A/N: OY, this chapter is not the best I could have done. But I've been so stressed out with extra work and some changes at the places I'm living at that I've found it difficult to keep up with projects.

Sorry for the delay and the crappiness of the chapter.

Chapter Seven

Duncan knelt over the space approximately where Devon's double died. It was further from the tunnel than Gavin's body had been but there was still significant damage along the ground and the inside of the tunnel.

It was dark accept for the lampposts on the bridge. But it didn't matter what dimension he was in, Devon still didn't like Central Park at night.

"Gavin's double was standing about here," Devon explained, more out of nerves than out of a genuine need. "I-well, my body-was laying there. We didn't get much more than a few words out before you-, I mean your double-showed up."

"Well, this is what I can put together," Duncan said. "It seems that your quickening happened at exactly the same time that Gavin's did. They must have locked onto one another and that's why the doorway is open."

"But why just now? There must be hundreds of duels going on every day and people losing their heads all the time. How come other quickenings don't trigger doorways into parallel universes?"

"It's a good question," Duncan said. "Perhaps they do and we just don't know about it. Or perhaps the nature of your quickening is the key factor. In a sense, you and Gavin both died at the same time you won. The universe works in tricky ways."

"So if a quickening opened the door…" Devon looked back down the tunnel.

Duncan stood up.

"Then a quickening will probably close it," he finished. "The question is whose quickening is it going to be?"

August 11, 2005: Alternate Timeline

Nicholas spent the last hour and a half driving on the New Jersey turnpike with Richard sharing his opinions on the up coming battle.

"I have a really bad feeling about this."

"So you've been telling me," Nicholas replied.

"Look, Nick, I just don't think we're thinking everything out," Richard went on. "He's not stupid; you know that better than anyone. He's seen the bear trap and he probably has it tripped all ready."

"Horton's been teaching you the art of analogy I see." Nicholas idly went through the tapes in his caddy and popped in the first thing he could find.

Richard seemed to take the hint as the Billy Idol's Rebel Yell filled the car, drowning out any sound of coherent thought. Nicholas loved the boy dearly, but he needed his concentration.

It was true, Duncan was a powerful immortal. In one hundred years alone he had collected more heads than any immortal five times their age. At first it was real simple. He and Nicholas worked on the streets of London and the rest of the UK, taking out new immortals before they had a chance to find mentors. Whenever they ran into immortals who were older than they were, Nicholas or Duncan would wait in the shadows while the other dueled. Then when at a critical moment the one hiding would shoot the enemy immortal from behind, leaving them vulnerable.

But one thing Horton, Richard and the others forgot was that Nicholas had done quite a bit of collecting himself. In fact by the time he met Rebecca Horne in battle was his greatest moment. Duncan didn't even need to pull the trigger when Nicholas took her head. The power was invigorating, and it led to many more successful battles from that day on.

Yes, Nicholas was certain he could win against Duncan. He had been holding back before but not again. The highlander's head was coming off today.

He pulled over at the side of the turnpike. Nicholas killed the stereo and reached back for his sword.

"You're not there to fight," he reminded Richard. "If I lose to Macleod and the snipers can't get him, you run. Is that clear?"

"Come on Nick, what am I fifteen?"

"Not physically, but at times I wonder." Nicholas checked the road to make sure no one was coming and stepped out, concealing his sword. "Listen, you're not just a part of the game anymore. You're a Watcher now and you have a responsibility to preserve my history."

"I'm a watcher's apprentice," Richard mumbled.

He kept his own sword ready just incase though, and walked silently beside Nicholas. The ground was soft but it felt like they were walking over concrete, guiding a prisoner into the execution chamber.

Richard shouldn't be here, Nicholas thought. If I lose what have I done besides providing Duncan with another head? I should have trained him more. Horton cannot protect him forever…

Nicholas recalled the day he first met Richard in the streets of Seacouver.

