Immortal Dilemma (part 1 of 3)

A Highlander/Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossover Story by Richard Ruth (Copyright 1997)

Legalistic Disclaimer
As usual, this is the deal: The concept and characters of Highlander (Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, and Joe Dawson) belong to Davis and Panzer Productions and Rysher. Meanwhile, over in Sunnydale, the concept and characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Buffy, Angel, Xander, Willow, Giles, and Darla) belong to Joss Whedon, Warner Brothers, and Mutant Enemy. They'll be returned to their respective owners with no stapling, spindling, or mutilating (well, not too much anyway). Also, thanks go to my guinea pigs, excuse me, beta readers, Mary Ellen Jedrlinic and Claudia Diamond.

One last thing before we get this show on the road, please do not re-post this story without first gaining the author's permission (a.k.a. me). Violation of this rule (second only to not killing on holy ground) may result in either decapitation or staking-depending on my mood that day.

Author's Note
This story is set during the fifth season of Highlander and during the second season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In other words, the insanity of Highlander's fifth season finale Archangel, when Richie has an unfortunate "accident," is completely disavowed in my corner of the galaxy (located slightly to the left of Proxima Centauri-hang a turn at Babylon Five and go four light years-you can't miss it). When necessary, I've also taken the liberty of filling in some of those annoying gaps in character backgrounds. Remember, all (positive) comments are welcome; all other (negative) comments will be rationalized, criticized, and ignored. If you have as much free time on your hands as I do, please direct E- mail to to me.
Enjoy.


Immortal Dilemma(part 1 of 3)

The young man pulled his motorcycle up in front of the large red brick apartment building. His female companion threw her leg over the back of the bike, stepped off, and removed her helmet.

"Sure you don't want me to come up? I still haven't seen your new place. I promise I won't bite...unless you want me to."

"Sorry Richie. My apartment is a real mess. I'm still fixing it up and I don't want you to get the wrong first impression. When it's finished, you'll be the first to see it."

Swiveling further around on his seat, the young man placed his arms around the woman's waist and pulled her close to him.

"You've talking to someone who lives in a dive slightly smaller than a shoebox above a Chinese take-out place. Believe me. It doesn't take much to impress me."

Looking into his eyes, Christina paused a few moments before answering, "I really can't tonight, Richie. I have some early classes tomorrow. As it is, I'm only going to have a few hours sleep."

Early in their relationship, she had warned him that completing her degree and going on to grad school was a priority. Well, with graduation only months away and the GREs looming, Richie had to respect her decision. Christina had worked hard for everything she'd accomplished. After all, not everyone could complete a bachelors degree in four years, let alone two. Just because a higher education was never a major factor in Richie's life, or even a minor one for that matter, didn't mean that he couldn't appreciate its significance to her.

"Christina, I swear you spend more hours with those books than with people...including me. You know what they say about all work and no play?"

Running her hands up the back of his leather jacket and through his short blond hair, she coyly responded, "No, young man, why don't you tell me."

Richie only responded by tightening his embrace and kissing her deeply.

"I've really got to go. See you Friday night?"

"Sure," Richie responded, "how about 9 o'clock?"

"That would be great. There's a place across town called The Bronze that we can go. It has some pretty cool music and there's a friend I'd like you to meet."

Pulling her close for a final kiss, Richie responded, "Sounds like a date."

Reluctantly breaking away, Christina quickly climbed the stairs leading to the building's lobby and disappeared from view.

Richie continued to sit outside the building for the next couple of minutes recalling the past four months with Christina. He hadn't told anyone about her yet, not even his friend and mentor, Duncan MacLeod. But as the days passed, the more he thought that she might be the one to which he would reveal his true nature...and eventually ask to marry him.

If his guess was correct, Duncan would not welcome this news. In fact, this was the main reason he had not yet introduced the young woman to the elder Immortal. Duncan-being Duncan and thereby thinking he knew it all-would simply group her with the many women that Richie had been briefly involved over the past several years. Deep down, however, the young man knew this was different.

