What it Feels to be Shot Flatlander (Danielle Ducrest) A Highlander/The Crow: Stairway to Heaven Crossover Disclaimers: Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson, Methos, and the concepts of immortality are not my own. They are characters in Highlander: The Series, which is owned by Rysher Entertainment and Davis/Panzer Productions. Sarah Mohr, Eric Draven, and Detective Daryl Albrecht are all characters in Crow: Stairway to Heaven, which is owned by UPN and the sci-fi channel. Any copyright infringements were not intended. This story was written for entertainment and not for profit. The character John Raiman/ immortal Carl Weiss is my own. Authorís Note is located at the end of this story. ***** A teenager dressed in normal street clothes walked down into a deserted street. He walked on with eyes cast to the ground, whistling softly. Thinking he was alone and safe, he relaxed as he continued to walk towards his house, only a few blocks away. He always thought of this place as safe, and unlike other parts of the city, he never did watch out for anything suspicious when he came to this road. But, unfortunately, tonight that very street wasnít safe. Three figures stood in the shadows as the kid approached. When he came up to them, they stepped into the light, one in front of the teen and two in back. The teen froze. He knew who was standing in front of him, and when he felt hands on his shoulders he knew there was no escape. "Hi, guys." He said quietly, his fear showing clearly in his voice. "Hey, Johnny." The man in front of him said. "Where do you think youíre going?" "N-nowhere." Johnny said, shaking furiously. "Thatís right, Johnny. Youíre smarter than we thought." He took out a gun, pointing it at the boyís chest. "You arenít going anywhere until you tell us where the money is." "W-what money?" Johnny barely managed to get out. "Oh, come on, Johnny. No games this time." The man in front of Johnny turned the gunís safety off. "Tell us where it is, or youíre dead." "I donít know!" Johnny tried to get out of the firm grasp of the two men who held onto him, but it was no use. He wasnít nearly as strong as they were. The man with the gun shook his head. "Timeís up, Johnny-boy." He pulled the trigger back slowly, and all the teenager could do was stare at it and wait for his life to end. The trigger was never pulled back all the way. This was because, out of nowhere, a man came up from behind the two goons holding onto Johnny. It was Eric Draven. "Hey," he said, causing the two to let go of Johnny and look behind in surprise. Before they realized it, both were lying on the ground after being kicked, punched, and slapped numerous times by their new rival. The young boy had long since gotten out of the way, so now it was just him and the man with the gun left. The man with the gun didnít even pause to look down at his goons before heíd shot the Eric twice. He watched as the other man keeled over, smirking. But, to his amazement, the man he shot didnít fall onto the ground like he was supposed two. Instead, Eric clutched his stomach for a mere second, then stood up, the pain long since passed. "What the heck?" the man with the gun cursed. The next thing he knew, his gone had been kicked from his hand, and he was lying on the ground with Eric on top of him. "Whoís your boss?!" Eric shouted into his ear. "Like Iím gonna tell you," the other man said. Ericís legs wrapped around him tightened. "I said whoís your boss?!" The other man began to panic. After this guy had defeated the others without being armed, he had no idea what he was capable of. "John Raiman!" he yelled, closing his eyes, waiting for his rival to do something horrible. But Draven wasnít finished. "Where is he?" "I donít know, man!" the other man cried out. "I never met him. His men always came to see me." He knew heíd be dead any minute now, and tried not to look panicked as he waited. But he wasnít killed. Instead, he was lifted from the ground by Eric and held in the air. "Then you tell them Iím coming for him," Eric said. "And if I ever see you hurt anyone like you were about to, and youíd better do it, Ďcause Iíll be watching. Do you understand me?" The other man nodded. "Yeah, man. I understand you." "Good." Eric let him down. "Now go." When the other man was gone, Eric approached the young teenager who knelt behind a nearby car. When Eric was only a few steps away, the boy backed away from him. Eric looked down at him. "Itís okay," he told him. "You can go home now." The boy ran the remaining blocks to his house, and Eric watched him go making sure Johnny didnít run into anyone else. When the boy was safely inside, Eric went directly to the police station, where he knew his friend was working the night shift. He