Chapter One

New York, August 8th, 2005: Alternate Timeline

"I just killed you," Devon said, exasperated.

"And I just killed you," Gavin replied, equally exhausted.

It took Devon a few minutes to register this Gavin's appearance. He wasn't the same vicious street gangster from a few moments ago. He wore a black leather jacket and trousers, and his shoes were cleaner and in good repair.

Devon looked at his own "body" and noticed a few differences as well. The sword was the same, but the clothes were all different. They were scruffy looking and filthy, with tears along the legs of corduroy pants. He wore a blue sweat jacket, which was now soaked in blood.

"What the hell is going on here?" Devon repeated, lowering his sword.

"I'd like to figure that out too," Gavin said, lowering his own blade. "Can we call a truce and figure this out?"

Devon nodded.

"You know it's funny," he said.

"What is?"

"I offered to let you go just a few moments ago."

Gavin snorted.

"Yeah, well, that is funny, because you never gave me a chance to make peace." Gavin sheathed his weapon as Devon did. "Well, he never did."

Gavin held out his hand. Devon held out his own and cautiously approached, avoiding stepping over his own body. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw that thing. As they shook hands, signifying the truce, a new buzz triggered their radars.

"Oh now what?" Devon asked.

Someone leapt down from the bridge, flipping a few times before hitting the ground. Devon and Gavin both jumped back, surprised. The man stood to height, raising a katana in challenge. He was tall, muscular and had a ponytail. He wore flowing black trench coat which billowed in the air like a cape as it settled around his feet. Devon recognized him as the man he'd seen earlier, with the platinum blond woman.

"I am Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod." The man said, taking a step forward. His eyes were wild and he had a wicked grin that sent chills though Devon's spine. "Which of you wants to die first?"

Devon was exhausted from the last fight. And as much as he hated to think about it, Gavin probably was too. But instinctively they both drew their swords.

Duncan didn't give them a chance to respond. Instead he rushed them, screaming madly and swiping once. Gavin took the blow with his own sword and Devon stepped out of the side.

"Ah, thank you for volunteering," Duncan said, looking at Devon only once. "I guess we'll meet again later child."

Instinctively Devon picked up the sword that belonged to his counterpart.

"Run," Gavin said, parrying a strike.

Devon didn't argue the matter. Forgetting the tunnel he ran for the safety of the city as the fight raged. In his state of mind he was thankful he had the sense to conceal both swords beneath his-he didn't have his coat! He remembered leaving the coat at the scene of the fight-the fight he won. So now he had no way to conceal his swords and no way to prevent the cops from tracing the dead Gavin's body to him!

Devon looked back towards the bridge. All he could hear was the clanging of swords now. And from the looks of that other Immortal he wasn't so sure he wanted to be around when the battle was over.

He checked his pockets and thankfully found his wallet. If he could get to a clothing shop and buy a trench coat he'd be set. He concealed the swords beneath his shirt as best as possible, and made his way down 42nd street. He happened to find a reasonably priced shop full of people who were happy to keep their mouths shut about the swords when he produced enough cash.

Once concealing the swords was no longer a problem he made his way through New York, keeping his eyes open for trouble.

Duncan Macleod. That was the name of the immortal. Wasn't that a pretty popular name with their kind? Devon was sure he'd heard it mentioned once or twice. One way or another nothing was making sense. He hailed a cab and tried to rationalize things.

First there was seeing his own body lying on the ground, defeated no less by his opponent whom he killed moments before. And this other Gavin was so much more cleanly cut than the original.

Devon went through some of the memories gained during the quickening. The Gavin he knew grew up in the streets, getting passed from group home, to juvenile hall, to one gang, then back to jail again. He came into the game during a shoot out with a rival gang, and his mentor only had time to give him the basics before losing his own head. New York was a dangerous place to be an immortal. Devon's own mentor didn't last longer than a few years, after teaching him all he knew. Of course that wasn't even entirely fair, since the immortal that killed him cheated.

Devon shook his head. This wasn't the time to think of people who couldn't help him now. He needed to get to his apartment, so he gave the driver directions and sat back, running his hands through his hair.

There was a traffic accident up ahead.

"Ah crap," the driver cursed. "I'm gonna have to take a long cut around the waterfront."

"That's fine," Devon said, without thinking. He leaned his head against the window and gazed at the world lazily. He was tired both physically and mentally.

He was about to doze when something caught his eye out of the other window.

No way… Devon thought. No possible way that could be…

"Hey," He asked out loud. "What is that?"

The driver glanced out the side of the window.

"Oh that? That's the World Trade Center." The driver stopped at a red light. "This your first time in New York, buddy?"

Time stopped as Devon fought to control his beating heart. He absentmindedly with drew some cash and handed it to the driver, not even looking to see how much it was.

"Gee, thank you sir,-"

Devon stepped out of the car and walked back towards the site, looking up the entire time. They were as tall and beautiful as he remembered them. People were working late and office lights could be seen shining from the upper floors. Not a trace of damage or harm.

"Oh my god…" he tried to mutter. But as he got closer he found that words failed him.

There, standing in front of him towering above all of New York in all of their beauty…were the Twin Towers.

Devon dropped to his knees, much to the shock of a few passerbies.

"Sir," someone said. "Sir, are you all right?"

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly and stumbled onto his side. The sword tore through the fabric of his trench coat but no one seemed to notice. Devon regained his composure and climbed to his feat, desperate to preserve his dignity as well as his sanity.

"No…" He answered honestly. "No I'm not all right."

"Do you need an ambulance?" Another person, a woman asked kindly.

"No thanks," Devon answered. "Please, thank you. I'm fine."

But Devon was far from all right. He ran away from the towers, confused, angry and upset. Tears streaked down his cheeks, but he ignored them. Emotion was going to get him killed.

Devon ran until he was certain he couldn't run any more. He was exhausted once more as he collapsed into a bench. The street was loud with traffic, and even beneath him he could feel the rumble of the subway. He rubbed his temples, wishing desperately that he could block out the sounds of the modern world. Occasionally someone would stop and ask if he was okay, but he brushed them off as politely as possible.

"Where the hell am I?" He asked, for the third time that night. He had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

New York, August 8 2005: Current Timeline

"That was beautiful," Amanda said as she and Duncan exited the theater arm-in-arm. "Although I wonder if I should be suing for royalties."

Duncan laughed.

"Bare a striking relationship to your own career?" He teased.

"Oh please," Amanda rolled her eyes. "Velma had it all wrong. Now if I were going to shoot my husband I'd do it, and then fake my own death afterwards so there'd be no way to pin the murder on me."

"Well, not all of us have that luxury," Duncan said, hailing a cab.

"Do you still want to go back to Central Park?" Amanda asked. "It is getting pretty dark."

"I'll only be an hour or so," Duncan promised. He kept his voice low so the driver wouldn't hear.

"What if the police show up?"

"If they're in the area I'll avoid it. But it would be nice to try and minimize the damage if I can." Duncan gently caressed Amanda's hair as she rested on his shoulder.

"Oh, Duncan Macleod," Amanda said, dreamily. "Ever the noble hero."