Had Richie Ryan looked up, he might have noticed a lone figure staring down upon the scene from the edge of a nearby rooftop. To this individual, the events of the past few minutes were neither romantic nor heart-warming. Nothing but hatred and the incessant pursuit of power mattered to this mind, which had long since lost its grip on reality.

As Richie pulled away on his bike to begin the 20-minute trip up the interstate to Seacouver, Christina was happily dialing the telephone number of a high school friend who she also happened to be tutoring on weekends.

"Hi, Willow. It's Christina. Ready for this Saturday's wild and wacky adventures in advanced COBOL programming? You are? Did I ever mention that you really should get out more often? Only kidding, but you really should ask that-what's his name, Xanadu? OK...Xander-guy out. Take the initiative or you'll never rope him. I know it's hard, but give it a try. I have to go hit the books now, but I was just checking if you're up for Friday's Bronze bash. Great. Oh, I'll also be bringing a very special friend that I want you to meet. See you there."

With that, Christina hung up the phone and ended what would be the last phone call of her 19-year life.


*********************************************************************


The following afternoon, Richie entered MacLeod's dojo. Passing quickly by the men working out in the large training room, he headed directly to the glass enclosed office at the far end of the gym. As he warmed up the laptop computer on the desk to do some bookkeeping, he heard the building's freight elevator start down on its short but noisy trip from MacLeod's loft above. Simultaneously, he also felt a tingling sensation impress itself upon his consciousness, signaling the presence of another Immortal. Moments later, he heard the wooden elevator door slam upwards on its track and Duncan came into view.

"Hi, Richie. Thought you would've come in earlier today. Late night?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"What's her name?"

As MacLeod closed the office door, Richie swung his feet off the desktop and walked towards the window overlooking the nearby railroad yard. Staring out, he had his back to the other Immortal who was now leaning on a file cabinet.

Audibly taking a deep breath before answering, he said, "Her name is Christina and I think I'm in love with her."

Looking directly at the younger man, MacLeod remained silent a moment before responding, "And I thought this might be a quiet day for a change."

Richie didn't appreciate what he interpreted as a snide crack. Spinning around to face MacLeod, he quickly countered, "That sounds funny coming from someone with more conquests than Julius Caesar."

MacLeod's face momentarily darkened. However, after a few moments of silence, he sat down and motioned for Richie to do the same.

"OK. Sorry. I'm listening."

Richie then began, logically enough, at the beginning, "We've been seeing each other close to four months now. She's a student who is very serious about her studies. And, best of all, we really enjoy each other's company. When we're together, the rest of the world seems to disappear. You know what I mean, Mac?"

In many ways, MacLeod was more comfortable facing down a sword-wielding psycho than in having these types of discussions. After a few moments, he responded, "Yes, Rich, I do. Very much so. But as I've said before, Immortals can't make these kinds of decisions lightly. As you've found out on more than one occasion, asking a mortal to enter our world can be a matter of life or death...literally. You've got to be absolutely sure. Are you?"

Silently, Richie rose and headed back towards the window. After a long pause, he reluctantly answered.

"No. Not yet, anyhow."

Standing and moving up behind the young man, MacLeod placed his hand on Richie's shoulder. "Well, when you are, there won't be any doubts in your mind."

At this point their conversation was interrupted by a ringing telephone. Richie waited until MacLeod ended the call from an athletic equipment supplier before stating, "Mac, I'd like you to meet Christina this weekend. She knows that I have no family and that you're my best friend."

Without hesitation, MacLeod answered, "Sure, Richie. I'd be happy to meet her."

"Thanks, Mac. It means a lot to me."


*********************************************************************


The following evening, Richie was running late...as usual. Gunning his motorcycle along the Crosstown Expressway, he was trying to remember if he'd forgotten anything. He had made dinner reservations in a nice little Italian restaurant, to be followed by dancing at the club Christina had mentioned. Personally, he would have preferred listening to the blues at Joe Dawson's place, but he was easy. Turning onto Christina's street, Richie's smile quickly faded as the scene before him unfolded.

