The next week was a strange one for John. Suddenly, his own uncle was looking at him with the same fear and suspicion that he had previously reserved for Cameron. His mother had refused to care how it happened, terming it only "a miracle." Still shellshocked by how close she had come to losing her son, she had taken to spoiling him. His favorite foods had suddenly become a staple of their daily menu, and not once had she demanded that he do his homework or go work out. It wasn't that he minded being spoiled, but it was a little disconcerting to see his tough-as-nails mother being so … mothery.

And then there was Cameron. His experience of his resurrection had been jarring. There had been pain, then numbness, and then his awareness of Cameron screaming as he tried to tell her one last time that he loved her … then nothing. Suddenly, the next thing he knew, it felt like someone had shot him with a Taser blast, and when his eyes had focused, he had seen the dead, teary left eye of Cameron as Derek aimed his gun to her head.

After he had gotten them to back down, he had insisted on staying with Cameron as his mother and uncle reluctantly went to find a way to get her free. He was unwilling to leave her alone—or to leave her, period. As soon as they'd left, she had started sobbing uncontrollably, leaving him to comfort her as best he could, stroking her cheeks and kissing her gently. As she calmed down, she looked at him, eyes glowing blue. Finally, he gently said, "You're going to wear out your sensors if you keep scanning me like that."

Her eyes turned back to brown as she looked at him. "I do not understand what has happened. You were dead. I scanned your life signs. Brain electrical activity was gone, body temperature was falling, and I estimated that you had lost 70 percent of your blood by volume. Yet now you seem healthy, if a bit hypoglycemic."

"Yeah," John admitted, "I'm really starving. I could eat a horse."

Eyebrows narrowing, she said, "The John Connor that I know has never expressed a fondness for equine flesh. It would be simpler to eat a cow, beef is more readily available."

"Just an expression, Cam," John explained, laughing and glad for a little normalcy. "It just means I feel like I could eat a lot of food right now."

Sobering up, he looked into her eyes. "Look, Cam. I don't know what happened today. I don't think any of us do. But I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"

"Why would somebody give you a horse?" asked Cameron.

John only groaned and smiled as he flopped down next to her.

Now, a week later, Cameron and John were ready to return to school after recovering from their "mononucleosis." John had endured a week of snarky comments from Derek, as well as a week of constant poking and prodding by both Sarah and Cameron, and he had been at his wit's end. It wasn't that he disliked it when Cameron touched him, but the constant bioscans she insisted on doing had taken the … fun … out of it. Especially when she steadfastly pretended she didn't hear him when he asked her to please stop scanning him.

"Don't worry, mom, I feel fine," John insisted. "And Cameron's with me, so don't worry, OK?"

"Cameron's track record isn't all that great these days," replied Sarah grimly, not noticing the flash of hurt that flared in Cameron's eyes as they walked out the door.

Walking down the street, he leaned in to whisper to Cameron. "Your track record's just fine. It's 100 percent, in fact—see, I'm still alive."

"That is not due to any action on my part," Cameron replied sadly. "I have proved to be not very good at fulfilling my mission."

"Cam, you've save my life lots of times," argued John. "And even if I thought you weren't very good at keeping me safe, I'd still want you around, you know? You're important to me just by being yourself."

The slightly smoldering look Cameron gave him in response made him feel very much like a man.

A few minutes later, however, as they walked past an empty parking lot, John stopped walking suddenly, clutching his head. "Ow!" he muttered.

Cameron stopped, alarmed, trying to simultaneously scan John and the environment around them for a threat. "What's wrong?" she asked, eyes darting around nervously.

"I dunno," John said. "Suddenly it just felt like a spike going through my head."

"That would be me," they heard, and as they turned, they saw a burly man, dirty-blond locks hanging to his broad shoulders, dressed in a long leather trench coat, jeans, and engineer boots. "I am Magnus Rasmuson. I don't care what your name is." And with that, he drew a long sword from within his coat.

Are you kidding me? John thought. Is this guy really threatening me with a goddamn sword? He was torn between letting Cam have her way with him, taking care of this clown himself, or just plain laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing.

But suddenly the spike came back, and even harder than before. "Aaugh," he cried, the sudden sharpness so severe it dropped him to one knee in shock before he could stand up again.

Rasmuson looked up at the same time John did. Somehow, John found his gaze focused on a man across the street. Wearing a light tan raincoat, he stood tall, dark features stern upon his face.

"I don't know who you are, but back off! This one's mine," snarled Rasmuson.

"Aye," called the man, a slight Scottish burr in his accent. "But after you take his head, I'll be waiting." The words were stated calmly, with surety and not the slightest threat.

