Duncan surprised John and Cameron the next afternoon as they exited the front doors of their high school. "Duncan," John said cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought we'd talk a little on our way to training," Duncan replied, pushing himself upright from the casual leaning position he'd taken against his car as he waited. "About what happened last night," he clarified.
Turning to Cameron, he greeted her in the standard European fashion—a light embrace and a quick kiss to either kiss, leaving John and Cam with confused looks on their faces. But apparently not noticing, Duncan merely pulled keys out of his pocket and asked, "Cameron, would you mind driving my car back and meeting us there? That way John and I can talk as we walk."
Cameron accepted the keys wordlessly and began to turn away agreeably even as John asked, "Hey! How come you let her drive your car and not me?"
"You mean why am I willing to entrust my painstakingly and lovely hand-restored, vintage piece of irreplaceable automotive history to a girl whose actions are typically guided by logic and superior reflexes, and not to you, a teenaged boy who mentioned liking a movie called 'The Fast and the Furious'?" Duncan asked dryly.
"Nevermind," John replied darkly as Cameron got into the driver's seat, started up the engine and put it into gear.
As they turned toward Duncan's neighborhood and began to walk, Duncan thought for a while on how to bring up what disturbed him about the previous night's incident at the museum, but John broke into his thoughts suddenly.
"How difficult," he asked, "is it to apologize to Amanda?"
At Duncan's look, he clarified. "For what I did last night … for hitting her. What will I have to do to make it up to her?"
Duncan chose not to answer directly. "You know, in the old days in China and Japan," he said, "before a martial artist would accept you as his student, there was a formal ceremony in which you had to promise to obey his every wish. You basically agreed to give him total control over your life.
"This wasn't because they were anal retentive or control freaks," Duncan continued. "It was because martial skills were considered serious weapons, and to the public, a student's actions and behavior reflect on the teacher. If a student gets into a fight and wins, it's a credit to his teacher; and if he loses, it's a failure on the part of the teacher. More importantly," he stressed, "if a student behaves badly—if he gets drunk, starts brawls, commits crimes—it is a reflection of the teacher's character. So a teacher wanted some way of safeguarding his reputation before he would agree to accept a student.
"We're not in ancient China, and a lot of those old traditions have been loosened," Duncan noted. "But most martial artists in the know still see it as a truism: these days, if you go to a tournament and a student is an asshole, chances are that his teacher is, too."
John scuffled his feet guiltily as Duncan continued sternly. "I do NOT hit women. Ever. And neither do any of my male students. Understand me?"
"Yeah," John said softly.
"What was that?" Duncan asked sharply.
John straightened up. "Yes, sir," he said respectfully. "Nothing like this will ever happen again."
"Good," Duncan said. "You might want to think about what you did from a practical standpoint as well. If you're going to lead men into battle, you can't afford to act this rashly—from fear, or from rage."
"Fear?" John asked.
"You tell me," Duncan said. "Were you angry that Amanda was thoughtless and irresponsible, or were you scared because you saw Cameron had been shot?"
John was silent. Duncan said, "You don't have to give me an answer. But you should understand what sparked what you did so you can learn to control it. And in the meantime, I think that apologizing to Amanda is a very good idea. Not just because it's the right thing—but because Amanda happens to be one of the best thieves in the world. The day might come when you need to break into a military base or a secured facility, and Amanda's the one who can get you in.
"Don't worry. She'll pout a bit, and then she'll let you off the hook. But she won't hesitate to bring it up to guilt you into helping her in the future." Smiling slightly to lighten the mood, he added, "I'd stock up on aspirin now."
As she walked into Duncan's home, Cameron saw Amanda working out in the studio, doing what appeared to be a more energetic, flowing version of yoga. Sweat dripped from her face, though she was breathing smoothly and evenly. As she noticed Cameron's entrance, Amanda finished her movement and rolled to her feet smoothly. Awkwardly, she approached.
"Cameron! How's … uh, you know … that?" she said lamely, gesturing toward Cameron's shoulder.