Several police cruisers as well as additional unmarked police cars lined the street. A police line had been set up across the sidewalk in front of Christina's apartment building. On the third floor, shadows could be seen moving across the windows, backlit by high intensity floodlights within. Bringing his motorcycle to an abrupt stop, Richie dropped the machine on its side, forgetting to set the kickstand. He ran towards a cop on the sidewalk.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

"Sir, there's been an incident. Who do you know in the building?"

"My girlfriend. Her name is Christina O'Leary."

Moving towards the entrance to the building, the officer indicated that Richie should stay with his partner and that he would return momentarily. After answering a few more questions by the first cop's partner and receiving no responses to his questions in return, Richie was rapidly losing what remained of his patience.

Exasperated and distracted, he didn't immediately notice the plainclothes detective exit the building and proceed in his direction.

"Mr. Ryan? I'm Detective Michael Mendell with the Metropolitan Police Department. I'm sorry to have to inform you that Ms. O'Leary has been the victim of a crime."

"Where is she? Is she OK? Is she in the hospital?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ryan, but she's dead."

The words struck Richie like a sledgehammer. Staggering backward, his leg brushed against a fire hydrant and he fell backwards into the gutter. Mendell quickly motioned to one of the officers to help him get the dazed young man back onto his feet. They slowly eased him into one of the nearby cruisers and asked him if he wanted some coffee.

After waiting a few minutes for Richie to compose himself, Mendell asked a few more questions. Seemingly satisfied with the answers, he indicated that he would be heading back to the precinct. Stating that it wouldn't be a good idea for Richie to drive a motorcycle in his current state of mind, he offered to take him home and impound the motorcycle until it could be picked up. Reluctantly, Richie agreed.

Except to give directions, Richie didn't speak to Mendell in the car. They rode silently along in the detective's black Ford Crown Victoria.

"Do you live here alone, Mr. Ryan?" Mendell asked as they entered the darkened dojo.

"I only work here. A friend lives here. He was supposed to meet Christina tomorrow. I really need to talk to him."

Sensing Richie, MacLeod started down in the elevator from upstairs. Raising the elevator door, he quickly focused on the tall figure standing next to his student and immediately became cautious. Especially since this one had cop written all over him.

"Kind of late for guests, Richie. Is there a problem?"

Before Ryan could respond, Mendell slipped his badge and ID from his coat pocket and identified himself as a homicide detective.

MacLeod quickly shifted his gaze to Richie. For the first time he noticed the redness and swelling around the younger man's eyes. Crying? Previously, he had only seen Richie cry on one other occasion, and that was Tessa's funeral. What the hell happened tonight?

"Sorry to bother you, sir. But your friend asked me to bring him here. I'm afraid there's been a murder."

"Murder? Who?"

Barely raising his voice above a whisper, Richie answered, "Christina...someone killed her in her apartment."

The young Immortal then sat down on one of the nearby wooden benches and placed his head in his heads.

"Oh God, Richie, I'm so sorry."

Looking down at the slumped figure, MacLeod was at a loss for words. Having himself lost the love of his long life not so many years earlier to a random and senseless act of violence, he knew the flood of emotions that Richie was experiencing.

"Mr. MacLeod, can I speak to you for a moment?"

Indicating his office, MacLeod and Mendell entered the glass enclosed room. Offering the detective a cup of coffee, which was politely refused, MacLeod started pacing across the room. Meanwhile, Mendell quickly surveyed his surroundings, taking note of the two curved swords mounted on one of the walls.

"Detective, what happened? Do you have any idea who might have done this?"

"No. So far, we have no hard leads. But, our investigation is just beginning. Although she was new in the building, according to her neighbors Ms. O'Leary was friendly, quiet, and very rarely had guests in her apartment. It's just too early to develop a definitive profile of the killer."

Sitting on the edge of his desk, MacLeod needed to ask the next question.

"What was the cause of death?"

Mendell paused before responding, "Mr. MacLeod, I can't divulge any specifics about the case. All I can tell you is that the crime was brutal, sudden, and that death was caused by massive blood loss."

The detective then waited a few seconds before he posed his first question to MacLeod. He knew how it would be interpreted, but it had to be asked.

"Mr. MacLeod what can you tell me about Mr. Ryan out there?"

