She watched him.

The irony of this whole situation was not lost on her. How many times had she raged and complained about how much she detested those who watched her, those who were probably watching her now? She rubbed her arms, letting her eyes wander the wooded cemetery. As usual, if they were there and she knew they were, she couldn't find them.

What are you still doing here? she asked herself. You died. In front of a mortal--you should be flying out on the 12:10 to Paris, not loitering about here.

And yet here seemed to be the most right place to be. She glanced around at the marble headstones, the names of those both recently and long gone, saw the dried flowers placed there by loved ones. She wondered if anyone would put flowers on her grave when her time came or would her existence, as it had in life, be forgotten except by those in authority who sought to control her. Would anyone even know where she lay? Would anyone be around to remember her?

This is Duncan's fault, she thought mutinously, I was doing fine for hundreds of years before he was even born. Then he comes along with his big brown eyes, boy scout rule book, and reawakens my conscience.

That wasn't quite true. Her conscience had always been there--she had just learned to ignore it most of the time. Scruples tended get their possessor killed.

The scene before her was an excellent case in point.

Not more than twenty yards from her was a mortal man, head bowed over a tombstone. Dressed in uniform police blues, he stood erect, proud--a warrior just as she was, only they were usually on opposing sides. And the one time that they had been on the same side, tragedy struck as it always seemed to where Immortals were concerned. Sometimes, she wondered if she and all of her kind carried a curse that struck out at mortals, cutting them before their time like the fresh roses the man laid on the grave before him.

It was her fault that he was here--that they were both here. Both mourning the woman being laid to rest today for vastly different reasons. He, because this woman had been his partner, his friend. She understood the bonds that had tied them--they were much like the mentor-student relationships Immortals had. You trusted one person above all others to watch your back, to be there for you, someone you could go and unload to. Someone you would die for.

Only this time it had been the other way around.

And her reasons for being here? It was difficult for her to pinpoint exactly one reason. There were so many conflicting, confusing ones rolling around in her head--guilt, sympathy, sorrow, and most of all, surprise. After one thousand years of existence, that simple emotion was the most interesting and well, *surprising* one of all.

Why? she asked herself over and over again, why had the mortal woman done it? It wasn't as if they were friends. Or that the woman, Claudia, had believed she was innocent. There had been no sympathy in the cop for the thief. So why?

Because, she answered her own question, the woman had been idealistic--she had believed in the system, in right and wrong. Unlike that bastard who killed her, Claudia had sworn and meant an oath to protect and serve--even someone like her.

Dead because of a thief, wasn't that what Nick Wolfe had said. It hurt, it hurt worse than she expected. And the knowledge that Claudia's death had been in vain, dying to save her from being shot, never knowing that the person she was protecting was Immortal. That no gun shot would end her life--only the stroke of a sword. Useless, stupid, she raged silently as if the dead woman could hear. Why didn't you leave while you had the chance?

And now, her sacrifice wouldn't even mean anything.

She had overheard Wolfe's argument with his police captain. They were going to cover up all the sordid details of the case. No one save the parties involved--not even Claudia's family would know the truth, why she paid the ultimate price.

Now Wolfe would be gone as well. Resigning because he had lost more than just his partner--he'd lost his faith. Faith that Claudia represented; that they could make it a better world, that things weren't as hopeless as they seemed.

Well, then she would just have to remind him of that faith. And not give up when he tried to shut her out. Altruism now? she asked herself almost amused . What next--stray puppies?

Why did she want to help him so much? Because he was attractive? Certainly, he was but no more so than any other man. Because he had cared enough to try and learn the truth of the murders instead of just blindly convicting her? Partly.

What else?

Because...because once, long ago, unlooked for, unasked, someone had helped her, taught her how precious life was. She tugged thoughtfully at the white crystal glittering from a chain around her neck. Because looking after Wolfe might be the only way she could ever hope to repay even a fraction of what Claudia had given up in defending her.

With a sigh, Amanda replaced her sunglasses on her nose, casting one last glance at the lone figure in front of her and then walked away.

For now.

~End