found the detective in his office, filling out some paperwork. "What are your doing here, Eric?" Detective Daryl Albrecht said, motioning him in. "Hey, Detective," Eric said. "I need some information." "Whatís that?" Daryl asked. "I need to know everything the police has on John Raiman." Eric answered. "John RaimanÖ" Daryl said thoughtfully. "I know him. I arrested him a few years back, put him in prison." "What did he do?" "Well, weíd found a decapitated body in an alley one night, and next to it lay two swords. Turns out, an ancestor of Raiman's once owned one of the swords, so we arrested him. The prints on the sword turned out to be his, so he got a life sentence in prison. But, he broke out of few months ago, and weíve been trying to find him since." The detective looked at Eric. "You arenít thinking of going after this guy, are you?" "What if I am?" Eric asked. "Eric, come on. Let the cops handle something for once." Draven shook his head. "I canít, detective. Can you give me a clue as to where he is?" Daryl sighed and shook his head. "Sorry. We donít know where he is." Eric nodded. "Thanks for the information." He strolled out into the corridor. Daryl didnít try to stop him because he knew it wouldnít do any good. His dead friend wouldnít follow the rules and seldom did. Daryl knew his friend would be all right, knowing bullets couldnít hurt him, but that wasn't his concern. Itís just that sometimes Eric could be a real pain in the but. He may not be able to stop Eric, but the detective had to make sure it was Raiman Eric would be going after. He rushed to some file cabinets along the wall and ran out into the deserted hall after Eric. Eric was almost out the door when he called, "Wait!" He ran over to Draven and handed him a black and white prison photo. "This is what him." Eric nodded and took the photo. "Thanks." "Yeah, yeah. But if everyone on the force finds out I've been helping you out, you're the one to blame." Eric nodded again and walked out. Outside the station, Eric began walking to his place. About halfway there, he heard a screech. Looking up, he saw the crow, perched on a drainpipe connected to a wall. The crow held something in his mouth, which he dropped down to Draven. Draven looked at it. It was a tiny bit of dark gray fabric. Wool, he realized. This piece of clothing held something for him to see. Eric closed his eyes and watched. A man stood in the center of a warehouse, dressed in a black overcoat, jeans, and a dark gray sweater. The man was looking wildly about the warehouse. For what, Eric could not determine. Then the short black haired man in the gray sweater reached into his overcoat and pulled out something. It was a sword. An Ivanhoe. In the direction the first man was now looking at, a man approached from the other side of the warehouse. He, too, held a sword. "Hello, Adam," the second man said. "Or should I address you as Methos, the legendary oldest man alive?" "Whichever you prefer, Drason." The first man, Methos, said. The two began circling each other, swords raised, waiting for the other to make the first move. Then, suddenly, Drason swung, Methos blocked, and the battle began. During the battle, Drason managed to dig his sword deep into Methosí stomach. But, after a long and tiring combat, Methos won and cut off Drasonís head. Lightning filled the empty warehouse, and Methosí body was struck with it. Not a single pane of glass from the warehouse windows was spared from being shattered. Sparks flew from electricity poles outside, causing the warehouse to be surrounded by white light. When the lightning disappeared, Methosí sweater had been completely eaten away, and bits of it fell onto the warehouse floorÖ Eric opened his eyes. He looked up to the crow, and knew it wanted him to find the man who had killed the other in such a way. "Where?" The crow flew across the street to the other side, landing in front of an apartment building. Eric followed it and paused in front of the building. The crow screeched and flew away, telling Draven he needed its help no more. Eric approached the building and walked inside. The interior of the place proved it wouldnít decide to deteriorate for a couple more decades. The walls were in good condition, and the paint seemed brand new. It was a nice place to live. Draven walked over to the front desk, but paused when he was a few steps away. He wasnít sure if the guy he was looking for used Methos as a normal, everyday name. He considered asking for an Adam, but more than one Adam may live in here. Fortunately, he didnít have to find out. Because, at that very moment, Methos stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. He was dressed in the same attire that he wore in the warehouse. Not looking around at