Fully expecting the question, MacLeod responded without missing a beat. "Well, detective, I can tell you that he didn't murder his girlfriend. And, since I don't expect you to take my word on anything, I trust you'll be checking into Richie's background. So, let me save you some time. Richie was an orphan who bounced from one troubled foster family to another. As a result, he had frequent scrapes with the law and was arrested several times for burglary and theft."

Upon hearing this, Mendell stopped taking notes and looked up from his pad.

"What would you say, Mr. MacLeod, if I told you that Ms. O'Leary's apartment showed signs of a burglary?"

"I would say, detective, that she was the victim of a vicious individual who places no value on human life. And, that individual is not sitting in the next room."

With that, Detective Mendell flipped his notebook closed and thanked MacLeod for his time. Upon exiting the office and passing Richie, he quickly expressed his condolences and left the dojo.

As was often the case, the two Immortals were left grieving the loss of a loved one alone.


*********************************************************************


Over the weekend, news of Christina's death spread like wildfire across Sunnydale. Although the small suburb of Seacouver seemed to have more than its fair share of unusual deaths, the brutal murder of an intelligent young girl still made headlines.

Sequestered in her small bedroom, Willow Rosenberg was devastated. Refusing to answer her phone or come downstairs to see her friends from school, she simply couldn't stop thinking about her friend Christina. Not only had she connected with the older girl intellectually, but she also admired her independence. On some level, deep down, Willow had a special respect for independent women who were successful despite the men, or lack thereof, in their lives.

However, as Saturday passed into Sunday, something changed. Willow's grief was rapidly evolving into anger. She needed to know who killed her friend and why. Answering the phone when it rang, she realized that she had the ability to bring those responsible for Christina's death to justice...either here on Earth or in the great beyond.

"Hi, Xander. I'm OK. Thanks for calling. Yes, I know I have to eat. My mom mentioned you came by yesterday. Sorry I didn't feel like talking then."

After a few minutes, Willow asked Xander Harris to meet her that night at Sunnydale High School. They would use a copy of Rupert Giles' passkey to get into the school library to use the computer terminal's Internet connection. What they didn't expect was the librarian to be roaming around the stacks on a Sunday night. He was.

"Hey, my man Giles. What, some overdue books needed to be catalogued before the moon changes phase or something?"

As usual, the librarian/slayer trainer/watcher was engrossed in researching a volume of supernatural phenomena; his mind focused on the distant past, not the mundane present.

"What was that, Xander? Oh no, nothing like that. How silly. There have been some reports of recent demonic activity at a racetrack near Paris and I thought I would research any similar occurrences. What brings the two of you here so late?"

By this time, Willow had started warming up the PC and was accessing the county coroner's database. It was safe to assume that this was one of the few computers in town (or anywhere else for that matter) where the coroner's office was set as a favorite website.

"Giles, did you hear about the girl that was killed in her apartment the other night?" Xander asked.

"Of course. Horrible. The police said it was a robbery or some such thing. You Americans have such a penchant for senseless violence."

With a wry grin, Xander replied, "You mean, as compared to ten centuries of deliberate, calculated British violence?"

Seeing Giles' annoyed expression, he quickly continued, "Well, Giles, Willow was a good friend of the girl and she wants to know who killed her."

"Oh God!" Willow was frantically pointing at the monitor. She had quickly hacked her way into the autopsy files and called up Christina O'Leary's file, No. 23346A-97. Along with the usual cold medical abstractions describing a young life snuffed out in its prime, there was this passage "...death resulted from blood loss caused by massive neck and torso injuries caused by a large bladed instrument."

"Look at these pictures! She was gutted like an animal in her own apartment!"

By this time Giles had come around the table and was standing behind Willow. Removing his glasses, he said to Xander, "This was the work of a very deranged individual. I think we should call Buffy."

Within an hour, a young girl entered the library. To a casual observer, the girl, wearing a large leather jacket, knee-high boots, a baggy man's shirt, and a large silver cross around her neck, seemed like a typical high school fashion victim. Correction. A very attractive high school fashion victim. Looking up from the terminal, Willow was visibly relieved that Buffy Summers had arrived on the scene.

