Hours ticked by. The sun set. The moon rose. Lance knew that sleep was not an option. Even if he did manage to get comfortable, he found his mind often wandered back to memories of his own first death. He shook his head, remembering that fateful day and that extraordinary flame-haired Icini queen who had led hundreds of thousands against his Legion. He had watched in awe as her chariot thundered across the field. Without a moment's hesitation, she ploughed her horses straight into the first line of defense, but the Legion had been prepared for the onslaught. They had chosen a tract of land that would keep the Icini forces from overwhelming them. Though they had superior numbers, the Icini were slaughtered by a force with better weapons and more training.

It was a sour victory indeed. He absently rubbed the left side of his chest where there should have been a scar from an Icini blade. He still remembered the all-consuming pain as his heart was pierced by the sword. He remembered looking up into the face of his opponent just before his eyes dimmed. It had been that Queen!

"Boudica," he whispered before death claimed him.

Women Immortals were not unheard of, but many passed into old age simply because they weren't as violent as men. She was one of the exceptions, and had certainly lived up to the adage that hell had no fury like a woman scorned. He hadn't seen her in over thirty years, and had just made the decision to travel to Orkney when Johnson had been murdered. Lance stared thoughtfully into the fire. Perhaps she would be a better teacher for Natalie. She knew what it meant to survive the ages. She understood that Immortality was a tricky beast for women, much more so than for men. He just wondered what kind of student would Natalie be?

Lance tried not to watch the clock as the hours ticked by slowly. Sometime around midnight, he finally caved in to his stomach's demand for food. He didn't remember which microwave dinner he ate, or what it tasted like. His mind was more focused on trying to answer the inevitable questions. Just after the grandfather clock in the foyer struck three a.m., he decided to take a foray into the upstairs attic. Some of the boxes and miscellaneous junk belonged to the previous owners, and some crates and other things were his. It took only a few minutes before he found the box of old photo albums. He didn't need the pictures to remind him of those times, but he thought Natalie might be interested. And it would help prove that he was telling the truth. Ten minutes later, he was sitting in front of the fireplace, thumbing through the old photographs.

The first picture in the oldest album was an old tintype of him dressed in the uniform of a Union cavalry officer. Lance didn't want to say he remembered his days with Sherman fondly, but they had been a necessity. The rebel Confederates were loathe to admit defeat, and the Burning of Atlanta had been a necessary evil. A few pages later reminded him of his days in Arizona during the heyday of the Wild West. Beside him were two other men: the town doctor and the then newly-appointed Mayor. He stood between the other two and sported a five-pointed Marshall's badge. He flipped through the album, vaguely wishing he had pictures of himself throughout the first part of his life.