eyes. Nigel had always liked the rogue, but he couldn't muster a smile for him now. Dallas didn't seem to expect it, anyway. Wordlessly, he put his arms around Nigel and pulled him into a crushing hug. Nigel was almost overwhelmed at the gesture and had to fight down a painful lump in his throat when Dallas finally pulled away and said quietly, "I know you loved her."

Nigel stumbled away from him, looking up to see another familiar form nearby, leaning against a tree. The solitary man solemnly raised his hand in greeting. Nigel raised a hand back, knowing Sydney would be pleased that Derek Lloyd had cared enough to be at her service. He was going to go over and speak with the agent when a hand on his arm made him turn.

Nigel was surprised to see Timothy Watts standing beside him.

"Professor Watts."

"It's a shame about Sydney."

"Yes," Nigel agreed.

"I guess the Demon's Heart will never be found now. Sad really. What a find it would have been."

"Yes," Nigel answered again.

"Unless..." And here, the professor's eyes turned thoughtful and appraising. "Do you consider yourself a relic hunter, Nigel?"

"Me?" The question brought Nigel's mind back from painful places, and suddenly his whole attention was on Watts. "You mean me...alone?"

"You've been on countless hunts with Sydney. You must know how it works. What a tribute to her if you found it and donated it to the museum in her memory."

A tribute indeed. Something he could give back to her for everything she had done for him. A way to show how much he loved her.

"I'll think about it, sir."

"Good man." Watts clapped him on the shoulder. "Let me know, and I'll send over the rest of my research."

Nigel watched Professor Watts walk away not knowing what he would do. He did know that he wanted Sydney to be proud of him, wherever she was now. And maybe a relic hunt would help him forget his grief.

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Dark windows greeted Nigel when he got home after the interview. At one time, the silence wouldn't have bothered him, he had liked living alone, especially in the years right after Sydney's death. Back then, being with people had been painful. He was always peering into faces, searching for one he knew he'd never see again.

But that was long before his niece Jaidyn had come to America to study. She needed a place to stay and Nigel needed something to help fill his life when he wasn't off on a hunt. She had moved in, and the two had been surprised at how well their lives meshed together.

She reminded Nigel a bit of Sydney. Despite the fact that her hair was light and uncontrollably curly, and her skin was as pale as a Scot's, Jaidyn had the same intelligence and wit—not to mention a healthy taste for adventure. Nigel thought her talents were wasted on a desire to be an ad executive, and he often considered asking her to join him on the hunt—especially now that he was getting older. Lately, he had begun to feel his age.

Nigel sighed, hating that Jaidyn was in England visiting her father, and hating that he missed her so much.

He fumbled for his keys, wishing he'd remembered to turn on the outside light. He finally found them, and fit the right one into the hole mostly by feel.

As he finally stumbled into the entryway, he thought back over his interview from that afternoon.

It had brought up a lot of old memories. He had been so different back then, in the beginning. Innocent. Naïve. Full of doubts. He had never believed that he could do anything that really meant something. And then, he met Sydney.

Thoughts of her brought a smile to Nigel's face. She was the one who showed him what he was made of. He would never have learned what he could do if she hadn't pushed him to stretch his limits.

Her loss had devastated him.

It had also inspired him.

He still missed her. After all these years, he could close his eyes and see her face as clearly as if he'd seen it yesterday. He could remember her touch, and the way it felt when her hand brushed his arm. He could remember the way she smelled when they were crushed together, either in hiding or forced by some sadistic madman. He still had her satchel, though he'd never had the heart to use it, hanging on a peg in his bedroom. To most, Sydney Fox was an unbelievable legend, but to Nigel she was a ghost that haunted and guided him.

Once inside, Nigel hung up his coat and headed for the bathroom. Before he reached it, the phone rang. With a weary sigh, Nigel changed his course.

The sigh turned into a smile when he pushed a button and Jaidyn's freckled face appeared on the screen.

"Where've you been?" she demanded.

Nigel's smile only widened. "Out. Why haven't you been?"

She blushed. "I have, but I got back a couple of hours ago." She rolled her eyes. "A little too late for Daddy."

"I can imagine." When she was home, Preston liked to know where Jaidyn was at all times.

"But," she said, changing the subject back, "the question is where were you?"