"Sorry about your friend, Willow. I wish I had known her."

"So do I. The two of you would have really liked each other. Did Xander tell you what I found?"

Fingering her cross, Buffy responded, "Scumbag crossed the line. Scumbag's gonna die. Did I miss anything?"

"Buffy, try not to be so flip about this. We have no hard evidence that this was anything more than a robbery gone horribly wrong. If we're dealing with a simple, but admittedly brutal, crime we have no right to be judge, jury, and executioner."

Giles was clearly not amused (he is British, after all). He then asked Willow if the police had any leads.

While quickly spinning a world globe on top of the checkout desk, Xander quipped, "The cops around here couldn't find a clue if Vanna was selling them for $250 each."

"Unfortunately, he's right...for a change," Giles remarked. Holding a printout from Willow's unauthorized voyage through the Sunnydale PD's case files, he added, "They only have one suspect at the moment...a Richard Ryan who lives in Seacouver. They also list an address." Pausing as he read further down the page, he then added with a note of consternation, "Oh...oh my...it seems that our young Mr. Ryan was arrested on at least two separate occasions with stolen swords in his possession."

"So, our boy likes to play with sharp objects, does he?" Buffy remarked. Slipping a wooden stake into her boot, she said to Xander, "I think you should check out this Ryan guy tomorrow. I'd do it myself, but my mom has me baby-sitting my cousin who's visiting for a few days."

Xander was puzzled. "How am I supposed to do that? Take a bus up to Seacouver and then walk home-I don't drive, remember?"

Buffy smiled. "Oh, I think I can arrange transportation with a friend."

What remained of Xander's grin disappeared completely.


*********************************************************************

The following evening Richie left his apartment to get a drink (or two, or three) at Joe Dawson's bar. After a weekend of sheer hell, topped off by Christina's funeral that morning, he was determined to get smashed. In all likelihood, Joe would have to pour him into a cab for his return trip home.

On a normal night, the young Immortal would have noticed the two people sitting on the black Harley- Davidson parked down the street. After all, Richie could appreciate a nice bike when he saw one. But not tonight. Instead, he simply climbed aboard his own red Yamaha and sped off, oblivious to all around him.

"OK, Angel. Tell me again why I'm hanging on to the back of your motorcycle, freezing my ass off?" Xander inquired.

"Because Buffy and Willow want us to tail that guy. To follow someone on a motorcycle, you get yourself a bigger motorcycle. And I just happen to own one. Hang on...here we go." Gunning the engine, they were in pursuit.

"Where the hell is he going? This looks like your kind of place, Angel. Empty warehouses, railroad tracks, abandoned piers."

Not normally a big conversationalist with Angel, it was helping Xander's mind considerably at the moment to be engaged with something other than his possible death from a blunt force impact with another vehicle or an immovable object such as a telephone pole or a tree.

"Hey, Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Of the three of us, why am I the only one wearing a helmet?"

"Well, Xander, I can't speak for the guy up the road there, but what's the worst thing that can happen? I dump the bike, get up, dust myself off, check for any missing limbs, and walk away. No big deal."

"Uh, Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"What about me?"

"Don't ask. That's why you're wearing a helmet."

Upon hearing this, Xander hung on a bit tighter.

A couple of minutes later, Richie Ryan pulled up outside Joe's place and went inside. A minute or so later, Angel and Xander also entered the bar.

"I never thought I'd say this, but The Bronze isn't looking too bad to me right now," Xander remarked. What he hadn't noticed was that Angel had barely progressed past the doorway when his hand shot up to his temple. Across the room Richie, seated at the bar, had a similar reaction-causing the color to drain from his face as he pitched forward towards the polished wooden surface.

"Richie, what's wrong?" A look of concern was now obvious on Dawson's face as he asked, "Is there someone here?"

"I don't know. It feels different this time. Stronger. More intense."

Near the door, Xander now had his hands full. Angel was in such intense pain that it had caused his concentration to momentarily slip, revealing his vampiric face. Fortunately, however, the jazz club's dim lighting concealed his true nature from the other patrons until Xander could usher him to a corner table.