Recognition came to Rasmuson's face, twisting it into an expression of hatred. "The Boy Scout," he muttered. "Back off Macleod! This one's mine. One on one, and you know it."

Nonchalantly, Macleod buffed his nails against his shirt and replied agreeably, "Fine by me. I'm just here for the second act."

Frustrated, Rasmuson mulled this over for a minute. Then, turning back to John, he said, "Another day, then. But don't think you're getting away scot free," he added, and lunging quickly before anyone could react, he stabbed his sword straight into Cameron's stomach and pulled it out, a look of cruel victory.

"Cameron," screamed John involuntarily.

Rasmuson's look of triumph turned to one of shock as Cameron stepped forward, her face a cold blank lack of emotion, and grabbed the wrist of Rasmuson's retreating sword arm. Squeezing, she ground his wrist into powder as she yanked him off his feet, and her other fist meeting his oncoming face with a sickening crack. Cybernetic reflexes going at full speed, she caught his sword in her left hand as it fell out of his ruined hand and he dropped to his knees, neck broken from the impact of her punch.

As the man across the street ran toward them, he screamed, "No, wait! Don't!" But it was too late. Stepping forward and to the right, she brought the sword up in a reverse grip and twisted at the waist, neatly decapitating Rasmuson.

Turning toward the man, Cameron brought the sword up, tip pointed clearly at him and causing him to skid to a stop several yards across from her, disbelief etched across his features as his eyes registered Cameron, a sword wound in what should be her gut, blood dripping out, yet not the slightest expression of discomfort in her features. She backed closer toward John to protect him, but suddenly, she registered a glowing mist swirling around their feet. Suddenly a spear of lightning struck her, and from the center of her back, a similar bolt came out and struck John.

"Nyeeargh!" screamed John as Cameron's eyes rolled up into her head. Amidst the pain he looked around and realized he and Cameron were both floating, power and agony and pleasure flooding his body in equal parts. Images flashed through his mind. He saw the man Cameron had just killed, dressed in Viking armor, torturing victim after victim to death by splitting his chest with an axe and ripping their lungs out to the either side of their bodies. He saw Rasmuson beheading other foes, screaming as lightning slammed into him. He saw Rasmuson through the ages, torturing and killing an endless line of men, women and children. Then, oddly, he suddenly saw himself, walking to school with Cameron, stroking her hair, leaning in to kiss her, talking to her in his room. Somewhere, a part of his brain realized that he was being given a vision of Cameron's point of view of some of the sweetest memories he'd had in recent months.

Then, unceremoniously, the lightning cut out, dumping the teen and his protector to the ground in a heap. After a minute, John struggled to get to his feet even as Cameron lay still and unmoving, eyes wide open but blank. Falling to his knees, he scrambled over, one hand grabbing the sword and pointing it at the man as he wrapped an arm around the girl and struggled to sling her unusually heavy body onto his shoulder.

"Get … get back," he gasped weakly.

Rolling his eyes, the man said, "You really aren't in a position to threaten me. And you need my help, anyway. Believe me, you don't want to be around when the police come to investigate this light show and find that," he added, pointing at Rasmuson's head.

"Come on," he said urgently, extending his hand to pull John up. "I'm on your side."

Against his logic, his instincts said he could trust the man. Letting go of the sword, John grasped the outstretched arm and pulled himself up. The man bent over and picked the sword back up, shrugging. "Shame to waste it. You're going to need a good blade. By the way, my name's Macleod. Duncan Macleod."

Partway down the street, Cameron came back to life. Instantly assessing her situation, she tapped John on the shoulder, and he put her down. Looking at the man in front of her, his jaw hanging open, she heard him exclaim, "What in the …"

She looked to John questioningly, wondering if this man would need to be terminated. John looked at Macleod steadily. "We probably have a lot to talk about. Cameron," he said, turning to her, "this is Duncan Macleod. Duncan, this is Cameron."

"Uh, charmed," the shellshocked Scotsman said, taking Cameron's hand and kissing it, causing Cameron to cock her head in confusion. "I'm curious as to how you're still able to stand, miss, but this isn't the place for a conversation. Come on."

Author's Note:

As some of you correctly guessed, this is a Highlander crossover. For those of you who know the movie/TV series, one note. Though never explicitly stated (to my knowledge), Immortals are supposed to all be foundlings. For purposes of this story, I'm going to ignore all that. In addition, I did not see the two most recent Highlander movies, and, having heard that they were crap anyway, am going to ignore anything that happened in them, too.

Also: TSCC is slipping in the ratings. Tell your friends to watch!