Nick settled down at his favorite seat at the end of the bar.  "What can I get you, honey?" the barmistress asked.

"Just the usual, Melissa," he replied.

"Nothing new under the sun," she answered cattily, pouring him a shot of Jack Daniels.

"Nope...nothing new."  Nick tossed back the shot and gritted his teeth.  Except my own Immortality, he lamented to himself.  And that I could do without.

Nick's sudden admission into the world of Immortals had been a shock to his system both physically and mentally.  He had refused all help from Amanda, although she still followed him around, attempting to goad him into forgiving her.  Father Liam had taken Nick under his wing, and it was a friend of Liam's who had become Nick's swordfighting instructor.  Nick was a quick study, and the intensive training had served him well.  Liam himself had become Nick's counselor and spiritual guide, but with Nick back in the States, the guidance had to come from a distance.  And when it all seemed too much, rather than a long-distance phone call, Nick much preferred the company of a secluded spot at the bar and enough alcohol to blur his memory and let him sort-of forget about Immortality.

Except for tonight.  The sensation came over Nick like a sudden hangover, but he recognized it for what it was: another Immortal was close-by.  Dammit, Amanda, he swore to himself.  Stop following me around like a lost puppy, will ya?  Nick turned toward the door, but it wasn't Amanda who entered.  By the look on the stranger's face, he was drunk out of his mind and looking for a fight.  The last thing I need right now is a test of my Immortality, Nick thought, quickly paying his tab and sliding into his leather jacket.  He could feel the steel press against him from the flexible sheath Amanda had sewn inside the lining.  Not today, he promised himself.  I will not be testing my new skills today.  As casually as he could manage, Nick walked toward the door.  "Not so fast," the stranger said as Nick passed him.  "We haven't settled things yet."

"I don't know you, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm finished here," Nick replied calmly.

"Oh, you're finished all right," the other man replied with a grin, putting his hand on Nick's jacket.  "Let's take it out to the alley, shall we?"

"We don't need to do this."  Nick brushed the man's hand away.  The smell of the alcohol the other man had consumed permeated the air around them.

"Oh yes, we do."  The stranger clasped Nick's shoulder.  "Because there can be only one."

"That's a pretty sorry excuse, don't you think?"  Nick replied, even as the man pushed him toward the door.  "I mean, c'mon, what do rules mean to guys like us, huh?  You don't look like you follow too many rules."

"Alex Sligov follows his own rules," the man replied as they reached the alleyway.  He drew his sword.  "Draw your weapon...or are you going to make this easy on me?"

"I don't make things easy for anybody," Nick replied, sliding his weapon from his jacket as a light shiver ran down his spine at the thought of having his first real battle.  Nick had wanted something simple and practical in a sword, and Liam had found it for him: a sleek blade attached to a simple cross-hilt with a rounded pommel, no carvings, no decoration.  Nick windmilled the blade as he had been taught, then gripped the hilt with both hands as he settled his body into a fighting stance.

The sword training had taught him all the moves, but it was Nick's background as a cop that aided him the most now.  He had a wealth of experience facing the bad guys, staring into eyes full of anger and violence without flinching.  Sligov was relentless, attacking again and again as his eyes burned with a bloodthirsty fire.  Nick countered him time after time, aided by the advantage of his opponent's drunken clumsiness.  The swords sparked against each other as they slid hilt-to-hilt, and Nick lifted his foot to send Sligov reeling across the alley.

"Don't make me kill you," Nick spoke through gritted teeth as they both caught their breath.

"It's what we do," Sligov said with a sneer.  He suddenly lunged at Nick, who rapidly sidestepped the drunken man and slashed at his throat.  The sword made clean contact, severing the head from the neck.

Nick's shoulders slumped and he dropped the point of his sword toward the ground.  Relief washed over him, knowing that he was no longer being pursued; yet his skin crawled with the realization that he had just killed someone in cold blood.  Nick's senses began to tingle, and it was in that moment that memory struck him with sudden clarity: this was not over yet.  The Quickening was still to come.  Shock and fear shone in his eyes, and he steeled himself for the onslaught of the electric sensation even as the energy began to kick up like a windstorm, stirring the blood in his veins.  Nick waited impatiently, wanting the shock to be over as quickly as possible.  He was not prepared for the first blast that ripped through him like a bullet fired at close range, knocking the breath from his lungs.  His body stiffened as if in rigor mortis, suspended by the force of the energy field surrounding him.  Nick had gotten a fair share of minor shocks in his mechanical tinkering, but nothing had come close to feeling like this.  His mouth opened and he screamed, a yell that sounded like it came from somewhere else rather than his own throat.  His arms lifting of their own accord, Nick finally gave in to the energy pulsing through his body, letting it whip him where it would; fighting it would only make him sore and regretful later, he remembered Amanda telling him.  Amanda, he thought briefly as the electricity stung his muscles and he finally dropped the sword he had been gripping like a vise.  Why couldn't it have been you walking into the bar?  The screams continued to elicit themselves from his throat, the electric waves tossing him like sails in a gale-force wind, the pain searing throughout his limbs even as a sense of increasing power and strength washed over him.  In his mind's eye, Nick could see the other man's life flashing before his eyes, minute details and bits of the past that could have come from some seventh grade history film.  Just as he thought he could no longer stand this sensory overload, the energy suddenly died, leaving him weak.  Nick dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for breath.  It hurt to breathe, it hurt to blink, it hurt to even bother keeping his body up off the pavement.  He tried to lower himself to the ground, but the strength in his arms gave way and he dropped with a dull thud.  Through his half-closed eyes he vaguely saw a figure approach and kneel beside him, his senses reeling in the now-familiar sensation of another Immortal's presence.

"Well, there's always a first time for everything," a woman's voice intoned sarcastically.  Nick could only groan in response, but was relieved to recognize the voice and know his head was safe -- for now, at least.  Amanda stroked his cheek gently.  "How do you feel?"

"Like a tornado ran me over," he croaked, weakly rolling onto his side.

"You get used to it," she remarked nonchalantly.  "In time, you learn how to deal with it better.  But it always gives you a beating."

"Great," Nick replied.  "Can I just skip to my thousandth time and get over feeling like my lungs have been ripped out through my nose?"

"It does get easier, I promise."  Amanda stood up and held out her hand.  "I know I'm not your favorite person, but at least let me help you up."

Nick took her hand and slowly made his way to his feet.  "I hate Immortality," he growled, narrowing his eyes at her.

Amanda cast her eyes downward.  "I know.  So I'll say it for the millionth time, I'm sorry."  She glanced up at him, then brushed the sweat and dirt from his face.  "Just let me help you, all right?  Just this once.  Then you can go back to hating me for the rest of our lives."

"Promise?"  Nick quipped, trying to ignore the hurt in Amanda's voice.

"Promise."  Amanda held up her hand.  "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," he countered.

"No, but I seem to hang around the boy scout types," she replied cattily.

Nick sighed in resignation.  "Buy me a drink?" he asked, his brown eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Is that all you can think about?"  Amanda laughed.  "All right."  She gazed at him, suddenly all seriousness.  "Truce?  At least temporarily?"

Nick nodded.  "At least til the morning comes.  And the Quickening hangover with it."