"What the hell was that? You decided it was time to come out of Bela Lugosi's closet?"

Angel was in no mood for Xander's sense of humor. "Please just shut up for a minute, Xander...I feel like someone just shoved a stake into my ear."

"You mean you sensed him? How can that be? Is he a vampire?"

"Xander, I don't know what just happened. But, I'm not really up to playing 20 questions here."

"Sorry...how do you feel?"

"A little better-now-but I'd hate to see the other guy."

Across the room, Dawson was looking at the 'other guy,' who was also slowly recovering.

"Joe, did you see anyone just come into the bar?"

"Only those two guys over there. Why?"

Looking up to face the older man, Richie replied, "Because I think at least one of them may be causing my Tylenol moment here. That's why."

"Immortals? I don't recognize either one of them."

Richie paused to glance at the two strangers sitting across the smoky room. He then decided to remind Joe that the Watcher database had some rather large gaps when it came to the identification of new Immortals.

"Do me a favor, Joe. Go over and feel out those two for me. Ask a few innocent questions like if they want a drink, if they're new in town, and-if they're talkative-if they're going to try to kill the handsome young redhead at the bar. Just try not to be too obvious about it."

Joe rocked back and forth on his cane a couple of times before remarking, "Oh, is that all? Why don't I just pull out my gun, shoot them a few times, and see if they stay dead?"

With a grin spreading across his face, Richie responded, "Well, if it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

Muttering something under his breath about distinctly recalling some Watcher rules about not interfering, Dawson began his slow shuffle across the room towards the darkened corner table.

"Here comes the old man that Ryan was talking to," stated Angel. "I think he's made us. Stay quiet and let me do the talking."

"Sure thing. You won't even know I'm here. I'll just pull an invisible man routine and..."

"Xander. Shut up. Now!"

Arriving at the table a couple of seconds later, Dawson began by saying, "Welcome to Joe's. Can I get you gents anything?"

However, before Angel could respond, Xander ordered a round of Jell-O shots and beer chasers. The resulting glare from the vampire could have cracked glass.

"Whoa, friend. Aren't you two a bit young for the hard stuff?"

Smiling, Angel responded, "Some people are older than they look, friend."

With an equally large grin, Joe replied, "Isn't that the truth. But I'll still need to see some ID."

At this point Xander started mumbling something about forgetting his driver's license and feebly patted his jacket pockets. Angel, however, simply assumed a very calm demeanor, looked straight into Dawson's eyes, and stated, "Bring us the drinks my friend ordered."

The fact that the set of eyes Joe was staring into were now blood-red tinged with gold was not lost on Xander who observed the interchange. The teenager, awestruck, simply remarked, "Now if only I could do that at parties..."

Before Joe consciously realized what was happening, he was moving back towards the bar to fetch the drinks. Once he was back behind the bar, Richie leaned over and whispered, "So. Who are they?"

"Must bring them shots and beer," Joe mindlessly stated.

"Shots and beer? Joe, what the hell are you talking about?"

Richie was puzzled. After all, nosing into everyone else's business was Joe Dawson's specialty. Coming back empty-handed from an information gathering mission was unheard of.

"Joe, who are..."

However, before Richie could finish the question the older man was moving back towards the strangers.

"That's it. I'm outta here," Richie stated to no one in particular.

Noticing Ryan's movement towards the exit, Angel rose from the table, turned to Xander and said, "Pay the man and meet me outside. We've got to go."

Xander was not a happy camper. He got proofed, got busted, got served, and got stuck with the tab. All before he could down a drop.

"This sucks big time!" he muttered.

Exiting the bar in time to see Richie's taillight disappearing into the swirling Seacouver fog, Xander had to quickly jump back onto the curb to avoid getting hit by Angel's Harley as it screeched to a halt.

"That really stunk! You know that, right?"

Angel merely replied, "Stop complaining and get on. We're gonna lose him."

Barely waiting for Xander's butt to hit the seat, they sped off into the night.


*********************************************************************

end part 1 of 3 - Immortal Dilemma by Richard Ruth