A/N: Why do I keep coming up with these insane crossovers? First VG/Quantum Leap… Now VG/Highlander. I don't know if this one will work as well as the other seemed to, but please R+R to let me know.
Background Info: If you've never seen the show, you should probably read this. Highlander was a series of movies and TV shows about Immortals. They are human, but live forever. They can only die if their heads are cut off. Most immortals carry swords to defend themselves. When one kills the other, he or she gets the other's power in a lightning burst called the Quickening. Immortals are forever stuck at the age that they first 'died' at (they can be 'killed' but they just come back to life). Duncan McLeod is the Highlander, he's all noble and stuff; Tessa Noel is his lover of 12 years; Richie Ryan works for them in their antique store.
Chapter One
Seacouver
Richie Ryan bobbed his head along to the music blasting from the stereo. If Mac caught him playing it this loud in the main show room, he'd be in big trouble, but McLeod wasn't due back for an hour or more. Besides, the album was Mac's; Richie had found it in the storage room that morning. It was the only music that he'd seen in the store that wasn't opera or classical. He was curious to see who this Brian Slade was, so he put the old record on and turned it up once he'd found he liked it. But curiosity had killed the cat, and it would kill Richie, too, if Mac or Tessa came home to find him blasting "The Ballad of Maxwell Demon".
The music was so loud Richie didn't hear the bell ding as someone entered the antique store. He didn't even notice anyone else's presence until a hand landed on his shoulder. "Excuse me?"
Richie jumped, dropping his broom as he spun to face the newcomer. "Geez, man, you scared me."
The man smiled. He was about 5'10", a little shorter than Richie. His dark brown hair was close cropped and his skin lightly tanned. Sunglasses covered his eyes, as designer as his slacks and overcoat. "Music's a little loud," the young man said, but his tone was lightly amused, not reproving.
"Only way to play it," Richie replied, grinning, then moved to turn the music off.
"Brian Slade, huh? That was a lifetime ago."
"Better than the bubblegum crap they're putting out now."
The man removed his sunglasses with a flourish. "Couldn't agree more."
Richie felt his stomach plummet and his cheeks flush. "You're Tom Maxwell, aren't you?"
"The one and only."
"I am so sorry…" he trailed off, mentally kicking himself. Right in front of him was the best-selling singer of 91 and 92, and he'd called modern music- *his* music- 'bubblegum crap'.
Tom just grinned. "Its cool. I'm with you on that one. McLeod around?"
"Uh… No, he's with Tessa. Should be back soon," Richie finished quickly, remembering that all of McLeod's 'friends' didn't wish him well.
"Mind if I wait?" Tom asked, immediately turning and heading for the living area of the store.
"No, not at all," Richie mumbled as he disappeared from view. Richie headed quickly after him, into the kitchen. "So how do you know Mac?"
Tom smiled as he poured coffee into a mug. "I'm an old friend." He gestured to the pot of coffee in front of him. "You want?"
"Nah," Richie said, not stopping to appreciate the strangeness of someone offering him coffee in his own home. "How long you known Mac?"
Tom chuckled. "Not long… Twenty years, give or take."
*Bingo,* Richie though. The long coat, the familiarity, plus the fact that he didn't look older than twenty-five. Tom Maxwell was an immortal.
Before Richie could comment, the kitchen door swung open. "Richie," Mac said as he entered, a tinge of alarm coloring his voice. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. Then he saw Tom and the alarm in his face immediately turned to joy. "Brian?" Mac asked, striding forward.
Tom grinned and met him half way. "Mac," he said as the older man folded him into a friendly hug.
Richie sat on his stool, confused. "Brian?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ London, England, 1975 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Brian Slade shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around him. Brian asked himself for the twentieth time why he was walking down St. Giles at two am in the dead of winter. The answer came again- if you want it, get it yourself.
Shannon had said that to him after the last time he had ran out of cocaine. *If you want it, get it yourself, Brian*. But he was completely out of money, nearly out of contacts, and definitely out of luck. The only thing that he seemed to have was time, and that just wouldn't stop.
After his break up with Curt, he had wanted it all to end. He'd settled his estate, kissed Mandy goodbye, and paid a man to shoot him onstage at his own concert. The bullets had been real. He'd loaded them himself. The wounds had been real to; they'd torn through his skin, leaving him lying on the stage in blinding agony. He'd felt himself die, and when he woke up, he thought he was in hell. Instead he was still on stage, Shannon and Jerry crowded around him with the members of his band.