"I was out, as I mentioned. Am I not allowed?"

"You know how much I worry. You're always throwing yourself into some dan...Wait, was this 'out' with a woman?"

"Maybe."

It was Jaidyn's turn to grin. She was always trying to set him up. "Well, it's about time."

Nigel just shook his head. "Go to bed, Jay. It's late for me and even later for you. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Give my...regards...to Preston."

"Okay. Good night, Uncle Nigel. Love you."

"I love you too, Sweetie. Don't argue with your father too much."

His niece wrinkled her nose saucily just a second before touching a button and fading Nigel's screen to black He chuckled as he got some underwear for after his shower. Jaidyn always cast a little sunshine into his life.

The shower was very short and soon he was climbing wearily into bed. Once more, his thoughts went to the past. His last waking thought was of Sydney and, when he dreamed, he dreamed of her.

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Nigel walked slowly through the narrow, hand-hewn hallways. Absently, he noted the type of stone and its texture. Stone had always interested him, and he probably knew more about it than anyone who was not a geologist should.

The search for the Demon's Heart had been an interesting one. But quiet and lonely. The artifact had a fascinating history of intrigue, depravity, and death. The things those in possession of it had done were cruel and barbaric, and it was said the Heart required your soul to give you power.

Not that Nigel wanted power. What would he do with it? The only thing he wanted was to have Sydney back, and even a magic stone couldn't do that.

Lord, he missed her.

If she were there, the two of them would be creeping down the hallway, talking nonsense just to keep the tension of the hunt from getting to be too much. She would smile at him in that infuriating way of hers and say something completely off the wall.

With a gasp, Nigel suddenly had to stop. Tears came to his eyes, and a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. His knees felt weak, and he had to lower himself to the floor. Trembling took over his body, and the light from his torch bobbed crazily along the tunnel wall.

He was alone.

The realization hit him like a hammer blow. Sydney wasn't ahead of him, checking for traps. She wasn't behind him, guarding their rear against rivals. She wasn't there, and she was never going to be there again. Sydney was gone, and Nigel had to do this by himself. Without her.

Something broke inside him. He felt it crack and shatter like a stone abused window pane. Sharp edges cut him from the inside, releasing trapped emotions. Nigel wrapped his arms around his knees as wave after wave washed over him. He finally found what had been lost to him since discovering Sydney lying lifelessly on the office floor.

They started out dry and painful, coming from his gut and ripping their way up through a throat that was stiff and tight. His whole body shook with their violence, and he was afraid they would rip him apart.

Then, finally, the burning in his eyes let loose, and they overflowed. Tears dripped down his face, washing away all thought. Gasping, trying to breathe through his sobs, Nigel buried his face in his knees and let go.

He cried for Sydney and he cried for what he had lost. His best friend. The closest family he had had since his parents' death. The only person who could make him feel completely safe. The person who never questioned his worth. Gone. Gone. Gone.

The word seemed to echo through his head in time to his sobs, pounding into his heart with every breath he took.

"Sydney, please don't leave me here alone," he choked, but there was no answer from the walls around him.

Eventually, the tears stopped, and Nigel was left on the cold ground feeling empty and drained. Weakly, he got to his feet and threw his pack back over his shoulder. The hand not holding his torch, scrubbed over his face, wiping away traces of tears and leaving streaks of grime in their place.

He had a hunt to complete. Sydney would never let herself be so overcome by emotion that she'd stop a hunt, and neither would he. The museum would have the Heart presented to them in Sydney's memory. He owed her that, at least.

With determination, Nigel began making his way down the hallway once more.

Before long, he noticed a subtle change in the tunnel he was following. The stones beneath his feet were different, and Nigel was reminded of the time he and Sydney had found the devil doll.

Carefully, Nigel bent and studied the stones until he was sure he knew where it was safe to step. He made his way slowly through the tunnel, almost surprised at how his knowledge and instincts were getting him through his first hunt alone. He had always thought he didn't have instincts.

A small click warned him to stop congratulating himself and duck. He hit the ground hard, gasping as the breath was knocked from his body. Above his head, he felt a rushing of air as something plowed through where he had just been standing.

He stayed there, with his face pressed into the dirt, until he was sure it was safe to get up. His legs trembled slightly but he ignored them as he tried to rub the muddy stains out of his pants.

