AN: Nothing but the silly plot is mine, all belongs to the respective owners. Please don't sue me ;)
My dear readers, this here is a crossover hence it would be useful if you knew Being Human and Highlander. Otherwise it will not make a lot of sense to you ;)
Also lets all ignore how the timelines of those two shows would never ever work together because this is just for fun ;)
As bar man you hear all kinds of weird, or boring, or crazy, or just everyday stories. It's just part of the unofficial job description. Joe knew that and as owner, bartender, occasionally performer as well as apparently psychologist-substitute at his bar he thought he'd heard all the stories before. That was before the blond Englishman with the low tolerance for alcohol saw the tattoo on Joe's wrist while the Watcher pushed over his fourth Scotch.
"I know that ...ink thing. Seen it before...I have a file on you...had a file...anyway, Watcher, right?"
Joe cast a furtive look towards the other guests sitting at the bar. Thankfully they were rather too preoccupied with each other's mouths to pay any attention. The rest of the patrons were gathered closer to the stage to listen to the band.
"No idea what you're talkin' bout, buddy, got that thing when I was drunk out of my mind shortly after 'Nam. Not the faintest idea if it means anything or if it's just supposed to look cool."
Joe shrugged and started cleaning glasses.
The foreigner wasn't so easily convinced. He pointed a rather unsteady finger at Joe and fixed him with a blue eyed stare that was rather too penetrating for someone so drunk.
"Oh no, no use lying to me, I know what that sign means and so do you. I know all about Immortals and your little secret fan club. I work...worked...for the government. The one in Great Britain, obviously, not here." The man lifted his glass and emptied it, spilling half of it on his slightly crumpled grey three piece suit.
Joe groaned and put one hand on the other's arm.
"I think you've had quite enough for tonight, don't you, Mister? Should I call you a taxi to take you to your hotel?"
The man pulled his arm out from under Joe's hand and straightened his cuffs.
"I'd prefer it if you did not touch me, Watcher, and I have every intention of getting even drunker."
Personally Joe thought if that stick insect of a man touched even one more drop of alcohol he'd be out cold. He was barely more than skin and bones, really, compared to the likes of Duncan.
"Well, that's your decision, of course, buddy, but you're not doing it in my bar. Did you drive here?"
The Englishman shook his head.
"No, of course not, you drive on the wrong side of the stupid road. And I'm not your 'buddy', the name's Rook."
Joe crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"Well, Mr. Rook, my name's Joe and I own this bar so if I say you've had enough you've had enough. You can get a coffee but no more alcohol."
Rook pulled a disgusted face.
"I take it getting decent tea around here is out of the question?"
Joe shrugged. "It's a bar. If you want tea go to a café. But I think you really should go to your hotel and sleep this off."
The other slumped on his bar stool like someone had cut his strings. He leaned his elbows on the bar and fiddled with a stop watch he'd pulled out of his jacket pocket.
"I'm trying to save my job but it seems to be a fool's errant. Those stupid bureaucrats just don't see how essential my department is. All they see is how much money it costs. But they will be sorry. Special Branch is completely out of their depth and on the next full moon, at the latest, they'll see what kind of monsters we're dealing with."
That caught Joe's interest. Was that guy implying what he thought he was implying? No way, there was no such thing as werewolves... was there? Most people would say there was no such thing as Immortals. 'Most people' were usually wrong in Joe's experience.
"Listen, Mr. Rook, don't you think you should keep a bit more quiet about your job, especially if it's government business? Doesn't seem like the kind of work one should be shouting about in a bar."
Rook looked guilty for a second.
"Right you are, all very covert and confidential. But soon the secret will be out anyway when we're not around to hide the monsters. Be glad your organisation is privately funded, Watcher."
Joe sighed and decided it was at this point rather useless to deny who he was working for. He put a glass of water in front of the drunk man hoping he'd drink it and sober up a bit
"I'd also appreciate if you stopped shouting about Watchers. It's supposed to be a secret organisation and you never know who might be listening."
The Englishman nodded taking a sip of his water.
"Yes, yes, especially when all the monsters look so much like humans and type 1's are also invisible to humans. At least your kind of monsters don't leave half eaten carcasses behind..."
Joe leaned forward and also rested his elbows on the bar. This way he cold talk more quietly and he hoped Rook would follow his example.
"You listen here, Mr. Rook. Immortals aren't monsters, they're people, they're human, they just live a little longer. I don't know what kind of beings your lot is confronted with but I won't have you insulting my friends in my own bar."
Rook raise his eyebrows in surprise.
"Friends? You're friends with them?What ever happened to 'observe and never interfere'?"
Joe shrugged lazily.
