Disclaimer: Still don't own anyone. Mac is borrowed from Highlander (for those who didn't immediately catch the name Duncan MacLeod)
A/N: Hey, I'm up to 4 reviews! Woo-Hoo! Think we can double it again? A special thanks tothose who reviewed, itgives me the motivation to go on with this story. I mean no harm in protraying Greg a little childishly. In my mind Greg is still the labrat Greg, eager to be with the guys. I don't like the straitlaced Greg that he has become since he entered the field, I like him a little goofy, so that's how I write him.
A special thanks to my beta LizardQueen44 and to the one who suggested this crossover Amberina20
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At the unrelenting stare Mac sent his way, Warrick shrugged. "I've told them about me. What I am. What you and I are." Warrick mumbled, looking down at the floor like a disobedient child.
"Warrick," Duncan snarled. "Finish it!"
"Hey! That's uncalled for!" Nick came to his feet, hands clinched at his sides. "What gives you the right to come in here and boss him around? You have no right to yell at him like that!"
Duncan didn't look threatened by Nick. Instead, he looked at Warrick with an amused twinkle in his eyes. Warrick grimaced, flopping heavily into the wing chair. "Nicky, sit down. He's right. I have to finish this."
"Finish what?" Greg questioned as Nick returned to his seat huffily. "Is this an April Fool's joke? It's a little early….still a month to go-"
"No Greg, there's no joke. No punch line." Warrick answered tiredly. "I am Immortal. I am a part of the Game."
"So what's next?" Greg prompted as Duncan came fully into the room, carrying a kitchen chair to sit in. Everyone eyed Warrick, who looked to Duncan for help. When he found none in the man and sighed.
"What's next is that I need to train the two of you." He announced tiredly.
"Train us?" Greg echoed. "Why?"
"Because you are part of the Game too." Warrick explained, letting his words sink in before adding. "Or, you will be."
"You mean……if you were to shoot me, I wouldn't die?" Greg shivered. It seemed freakier to know you could not die than to know that you could.
"I haven't been planning on shooting you, but yeah." Warrick nodded, his eyes on Nick. His friend was frowning at him in a way that worried him.
"How do you know?" Nick finally asked, still fighting that any of this was true. It was bad enough that his friend was delusional enough to think he couldn't die, but why did he have to decide that he and Greg had the same ability?
"It's a feeling we get, sort of like that internal alarm I was telling you about. It's different, not as strong, but it's there with you guys." Warrick explained. "I wasn't sure about you, Nick. That is why I called Mac and asked him to come here. I knew for sure about Greg, but I wasn't sure about you."
Nick turned his attention to Duncan, who met his gaze casually. "Have you ever been wrong? Ever get a feeling about someone who doesn't actually join the Game?"
"The only way that happens is if you die of natural causes." Duncan answered. "Dying of old age has worked for some."
"Well, that'll never happen with you, Nick." Greg blurted out. He immediately received death glares from both his comrades. Duncan quirked an eyebrow up at him, his curiosity showing in the simple action. Shrinking back from the rays of death, Greg muttered. "Well, it's true. There's no way."
"Nicky here," Warrick drew Duncan's attention away from the younger man. "has a habit of attracting trouble."
"And yet, you've waited this long to train him?" Duncan scowled at Warrick in disapproval. Duncan's scowl was dark and ferocious. Even so, it was amazing how their tough friend seemed to shrink down under the other man's censure.
"You mean…..I wouldn't have died if you hadn't have found me in time?" Nick asked Warrick, sounding enthralled at the idea. Warrick didn't want to answer his friends' question. Duncan was looking at him with curiosity, unsure what the question really meant. Nick and Greg were looking to him in expectation. Only Warrick could answer the question and he did not want to. He stared down at the floor, trying to avoid everyone's eyes. "I would have…..wouldn't I?" the realization finally dawned on Nick.
"Over and over." Warrick swallowed roughly. "It would have been a never ending death…."
"Shit." Greg muttered as Nick sat back, pale and shaken. To think that he had faced a fate worse than just a simple death, but a continuing death caused him to feel sick to his stomach.
"Anyone care to clue me in?" Duncan inquired, looking lost and confused.
"Last year….Nick was abducted from a crime scene." Greg was the one to answer, sounding calmer than he really was. "He was buried alive. We almost didn't find him in time. He nearly died."
"Ugh." Duncan grimaced. "Not my death of choice. Waking up only to suffocate again and again."