He was alive. Even his suicide didn't go right.
Maxwell Demon had fallen after that. But Brian Slade had remained, every night overdosing on cocaine and every night reawakening as if he hadn't died at all. He'd gone through his money quickly, his friends quicker, and now he was alone. Even Shannon had deserted him.
Brian kicked at the ground bitterly and headed inside the dingy hotel. He was supposed to meet a junk dealer there, one who apparently liked his music and wouldn't mind trading a night of sex with his idol for enough coke to last Brian a couple more nights.
He was crossing the threshold when a mind numbing pain his him. Brian staggered, wondering if the head ache was an after effect from O.D.ing every night for three weeks. But the ache immediately lessened and he moved forward again.
Before he could enter fully, a tall man strode towards him, his strong arm forcing Brian back though the door and onto the cold street. "I am Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod," the stranger said with the remnants of a Scottish brogue.
"I don't give a damn," Brian snapped.
The man looked confused. "You're not here for me?"
Brian was too shaky from withdrawal to care about caution. "I'm here for drugs!" he cried, and tried to throw the man's arm off of his shoulder. He stumbled, nearly falling into the snow.
McLeod caught him. "Do you know what we are?"
"We're nothing," Brian said, trying again to shove McLeod away. "I'm nothing."
"You died recently."
"You read the papers. I'm impressed."
McLeod's reassuring voice went on. "You died and you came back. Maybe more than once. Wounds heal quickly and you got a buzz in your head as I came close." Brian nodded slowly, shivering violently. McLeod sighed. "Come on. I'll buy you dinner and explain."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"He told me what I was and taught me what I needed to know." Brian sighed and smiled at McLeod. "If it wasn't for him, someone would have taken my head sooner or later."
Mac chuckled. "Probably later; you were always good at charming your way out of situations, Bri."
"So you're Brian Slade, huh?" Richie asked.
"The one and only," Brian repeated, giving the same smile he's flashed Richie in the showroom.
"It's great seeing you, Brian, but why are you here? Last I heard, you were a big time pop star recording an CD down in LA."
"Still am, Mac." Brian sighed, bit lightly on his lower lip. "But I need your help."
Background Info: If you've never seen the show, you should probably read this. Highlander was a series of movies and TV shows about Immortals. They are human, but live forever. They can only die if their heads are cut off. Most immortals carry swords to defend themselves. When one kills the other, he or she gets the other's power in a lightning burst called the Quickening. Immortals are forever stuck at the age that they first 'died' at (they can be 'killed' but they just come back to life). Duncan McLeod is the Highlander, he's all noble and stuff; Tessa Noel is his lover of 12 years; Richie Ryan works for them in their antique store.
Chapter One
Seacouver
Richie Ryan bobbed his head along to the music blasting from the stereo. If Mac caught him playing it this loud in the main show room, he'd be in big trouble, but McLeod wasn't due back for an hour or more. Besides, the album was Mac's; Richie had found it in the storage room that morning. It was the only music that he'd seen in the store that wasn't opera or classical. He was curious to see who this Brian Slade was, so he put the old record on and turned it up once he'd found he liked it. But curiosity had killed the cat, and it would kill Richie, too, if Mac or Tessa came home to find him blasting "The Ballad of Maxwell Demon".
The music was so loud Richie didn't hear the bell ding as someone entered the antique store. He didn't even notice anyone else's presence until a hand landed on his shoulder. "Excuse me?"
Richie jumped, dropping his broom as he spun to face the newcomer. "Geez, man, you scared me."
The man smiled. He was about 5'10", a little shorter than Richie. His dark brown hair was close cropped and his skin lightly tanned. Sunglasses covered his eyes, as designer as his slacks and overcoat. "Music's a little loud," the young man said, but his tone was lightly amused, not reproving.
"Only way to play it," Richie replied, grinning, then moved to turn the music off.
"Brian Slade, huh? That was a lifetime ago."
"Better than the bubblegum crap they're putting out now."
The man removed his sunglasses with a flourish. "Couldn't agree more."
Richie felt his stomach plummet and his cheeks flush. "You're Tom Maxwell, aren't you?"
"The one and only."