"Some situations require you to...bend the rules a bit. And my assignment isn't a bad guy. He's helped me and I've helped him. So I take it you don't interfere either?"
Rook looked slightly affronted.
"The way you do, by making friends with them? No, of course not. 'No care, all responsibility', that's the only way to deal with the carnage that type 2s and type 3s leave behind. I could never be friends with something that rips humans apart to eat them or drink their blood."
Joe was itching to take notes on this, it was like a Watcher reflex, record everything. Types...the full moon...eating humans or drinking their blood...invisible beings. This was all starting to sound like an episode of the Twilight Zone...or maybe Buffy. Weren't there also Watchers on Buffy?
"Am I right in thinking that those 'types' you're talking about are supernaturals? You know, like werewolves?"
Rook nodded and finished his water. He seemed to have sobered up a bit.
"Your job is watching and you're telling me you have no idea that they exist? Seems we do a better job than I had thought. It's all real, Joe, the monsters are all real and if humans ever find out about them there will be war."
Joe nodded. That's what would happen if they found out about immortals as well. Humanity did not deal well with those who are different and those who scare them.
"So you clean up after the supernaturals to keep them secret?"
Rook put his stop watch away and started fiddling with his pen instead.
"Type 2s usually are organized enough to clean up after themselves, we just deal with the messes they miss. Type 3s aren't organized at all and during the full moon they are hardly more than savage animals. So mostly we clean up their messes. Type 1s don't make much mess unless one of them turns poltergeist."
Joe whistled through his teeth. Rook put the pen away again as Joe refilled his water.
"Cleaning up a beheading is much easier than having to comb the woods after a full moon for bodies that are sometimes scattered over miles. We once found a camper's foot at the other end of the forest from his head. The rest of the body was spread out in between. At least the parts of it that hadn't been devoured."
Joe pulled a disgusted face.
"Too much information, Rook, way too much. But at least your guys don't create a gigantic light show that will bring every nosey neighbour, fire fighter and police man in the city to the crime scene in minutes. If our assignments are in no condition to get rid of the evidence themselves we have very little time to do it for them and we have to watch out they don't see us while we do it. I'd say your job is easier."
Rook glared at him with those icy eyes.
"Easier? Do you know how many men I've lost to type 2s? Type 3s are easily detained or avoided as soon as the moon has gone down but type 2s can always be right around the corner while we are bagging their victims. And they have absolutely no qualms about killing whoever crosses their path."
Joe had been so focused on the man opposite him that he only realised someone had come up behind Rook when that someone reached over the bar for a beer bottle. Joe gave the grinning man a slap on the wrist for his troubles.
"No self service at the bar, Adam, especially for people who never pay their tab."
Adam shot him an innocent grin.
"But I didn't want to disturb you and your new friend, Joe. Also I'm your buddy, I get special rights."
Joe glared at him than handed him a beer.
"You're a pain in the arse, that's what you are."
Adam smugly drank his beer and sat down on the bar stool next to Rook.
"But you love me anyway, Joe. Gonna introduce me to your man in grey?"
Rook lifted an eyebrow at that and fixed his penetrating stare on Adam who merely smiled back way too innocently. Joe cleared his throat.
"Adam, that's Mr. Rook, Rook, Adam. There, I introduced you, can you leave us alone now? Is Mac not around for you to annoy?"
Adam and Rook didn't stop their staring contest.
"Amanda's in town", Adam said as if that were enough explanation. Actually, now that Joe thought about it it was. He pulled a face again. Amanda most likely was the one person whose name alone could be too much information.
"Oh for God's sake can you two stop with the staring? You're behaving like two territorial cats."
Both pairs of eyes focused on Joe instead and he was not sure if that was an improvement.
Rook was fiddling with his pen again. While Adam looked like the cat that knew it would soon get the bird.
"I believe Joe was just about to call me a cab."
The Englishman looked questioningly at the bar owner and suddenly he didn't seem drunk at all any longer. Joe grabbed his phone and called a taxi. It would be better to get those two as far apart as possible.
"I'll wait for it outside, good night Joe"
Joe waved a the retreating grey clad back while Adam played with his beer bottle with a pensive look Joe didn't like at all. Then he smirked.
"Seems I ruffled Mr. Rook's feathers a bit. But it's been at least 40 years since I last saw one of his lot."
Joe looked at him incredulously.
"Ok, Adam, spill. I know you want to."
Adam just leaned back against the bar with an infuriatingly smug grin.
"All I can say is that he's much more handsome than his father. Did you see those eyes?"
Joe groaned and mumbled something about shooting a certain 5000 year old pain in the arse exactly there and went back to cleaning glasses.