"If you are asking about the bullet I took last night, the damage has been completely fixed," Cameron replied matter-of-factly. "I am fully functional. How are you?" she added for politeness.
"Good!" Amanda said. "Good! So, uh, listen, I wanted to apologize for dragging you on my … little adventure last night. After we dropped you off last night, Duncan told me … I mean, I realized on my own … that I didn't give our expedition very much thought. It was thoughtless of me to get you involved in something illegal like that," she finished hurriedly. In the resulting silence, she felt awkward and took a swig out of her water bottle to cover up her discomfort.
"John and I do many illegal things together," Cameron told her.
Amanda did a spit take in surprise at Cameron's candor, then realized that the girl wasn't necessarily talking about sex. That didn't stop her eyebrows from shooting upwards—an expression that Cameron had learned generally meant she had been unclear or tactless and should clarify her statements.
"We break into private facilities on a regular basis," she supplied helpfully. Or at least she thought she was being helpful. Amanda's eyebrows remained elevated.
When no further explanation was forthcoming, Amanda responded, "Ooookay. Well, nevertheless, I still feel I should have thought things through and let you know what I had planned. Honestly, I just wanted to see if I could pry what you and John are hiding out of you in a new environment. Maybe I can make it up to you with a real shopping trip this time? Nothing funny, I promise."
Cameron thought for a moment. "Promise?" she asked shyly, extending her hand to shake.
"Promise," Amanda replied, shaking it—as Cameron scanned her vitals and confirmed her intentions.
John and Duncan entered the school 20 minutes to find Cameron and Amanda flipping through the pages of the latest issue of Vogue together. Amanda was giggling as Cameron peered intently at the photos and ads in the glossy-paged magazine.
"What are you two doing?" Duncan asked curiously.
"Oh, just girl talk," Amanda replied, still smiling slyly. "Nothing you'd be interested in, unless you've developed a sudden taste for designer clothes, Duncan," she said teasingly.
Duncan grunted as he paused for a second, then headed for the elevator. Seeing that nobody was following, he asked John acerbically, "You going to stare or train today?"
John shook his head to clear it, tearing his gaze away from the curvy, lycra-clad, sweaty form of Amanda and headed to go change too. He ignored Cameron's frown and hurried to the elevator as well.
Ten minutes later, they assembled in the training area. John had changed into board shorts and a tank top, and he stepped onto the mats and proceeded to do some warm-ups as usual. Duncan interrupted him. "John, was there something you wanted to say?" he hinted.
John looked up, nervousness obvious in his eyes, but he mastered his fear and his face went blank momentarily as he did. Straightening up from his crouched position, he walked over to Amanda, who blinked in curious surprise.
Clearing his throat, he began, looking into her eyes. "Yesterday, I hit you out of anger. It was unjustified, and it was wrong. I'm sorry for that. I want you to know that my mother taught me better. Duncan taught me better. And certainly Cameron taught me better than that. So I hope that if you think less of anyone for what I did, you only blame me. If there's some way I can make it up to you, please let me know. It won't happen again."
Amanda looked at him steadily, her expression unreadable, with just a hint of displeasure in her eyes. She let John squirm nervously for a while, then smiled softly. "I'm not saying what you did was right. But I guess I owe you an apology, too. So how about you owe me a favor—and I owe you a favor, and after that, we call it even?"
John nodded guardedly. "Deal," he said.
Duncan said, "Good! Now that we've settled that, John, I want you to hit Amanda."
"Huh?" John asked, startled.
"Sparring," Duncan explained. "Come on, go hit her. Amanda, see what you can do to give him a workout," he challenged.
John and Amanda proceeded to face each other and bumped fists to signal their readiness to begin. Amanda immediately began spiraling in, out, and around John, darting in and out as she launched attacks at random odd angles in a war of attrition and disorientation. Moving like a whirlwind, she delivered blows that stung and had him seeing stars when they connected, though they were obviously delivered with speed rather than one-shot knockout power in mind.