"I am so sorry…" he trailed off, mentally kicking himself. Right in front of him was the best-selling singer of 91 and 92, and he'd called modern music- *his* music- 'bubblegum crap'.
Tom just grinned. "Its cool. I'm with you on that one. McLeod around?"
"Uh… No, he's with Tessa. Should be back soon," Richie finished quickly, remembering that all of McLeod's 'friends' didn't wish him well.
"Mind if I wait?" Tom asked, immediately turning and heading for the living area of the store.
"No, not at all," Richie mumbled as he disappeared from view. Richie headed quickly after him, into the kitchen. "So how do you know Mac?"
Tom smiled as he poured coffee into a mug. "I'm an old friend." He gestured to the pot of coffee in front of him. "You want?"
"Nah," Richie said, not stopping to appreciate the strangeness of someone offering him coffee in his own home. "How long you known Mac?"
Tom chuckled. "Not long… Twenty years, give or take."
*Bingo,* Richie though. The long coat, the familiarity, plus the fact that he didn't look older than twenty-five. Tom Maxwell was an immortal.
Before Richie could comment, the kitchen door swung open. "Richie," Mac said as he entered, a tinge of alarm coloring his voice. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. Then he saw Tom and the alarm in his face immediately turned to joy. "Brian?" Mac asked, striding forward.
Tom grinned and met him half way. "Mac," he said as the older man folded him into a friendly hug.
Richie sat on his stool, confused. "Brian?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ London, England, 1975 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Brian Slade shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around him. Brian asked himself for the twentieth time why he was walking down St. Giles at two am in the dead of winter. The answer came again- if you want it, get it yourself.
Shannon had said that to him after the last time he had ran out of cocaine. *If you want it, get it yourself, Brian*. But he was completely out of money, nearly out of contacts, and definitely out of luck. The only thing that he seemed to have was time, and that just wouldn't stop.
After his break up with Curt, he had wanted it all to end. He'd settled his estate, kissed Mandy goodbye, and paid a man to shoot him onstage at his own concert. The bullets had been real. He'd loaded them himself. The wounds had been real to; they'd torn through his skin, leaving him lying on the stage in blinding agony. He'd felt himself die, and when he woke up, he thought he was in hell. Instead he was still on stage, Shannon and Jerry crowded around him with the members of his band.
He was alive. Even his suicide didn't go right.
Maxwell Demon had fallen after that. But Brian Slade had remained, every night overdosing on cocaine and every night reawakening as if he hadn't died at all. He'd gone through his money quickly, his friends quicker, and now he was alone. Even Shannon had deserted him.
Brian kicked at the ground bitterly and headed inside the dingy hotel. He was supposed to meet a junk dealer there, one who apparently liked his music and wouldn't mind trading a night of sex with his idol for enough coke to last Brian a couple more nights.
He was crossing the threshold when a mind numbing pain his him. Brian staggered, wondering if the head ache was an after effect from O.D.ing every night for three weeks. But the ache immediately lessened and he moved forward again.
Before he could enter fully, a tall man strode towards him, his strong arm forcing Brian back though the door and onto the cold street. "I am Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod," the stranger said with the remnants of a Scottish brogue.
"I don't give a damn," Brian snapped.
The man looked confused. "You're not here for me?"
Brian was too shaky from withdrawal to care about caution. "I'm here for drugs!" he cried, and tried to throw the man's arm off of his shoulder. He stumbled, nearly falling into the snow.
McLeod caught him. "Do you know what we are?"
"We're nothing," Brian said, trying again to shove McLeod away. "I'm nothing."
"You died recently."
"You read the papers. I'm impressed."
McLeod's reassuring voice went on. "You died and you came back. Maybe more than once. Wounds heal quickly and you got a buzz in your head as I came close." Brian nodded slowly, shivering violently. McLeod sighed. "Come on. I'll buy you dinner and explain."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"He told me what I was and taught me what I needed to know." Brian sighed and smiled at McLeod. "If it wasn't for him, someone would have taken my head sooner or later."
Mac chuckled. "Probably later; you were always good at charming your way out of situations, Bri."
"So you're Brian Slade, huh?" Richie asked.
"The one and only," Brian repeated, giving the same smile he's flashed Richie in the showroom.
"It's great seeing you, Brian, but why are you here? Last I heard, you were a big time pop star recording an CD down in LA."
"Still am, Mac." Brian sighed, bit lightly on his lower lip. "But I need your help."