the people in the lobby, Eric didnít think he noticed Eric was following him until. But when he turned the corner of the apartment building outside the door, Eric was proved wrong. Methos was waiting. He grabbed Eric around his neck and pulled him into the alley. "Just who are you?" Methos asked, letting go after he realized Eric wasnít going to struggle. "Draven. Eric Draven." Eric said. "Why were you following me?" "I need your help," Eric paused before adding, "Methos." Methos raised a questioning eyebrow at him that Eric could have sworn had a hint of surprise in it. "Sorry. The name isnít Methos. What kind of name is that? Itís Adam Peirson," he said, not completely convincing. "Sure it is." Eric said just as calmly. "So, will you help me?" "First, answer this. Why do you need me?" The man who insisted on being called Adam Peirson asked. "Itís a long story." Eric said. "Care to discuss it over coffee?" Adam considered this man for a moment. He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" then he asked, "Mind if we discuss it over beer instead?" When Eric shrugged, Methos started down the road, motioning Eric to walk in front of him. He had to be cautious. This could be a trick. "What did you say your name was again?" "Eric Draven." Eric repeated. Draven. Methos couldnít recall hearing that name before. Even better reason to go to Joeís. Thatís why Methos suggested beer. He wanted to know if his watcher friend knew him. Methos wasnít sure Draven was a watcher or not because all the time they were walking over to Joeís he couldnít see Ericís wrist. He hoped Joe could tell him. Joe Dawson was working at the counter like always. When Methos came in with Draven, Methos led him to a table and once Eric was seated, he went up to Joe. "Hi, Joe." Methos greeted him at the counter. "Hey, Adam." Joe asked, "Usual?" At Methosí nod, he poured the beer into a glass. "Does your friend want anything?" Methos shook his head, looking at the long-haired man seated at the table.. "Says he doesnít drink, which is pretty strange because he agreed to come here." Methos looked back at Joe. "He isnít immortal, and Iím not sure if heís a watcher. But on my way here, he just came out of nowhere, addressed me as Methos, and asked for my help. Do you recognize him?" Joe shook his head. "Never seen him before. Iíll go into my office and look him up." With that, Joe left the bar and stepped into his office. "Thanks." Methos told him before he left. Methos went back to the table with two beers and sat down. After gulping down the first one entirely, he leaned back in his chair and looked at Eric, who had been watching. "Okay. Spill." Eric leaned back in his chair as well. How much should he tell him? "Earlier this evening, I ran into this gang. When I asked them who their boss is, they told me it was John Raiman." Eric held out the picture heíd acquired at the police station. "I thought maybe youíd recognize him." John Raiman. Methos pondered and looked at the photo. The name wasnít familiar, but the face certainly was. Methos couldn't exactly remember where he saw it, but he knew it was in the recent past. Then, suddenly, he remembered. He nodded at Eric. "Weíve met before." He told Eric. ĎIt was only 64 years agoí was the part he didnít add. Letís see. It was 1935, in LouisianaÖ September 9, 1935, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, USA, afternoon John Raiman, also known as Dr. Carl Weiss, drove up to the capitol and parked. He had run out of gas, and had to stop here. Right at the place he didnít want to be near at all. The current governor and senator of Louisiana, Huey Long, his father-in-lawís political enemy, was presently meeting the state legislature at this very building. But Weiss had no choice. He cursed and got out, grabbing his coat from the passenger side of the car, and strolled up to the capitalís doors. Hidden in his coat was his .22 caliber. The gun was there because, well, he may just run into Huey Long by chance and would be able to use it. He strongly hated that man. Not only because of his father-in-law, but because of his own reasons. He would have been rich now if it weren't for Huey Long and his stupid "Every Man a King" slogan. He had sworn heíd kill that man some day, even if it meant sneaking into the White House after the election. That is, if Huey Long won the election. Carl knew heíd go crazy if that man ever became president. And, as luck had it, as far as Carl was concerned, he managed to get past security and found Huey Long strolling to his office down a corridor. But that wasnít the best part. The best part was the senator was alone. No bodyguards. Completely alone. While he walked up to the senator, Weiss tried to remain calm, but it was difficult. When