For his part, John took a quieter approach, moving just enough to keep himself squarely facing Amanda as she danced, and backing up just enough to draw her in. His positioning allowed him to slip and dodge her attacks with minimal movement, and he occasionally darted in decisively to cut off her angles of attack, jam her power and throw her away. Though John sometimes landed bodyshots that were able to break her stance and balance, he had scored no telling blows. Soon, Duncan was frowning, though he kept silent.
Suddenly, Amanda caught a glancing blow off of John's temple, and sensing a kill, blasted in with a smashing hammer fist straight down the center toward his nose.
Only he wasn't there. With a simple pivot on his leading leg, John allowed Amanda to blow past him. With her lead leg extended, her entire flank was exposed, and John quickly stepped in, ducking low to avoid a reflexive elbow. He placed one hand against her lead shoulder and the other against her ribcage, and then he let his body uncoil.
The resulting release of power sent Amanda hurtling away, though her reflexes allowed her to easily land on her feet with her guard at the ready. John had kept his position, hands up and facing her, legs slightly bent with his right leg forward and his weight evenly balanced between his right foot and left toe.
Amanda stood up. "Oh, come on!" she cried, exasperated. "Are we sparring or dancing?" Glaring at John, she marched toward him. "What was that? Why didn't you go for the temple strike or the jaw? Why did you pull that butterfly palm?" she demanded.
"What?" John stammered, bewildered.
"You've been holding back throughout this match, doing just enough to keep me at bay, but never following up to finish the fight. What's the matter, little boy, afraid to finish things?" she taunted, jabbing at his chest with her index finger.
"Amanda, I …" John said as he tried to step back.
"Like this," Amanda said, grabbing his wrist and tearing it toward her temple. "Don't just push, hit me. Here. Here. Or here," she said as she directed his palm heel toward her throat, solar plexus and eye socket. John flinched, and Amanda noticed.
"For God's sake, John. This is sparring. You're allowed to hit me in a sparring session. What are you going to do if a female Immortal challenges you? Refuse to fight back? Sparring is supposed to simulate a real fight, and in a real fight, you treat every opponent the same, man or woman," Amanda said, and the voice that came out of her wasn't the flirtatious, wheedling, lilt that she usually used. It was deadly serious, and cold. "You. Destroy. Them. With whatever it takes."
Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she muttered. "Honestly. Men. They just don't get it, do they?"
Dryly, Duncan chuckled. "And thus endeth today's lesson."
Amanda swerved to look at him, her eyes demanding an answer. Duncan explained. "I knew he'd hold back. That's why I put you up against him. I wanted to see if he could understand the difference between fighting for his life and hitting a woman gratuitously. John, you're going to be leading men and women into battle one day. And if you win, you'll need to understand the difference between fighting for your survival … and being a bully. One is OK, and the other isn't. Understand?"
"No," Amanda interrupted. "I don't understand. What battle? What are you talking about?"
John looked nervously at Duncan, who wordless shrugged as if to say, "It's your call." A look at Cameron didn't help either—all he saw in her eyes was her trust in his judgment.
At their silence, Amanda said, "Oh, come on. I know I didn't win any points in the trust department by trying to separate Cameron so I could pry it out of her last night, but I can be trusted, really."
Duncan confirmed, "She can. You can trust Amanda with anything …"
Amanda beamed.
"… except your money," Duncan finished. Amanda's smile turned into a glare as he continued impishly, "and your car. Your clothes. Your house. Your wine collection. And anything that isn't nailed down."
"Duncan!" she cried. "That's not true …
"1981, 1852, 1967, 1802 and 1967—again," Duncan said as Amanda clamped her mouth shut.
"Just kidding," Duncan said. "Well … not really. But with the really important things, you can trust Amanda," he confirmed.
Remember Duncan's analysis of Amanda's skillset and his prediction that she would come in handy one day, John made up his mind.
"Maybe you want to sit down," he began …