Nigel moved down the hallway, wondering how many more traps there were. He had always hated traps—the mind puzzles were more his style.

He had almost given up hope of ever finding the end of the hallway when it suddenly widened into a huge chamber. In fascination, Nigel shone his torch all around, his eyes traveling to walls and far off ceiling.

Then, his light flashed on something about thirty feet from where he was standing. Slowly, as he realized what it was, a smile came to his face.

It was a small, waist high dais, made of carved stone. The images it depicted were both horrible in their subject and amazing in their detail. Ugly demons were captured in acts of severe depravity, their victims so lifelike, Nigel could almost hear them screaming.

Nigel moved closer, drawn in by the images. He wondered what it would be like, holding the Demon's Heart. Would it send a jolt of pure power through him? One that he couldn't resist? Would it murmur in his mind, offering temptations beyond his control if he would just, at least once, use the jewel as it wanted to be used? Fear and excitement mingled in him.

He hadn't gone much further when a strange feeling gripped his insides. A soft voice, no louder than a sigh in the wind, seemed to whisper in his ear.

"Duck, Nigel."

Taking the words for intuition, Nigel dropped to the floor and heard a whining noise as arrows flew by above him. His stomach clenched and for a moment he thought he might vomit.

Breathe, he told himself, forcing air into and then out of his lungs. At least he was still alive. It was amazing really. So far, he had managed to avoid and survive every trap that came into his path. When he had accepted this job, a pretty big part of himself had been positive he would fail.

Carefully, Nigel got to his feet and approached the dais. Up close, it was even more impressive. The demons gave him chills, and the victims turned his stomach. He reached out to touch the carvings, but stopped just before contact.

"What are you doing, Nigel?" he asked out loud. "Did you just start the hunt yesterday? Touch the most innocent looking thing and it could be a trigger for a death trap."

He crouched down in front of the dais, running part of the clue from Professor Watt's papers through his head.

The key to the heart is encased in stone. A heart for a heart. Stone protected by stone.

Methodically, he started searching the stone, looking for anything that might be the named key. He searched for several minutes before he saw the slavering demon with a human heart in its hand. Nigel studied the picture, repeating the phrase "a heart for a heart" in his mind.

After examining it from all angles, he made his decision. With great care, ready to jump away if he sprung a trap, Nigel reached forward and touched the human heart.

There was a small click and then the stone dais let out a groan, making Nigel take a stumbling step back. A crack appeared across the top of the dais, and the two parts it made slid away from each other to reveal a chamber beneath.

When that was all that happened, Nigel took a cautious step forward and peeked into the new opening. He felt a smile spread over his face as he saw a fist sized red stone.

The Demon's Heart.

Lying there like that, it could have been any jewel. Except for the fact that it was the color of dried blood, the Heart was unremarkable. He wondered if it had the powers history attributed to it or whether it was all just a myth. He knew two contradictory pieces of information that told him it could go either way. Both, he had learned through relic hunting with Sydney. The first was relic hunting's first, most important, rule. History lies. The second was that most legends were rooted in fact.

But whether the stone could do what was said of it or not was not important to Nigel. What was important was that he had found a relic on his own. Nigel Bailey. Alone.

Eagerly, Nigel reached in and picked up the stone. He cradled it in his hands, half expecting it to glow red like the eyes of the devil doll.

Then, he heard an ominous cracking and the second part of the clue popped into his head. Stone protected by stone. Nigel looked up and saw the ceiling above him trembling as if it were alive. Fear clenched his belly. Sydney wouldn't have made this mistake. Sydney would have figured out the second part of the saying as well as the first. She wouldn't have assumed that "stone protected by stone" meant the stone dais.

All this went through his mind in a flash. Then, his feet caught up with his brain and he turned to run. He'd only gotten two steps before pain exploded in his head, and the whole world went black.

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"Nigel...Nigel..."

The voice seemed to come from far away, as Nigel slowly came back to awareness. There was a throbbing in his head and an ache in his shoulder that threatened real pain if he moved. It took a moment for him to remember where he was. Slowly, he blinked open dust encrusted eyes. He felt odd, and the smell of dirt was all around him. He felt the grit of it on his face.

