Title: Seven Inches From The Sun
Author: DarkOne Shadowphyre
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Fandom: The Sentinel/Highlander/Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Action/Adventure, Drama, Angst, Spiritual
Pairing: 2x13, 3x11, 4x1, 5xC
Rating: R
Summary: Duo Maxwell is a fairly well-adjusted former street rat teenager, at least in the eyes of the world. For a young man whose real physical age is somewhere in his mid-twenties and his actual age is pushing six thousand, such an assumption is largely what keeps him safe, particularly in the face of memories of days long past and the missing half of his soul he thought lost forever.
Warnings: Fusion, Immortal!Blair, Sentinel!Trieze, violence, blood, death, trauma, sex...
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and themes... just what I've done with them. This is a non-profit work of fiction.
Notes: gives a forlorn, keening wail and collapses into a terrified and sobbing heap too close to being on the wrong side of madness
Dedication: To Inanna-- you know why.
Distribution: Ask, and ye shall receive.
- Chapter One -

Blair felt the jangle of Immortal presence a full two minutes before he spotted the man and froze. Casually shifting papers in his bag, he glanced around furtively. This part of the campus was relatively deserted and his heart sank; he did NOT want to get into a duel on Rainier property where just anyone could walk past.

He finally spotted the other Immortal, a tall and clean-cut man with features Blair would have placed as Germanic. He Felt young, too, but powerful. Blair sighed. Just his luck to run into a headhunter while already running late meeting Jim at the PD. He gave up pretense and stood waiting as the stranger approached.

'I challenge you, young one,' the stranger said formally. Well, fuck. Apparently the guy couldn't read Quickenings. Blair bit back a retort - he hadn't been young in four thousand years - and nodded shortly.

'Accepted,' he said. 'However, I would suggest we move this to a more secluded area.' To his credit, the man considered the suggestion.

'Very well,' he said. 'We don't want any unfortunate interruptions.'

Honorable headhunter, Blair thought. That was partly a relief; he wouldn't have to worry about being jumped. Unfortunately, it meant that his challenger wasn't likely to be a hothead, either, which meant Blair couldn't rely on him losing his temper and making a fatal mistake. He turned slightly and gestured towards a copse of trees near the edge of the Green. The stranger nodded and moved towards the trees, staying out of Blair's range. Neither had drawn swords yet, but that hardly mattered. Blair's estimation of his opponent rose another notch.

Once within the trees, Blair set aside his bag and stretched, working out the sore muscles in his shoulders. He could see the other Immortal doing the same and it made Blair smile; how often did he get challenged by a competent swordsman? Reluctantly, he faced the man and drew his sword from beneath his flannel shirt, then waited. His opponent raised an eyebrow at Blair's choice of weapon but drew his own sword. Blair was interested to note that it was, incongruously with his opponent, an old Middle Eastern scimitar. Blair's own weapon, out of deference to metal detectors and his human crime lab roommate, was a well-sharpened and lacquered bokken made of fire-hardened Lignum Vitae wood, and he'd stopped trying to explain it sixteen hundred years ago.

'Marcus Anderson,' the other Immortal said, saluting Blair. With a nod, Blair copied him.

'A'sa,' he said simply. The flicker of astonishment in Marcus's eyes at the old name was enough to make it worth using. And he hadn't voiced his original name in centuries. Blair permitted himself a faint smile, then dropped easily into a ready stance.

The first clash of weapons was forceful, a mutual display of strength. The two disengaged quickly and circled each other, feinting and testing each other's skill and patience. Blair kept his breathing deep and even as he studied his opponent. Marcus looked very much a fighter, and while Blair was no slouch he was still and academic. Marcus probably had a good store of patience, but Blair could outwait him.

Sure enough, Marcus attacked with a downward slice to Blair's neck. The slighter man ducked under and away from the blow, countering with a sweep towards Marcus's exposed side which he barely caught. Iron and wood met with a dull clang before the weapons flew away from each other. Blair could see Marcus watching him with a new wariness, sizing up his chances. Blair kept his face impassive, eyes trained on the other man's body, on his eyes, his face, watching for the unconscious signals that would telegraph the next intended move in this deadly dance.

A feint to the left, then a lunge directly towards where Blair would have been had he not stepped back and to the left into the wake of the feint. Marcus wavered slightly but recovered and turned to lash out fast and low at Blair's legs. Blair skipped back, but not quite fast enough and he grimaced at the bite of metal into his thigh. The cut wasn't particularly damaging even for a mortal, but it hurt and would slow him down a fraction more than he liked. Not to mention it had ruined this pair of jeans, which would raise questions at the PD later.

Damn, he'd almost forgotten about that.

Blair shifted his grip and attacked with a renewed purpose. He'd already been late and dragging out this confrontation would just increase the likelihood of Jim coming looking for him. The last thing he wanted was his self-appointed Blessed Protector stumbling across him in the middle of an Immortal duel. He danced forward, then back, his blade slicing through the air in rapid movements. Marcus countered each sweep and thrust, still holding his own but unable to move quickly enough to attack in return.

Sweat bloomed across Blair's skin from the exertion of combat. He hoped to whatever gods might listen that it wouldn't drip down into his eyes. A mistake at this point would leave Blair minus his head, and how would he explain that to Jim?

He feinted right, then shifted left and swung right, catching Marcus deeply across his ribs as the other man tried to avoid what had appeared to be Blair's intended attack. As he fell, Blair swept his blade around, severing head from body. He stared directly into Marcus's dimming eyes as he did, granting the other Immortal the respect of one warrior to another in death.

He didn't even have time to blink before the Quickening swept over him. Everything that Marcus had been, his personality, memories, his very essence and those of the Immortals he had killed lashed through Blair with the force of an energy storm. Blair dropped to his knees, gritting his teeth against the onslaught and focusing desperately on retaining who he was in the face of this maelstrom of identity. A'sa. The foundling slave boy who'd grown up and died by his master's hand, only to live again, to live and learn and fight and never die. The man who had lived to become Blair Sandburg, adopted son of Naomi Sandburg, and the Guide and Shaman to Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City.

The storm abated almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving Blair gasping and trembling with energy. Every nerve felt on fire and it was all he could do to kneel on the blood-stained grass, sword held loosely beside him, the body of Marcus Anderson laid out before him with the head at its feet. He knew without looking that his increased Quickening had already healed the cut on his leg but he couldn't quite bring himself to move just yet. Too bad it couldn't fix his jeans, too.

Something prickled on the edge of his awareness, a familiar presence, and Blair stiffened. Slowly, afraid, he looked to his left towards the edge of the small clearing in the trees and towards the bulk of Rainier's campus. There, staring back at Blair, his face twisted in an expression of fascinated horror, was James Ellison.

Blair felt his whole world crumble at the sight.

With a strangled cry, Duo Maxwell wrenched himself awake in a cold sweat.