he was only a few feet away from Long, Carl stopped. "Good evening, Mr. Long," he said, trying to be cheerful. When Long looked up, he was greeted by a .22 caliber pistol aimed directly at his chest. Before he could call out for help, Carl fired. The noise could be heard throughout the hall. Long cried out, stumbling past his assassin to the other side of the corridor. But Weiss didnít have an opportunity to fire at him again. Because other people had heard the gunshot and were coming to inspect what happened. Weiss turned to look behind him and saw two men running towards him. Weiss recognized them immediately as Longís bodyguards from television broadcasts. Both of them had guns raised at him, and before he could do anything to react, 32 bullets entered his body, and he plunged into darkness. Present Day, Joeís Bar Methos had been one of Longís bodyguards. Curse him for letting the senator out of sight for even a second. He and his partner went straight away to Our Lady of the Lake Hospital with Long and watched helplessly as he died after because he was too weak to undergo a second two-hour operation. The first one had taken too much of Longís strength. Methos hadnít even realized Weiss was a pre-immortal at the time. The meeting had gone by too quickly, so he couldnít have noticed it. Besides, at the time, Methos was more concerned of Longís safety. It was what he was being paid to do, after all. If he hadnít been Longís bodyguard, he probably wouldnít have cared. But now, Methos knew Weiss was immortal. It wasnít too surprising. At least not to him. A lot of people always turned out to be immortals, especially the ones you least expect to. Coming back to reality, Methos looked back up from the picture at Eric, who was still waiting for him to answer the question. "Yes, I know him." Methos said once more. "We met a long time ago." "How long ago was that?" Eric asked, staring directly into Methosí eyes. "A century? A millenium? How many years?" Methos stared at Eric, surprised for the second time that day. "Just how much do you know about me?" "Only what this piece of fabric tells me," Eric said, pulling out the bit of gray material the crow had given him. Methos took it from him, and immediately recognized it as one of his old sweaters. He looked back up at Eric. Who on earth was this man, who was able to get a story from cloth? "Just how do you do that?" "Well, you may be the worldís oldest man, while I am the worldís only alive dead man." Methos was confused. Did he say he was dead? But how could that be? He certainly wasnít immortal, because the entire time Methos had known him he couldnít feel the buzz at all. "And your meaning is?" Eric stood up and walked to the door. "Come outside where we can talk in private, and Iíll tell you." Methos followed. Outside, they walked along the sidewalk for a long time before Eric spoke again. "A year ago, my girlfriend Shelly and I were in our loft, performing an eternal love ceremony at my suggestion, when three men came through the door, guns in hands. They killed Shelly, and they killed me. When I was shot, I fell through the window onto the street below and died. But I couldnít go on. I had too much rage in my soul. I was sent back to the world of the living, and here I am." Methos looked up from the ground at Draven, but could see no hint of lying in the otherís far-off look. After a few minutes, Draven turned to him and said, "Iím already dead. I do not eat, drink, or sleep, or have any need to. Just by holding something, I can see the memory it possesses. Thatís how I knew your name and age. But thatís about all I know. Itís your turn to tell your story." Methos paused. If this man was lying, he covered it up well. But before he fell into the trap, if it was one, Methos needed to know if it was the truth. "Prove it." Draven nodded. He thought Methos would ask him that. He felt around his pockets for a knife. He couldnít find one. "Do you have a knife?" he asked. Methos hesitated. He knew he didnít, but he didnít really want to show Eric his sword. Unfortunately, it looked like he had no other choice. He unsheathed his Ivanhoe and held it in his right hand. Even after seeing the vision from the sweater, Eric was surprised. He was used to guns, but it wasnít everyday he saw a sword. But, after a moment, he pulled up his left sleeve and said, "Cut along my arm." Methos immediately looked at the his wrist. It was tatooless. Then he looked up at the Ericís arm. If Draven wasnít what he claimed, Methos may cut open a blood valve and the man would slowly bleed to death. But Eric seemed determined. So Methos raised his sword and cut a long, skin-deep wound along the otherís arm. When he droped it again, he watched as the wound on Ericís arm became