He was in complete darkness and, for one heart stopping moment, he thought that he had been struck blind. Clamping the thought down, he let reason convince him that his torch had probably gone out when he fell.

Then, the whole of his memory came back. He remembered the cave in. He remembered the Demon's Heart. And he remembered Sydney was dead.

Quickly, he checked himself to see if everything was still functional. Besides a pain so sharp he saw little stars when he tried to move his right arm, he seemed to be mostly in tact. This, at least, was a relief.

His next problem was how to get out of there. It was a big one. He was sitting alone in the dark with a dislocated shoulder. He had no idea where his light was, and he didn't even know which side of the fallen ceiling he was on. He could be trapped by the dais with no way out.

"How did I think I could do this without you?" he whispered.

"Don't be so negative."

The voice was so close and so unexpected that Nigel jumped, sending fiery agony through his shoulder. Tendrils of dirt slid from his skin to the floor at the jolt.

Nearby, his torch came on, driving away darkness. Nigel threw a hand up in front of instantly watering eyes to protect them from the glare.

When they finally could see, Nigel's mouth fell open. There she was, standing just out of his reach, with his torch in her hand. She was dressed in black with her satchel over her shoulder, just like in all of his best memories. Her hair was loose and fell in waves past her shoulders, and a simple black tie adorned her throat.

His eyes drank in her form, not caring that he was probably either hallucinating or still unconscious. It was enough to see her face again. And she looked so solid. So real.

The no-nonsense look that often had him shaking in his boots came to her face. "Shake it off, Nigel."

She planted her hands on her hips and stared down at him. When he didn't move or speak, she raised one questioning eyebrow at him.

"I can't do this. Sydney, I've failed."

"What do you mean you've failed? You haven't even tried yet."

He shook his head, struggling to sit despite the pain. "I'm not like you."

"Well, you're not dead, if that's what you mean." Pain stabbed at him, and she must have seen it on his face. "I'm sorry, Nigel. That was insensitive of me. I know you miss me."

Miss was an understatement. He'd gladly give his life to prolong this delusional moment.

"Listen." She came over and knelt by his side. "You are a good relic hunter. You know all the skills. You're just lacking in confidence. You came in here alone; you avoided all the traps..."

"But one," he muttered.

She raised a hand. "All right, all but one. But you're alive. You've got to keep on living. There are relics out there that may never be found if you don't find them. You know I'm a good judge of these things and, I can tell you, you have the potential to be the best."

"The best implies only one. Only you, Syd...Only you."

She waved that away. "Stop playing with semantics. You can do this. You need to do this." Then she shone the torch around the room. "At least you're on the right side of the cave in."

Nigel realized she was right. The stone dais was nowhere to be seen, and nearby stood the cavern's entrance. Maybe he could get out of there and maybe, just maybe, he could become a relic hunter to make her proud.

As he gazed at her, his heart skipped a beat. Seeing her face again was a miracle, and he didn't care what caused it. In fact, if the Heart were responsible, he'd willingly give up the required piece of his soul.

"Are you real?" he asked softly. "Can I touch you?"

Her eyes searched his face for a moment before she reached a hand out to him. Nigel lifted his left hand, but was suddenly too terrified to reach back. If he tried to touch her and she disappeared, it would break his heart. He didn't want the dream to end.

Reading his mind as only she could, Sydney completed her motion and gripped his hand in hers. It was solid and warm. The skin that brushed his was slightly callused but feminine despite that. It was unmistakably Sydney's hand.

"How is this possible?"

A smile broke over her face, almost stunning him. It reminded him of the first joy filled smile she had ever given him, that day on the train when his quiet little teaching job turned into a race to save a priceless relic from Stewie Harper.

"Think of all the wondrous things we've seen." She settled the rest of the way down beside him, turning her crouch into a seat on the dirty and dusty ground. "You should know by now that anything is possible."

He couldn't argue with that. He'd even seen the existence of life after death.

Her shoulder gently touched his good one. "Well, now we've got to get you out of here. At least the fall hurt your shoulder and not a leg."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can get up."

"Sure you can. I'll help. You can lean on me the whole way out if you need to."

"Thank you, Syd."

She looked at him, a strange look in her eye. For a moment, it looked as if she were going to say something terribly important. Then, she swallowed and said simply, "You're welcome, Nige."