Eddy was a bit too awkward on the guitar. He kept bumping into the microphone and his voice had a terrible squeal when he hit a high note, like the sound of a dolphin getting choked to death with a piece of barbed wire. The back up base player could barely remember what chord he was on, and the clarinet, while an amazing-if not cliché- attempt at trying to blend the old with the new, was just completely out there. Sammy, the drummer was the only thing this band had going for it, and if he had any sense he would have dropped these guys as soon as possible.

Nicholas was just about to call it a night. He rubbed his eyes trying to keep from falling asleep, but the truth was Rose's Thorne wouldn't make it through a high school mixer much less to the top of the charts.

"So, Mr. Ward what do you think?" Eddy asked when the solo was done.

"What that was the song?" Nicholas asked, rubbing his ears.

"Yeah see I was thinking it'd be like our title song, you know? We could make that the song everyone knows and everyone would ask us to play it you know?"

"I think we'd be very popular," the base player spoke up. "We've got a bit of Depeche Mode's rebellious nature along with David Bowie's sound."

"Son…" Nicholas responded, using every ounce of condescension he had on hand. "I will not tolerate such disrespect and blasphemy as you have uttered right now. I don't know how to tell you boys gently, so I'll just come out and say it, you're awful. You're music is terrible you sound like you're permanently stuck in puberty, and the only groupies who would ever go to your concerts are your mothers and sisters."

He paused for a moment and glanced at Sammy.

"You, on the other hand," he said, pulling out a business card. "If you ever want a real gig, with real professionals, here's my number."

Sammy took the card, surprised.

"Thanks," he uttered, feeling the glare of his friends like a wave of heat.

With that Nicholas left the apartment building. This was only the fifth in a long day of failed auditions for bands to add to his label. But like a fisherman trying to make ends meet by fishing in a polluted stream, the drummer was the only good thing he found all day.

In the car Nicholas checked his list of leads and scratched out Rose's Thorne. The only good thing to come out of this state was its coffee.

As he made his way for the airport he felt a buzz. It wasn't the strong and overwhelming feeling he got with older ones, but a faint pinprick sense. Duncan had taught him to recognize the feeling a century earlier, when they began their massacre throughout Europe and America. It was the feeling of one who was not yet activated.

Nicholas sighed. For a moment he considered ignoring it and letting whoever it was live their life in peace. The standard modus operandi was to activate the new immortal and take his quickening when he arose again. But ever since he and Duncan broke paths, Nicholas fell out of the practice.

When it became slightly stronger Nicholas decided it was worth a look at least. He parked it besides an old building. There was a large window with a For Lease sign in large white letters painted onto the glass. Whoever it was, he was around here somewhere, and Nicholas had a hunch. He turned off the gas, stepped out of the car, and stepped into the breezeway of the store.

Moments later, a boy crossed the street. The buzz died down and Nicholas waited. He was a good six feet tall with curly red hair beneath a white star bandana. The boy glanced about him to make sure no one was looking, and took a large piece of wire from his coat and began to work with the lock on the passenger side door.

Nicholas drew a small knife from a pocket inside his jacket, and quietly snuck up behind the boy. When the boy had gotten the door open Nicholas grabbed him and held the knife just below the jugular.

"Next time just pick the driver's side," he whispered. "You might have gotten somewhere. Get in the car."

It wasn't the best way for a teacher and a student to meet. But Nicholas had known worse. His own mentor nearly took his head before he reached his tenth year in the Game.

Nicholas looked at his student as they walked towards the meeting place. Richard was no longer the dangerous street punk he started out as. He was a devoted student, a powerful ally and a keen and talented warrior. Nicholas owed Methos a debt for getting Richard into the Watchers, and under James Horton's tutelage no less. His boy would be taken care of.

Deep down Nicholas could hear the screams of the unseasoned immortals he had taken over the century. If Duncan's head could silence them, then it would be worth it.