"Sorry Bro." Warrick apologized to Nick as if it were his fault. He could still feel the desperation, pain and guilt that he had felt during the long miserable night. He wondered if he would ever stop feeling responsible for Nick's fate that night.
"Harsh." Greg lamented quietly.
"You've done that?" Nick questioned, looking at Duncan in a new light. The way he had explained it made it sound like first hand knowledge. "Sss-suffocated?"
"Yes……about three hundred years ago. I was buried alive. It's the second worst way to die, as far as I know." Duncan admitted. "It was the worst I've ever experienced."
"What's the worst?" Leave it to Greg, actually to ask that, Warrick thought belligerently. Duncan glanced quickly over at Warrick, but didn't answer. The quick glance was enough to tell the others that he had the answer. With a heavy sigh, Warrick answered in a near-whisper. "Starvation."
"Warrick?" Nick's voice trembled, whether from the possibility of his own near never-ending death, or the image of Warrick suffering from starvation, no one but Nick knew.
"Three months. I starved to death, over and over for three months. I was trapped in a mine cave in. There was plenty of air, but no food. I tried to dig my way out, but I was weak and as soon as I had made some progress, it would cave back in. I would dig until I was too weak to go on, and then lie there as I slowly starved to death, just to wake up and do it all over again. For three damn months, until I was dug out by another Immortal who could sense me." Warrick whispered. No one spoke as they all imagined the pain and suffering he had gone through. Irritated about being the object of everyone's pity, Warrick jumped up and headed down the hall.
"Immortality isn't as glorious and romantic as the comic books portray." Duncan murmured as the three men chose to give Warrick some space. Nick looked longingly towards where Warrick had fled, but didn't move. A man did not like to show weakness in front of others.
"Tell us about you." Greg begged, eager to change the subject.
"I was born in 1592. I am over four hundred years old." Duncan smirked at the shocked look on Greg's face.
"Man! Are you the oldest one out there?" Greg gasped.
"Not by a long shot." Duncan chuckled. "I have a friend who is thousands of years old. He's supposedly the oldest Immortal alive today. I thought he was a myth until I met him."
"This is deep." Greg murmured.
"I still find this all hard to believe." Nick shook his head. Getting up, he paced the room. "I think this could be some sort of group delusional thing."
"If he's delusional, how do you explain the cut on Warrick's hand?" Greg mused. "The fact that he was cut, but now he's not?"
"A trick. Simple as that." Nick shrugged, eager to find some sort of logical explanation. "Magicians do things like that all the time."
"Do you want something bigger as proof?" Duncan questioned as he picked up the discarded pocketknife.
"Yes." Nick decided with a curt nod. Some sadistic part of him felt a trill of pleasure at the thought of this man causing himself harm. Things were simpler before he showed up. Things were normal. Warrick was jus a normal guy.
"Okay. You just both have to promise not to freak out. You need to trust me." Duncan played with the knife casually. "Can you promise me this?"
"Of course." Greg nodded, having none of the doubts that Nick seemed to harbor.
"Go get me a real knife out of the kitchen. Sharp, please." Duncan requested of Greg, who eagerly went to fetch the knife. While he was gone, Duncan stared at Nick, waiting for his promise. "What about you, Stokes?"
"If Warrick trusts you, then so will I." Nick agreed, after a slight hesitation. He hoped that he had sounded more truthful than he felt. Greg returned with the knife and handed it to Duncan, who examined its sharpness and weight in his hand. With a nod, he looked at the two men as if trying to decide if they were going to hold to their word.
"Sit down please." He nodded to the couch and waited until they both were seated once again. "Warrick! Come in here for a second!" He called. "I need you to come in and help me for a moment!"
"I'm coming." Warrick called, coming up the hall. "Yeah?" He stepped into the room. No one saw Duncan move, but as soon as Warrick entered the room, he gasped. Looking down, Warrick saw the kitchen knife embedded in his chest and the blood spreading to the shirt he wore. Blood bubbled from his mouth.
Time seemed to freeze as the shock sunk into everyone. Warrick grunted, "What the Fuck?" a moment before he fell to his knees and then collapsed in a heap on the ground. At that, all hell broke loose. Nick and Greg were both on their feet. Greg scrambled over the coffee table to where Warrick had fallen. Nick leaped over it, throwing himself atop Duncan. They were both yelling, screaming and cursing. Warrick was lying on the floor, bleeding and gasping for air. Nick's fists were swinging as Duncan attempted to dodge him.
"Oh, God! Warrick!" Greg cried out as Warrick attempted to suck in one final breath before he grew silent and still. "He's dead!"