smaller and smaller, then was gone completely without leaving a scar. He noted that it was different from how immortals healed, but he wasnít exactly sure how. Eric lowered his sleeve, and Methos said nothing. "Your turn," Eric said. The old man looked up at him. This man wasnít immortal, but he could heal just as fast. Perhaps he was what he claimed to be. Still, if this man wasnít to be considered a friend, he shouldnít tell him about immortals. But, Eric had just told Methos his secrets, and Methos knew he wasnít lying. "My name is really Methos, like you said. I am part of a race known as immortals, and I cannot die." Methos paused and took a breath. "Hereís my proof." He pulled up the left sleeves of his overcoat and sweater, raised his sword to his arm and made the same cut that he made on Eric. It was then he realized how different their wounds healed. His left blood, while Ericís arm was stainless. Eric had noticed it, too. "Thatís another way to prove Iím not like you." Methos sheathed his sword. Just at that moment, a crow screeched. Both men looked up at where the dark bird perched on an electricity line. Then Methos understood just who Draven was. "Youíre a crow, arenít you?" he asked him. Eric nodded. "Yes, I am." Methos nodded, too. To the unspoken question, he said, "I lived through the time people believed crows brought dead souls to heaven. I never believed it, though." He looked back up at the crow. "But I guess now I know itís true." "So, will you help me?" Eric asked, causing Methos to look back at the man. Methos was about to say Ďnoí, but he stopped himself. Why not? Sure, heíd be going up against another immortal, something he rarely did, but he might as well some time. Besides, deep down Methos felt like he owed it to Long. Well, sort-of. He mentally cursed. He probably wouldnít be feeling this way if heíd never met his younger immortal friend, Duncan MacLeod. The Scott really brought back feelings he had hoped heíd never feel again, but now did because of him. Methos stood there and thought for a long time. Draven waited with a patience that matched his own at times. Finally, Methos announced with a shrug, "Sure. Why not?" When they parted that day, Methos went directly back to bar and told Joe a little of what Eric had told him. He left out most of it because he was afraid Joe might think he was making it up. The next morning, Methos had agreed to meet Eric at his place. When he reached the floor Draven lived on, Methos looked around. The entire place seemed vacant, as if no one else had lived there for years. In the apartment, he looked around again. He took in all the space and the broken window at the same time. This must be where he died, Methos thought. "Nice place you have up here," he commented to Draven, trying to be pleasant. "Plenty of room and away from civilization." Draven only nodded but said nothing, so Methos spoke again. "So, do you know where Raiman is?" Draven shook his head and continued staring out the window. Methos thought, Now, where would I be if I was the immortal assassin of Huey Pierce Long? He didnít come up with anything. He hoped Joe would call soon. Last night, Methos had asked the watcher if heíd look up Raiman for him. He finally agreed after a very, very long argument. ĎYou know Iím not supposed to interfere, Methos,í Joe had said at least fifty times. ĎAnd you know how much you have already,í Methos had shot back. They argued for two hours straight, but finally, Joe agreed. So now Methos had to be patient and wait. He could do patience. He looked at Eric. Draven seemed to be content with standing still and staring out the window. Wasnít he standing that way when I came in?, Methos thought. Iíd feel like fainting right now if I was him. But youíre not him, his conscience reminded him. Not even close. Methos stood up and started to do a kata with his Ivanhoe. He was half way through when the door opened. He stopped and saw a very wide-eyed blond haired girl in jeans and jacket holding a skateboard, staring at him and his sword. "Uh, hi," she said. She looked beyond Methos at the figure at the window. "Eric?" Eric turned around. "Itís okay, Sarah. Heís a friend of mine." Sarah visibly relaxed a bit, but was still a bit cautious. "Hi," Methos said, sheathing his sword and holding out a hand, smiling, trying to calm her. "Adam Peirson." Still cautious, the girl didnít except it. "Sarah Mohr." At that exact moment, Methosí cell phone decided to ring. He got it out and answered it. "Peirson." "Hey, Methos. Itís me." It was Joe. "Iíve been researching that guy, Carl Weiss, all night after you left, and as it turns out heís holding up in an abandoned building on South Street. A lot of people seem to go in and out of it too often for it to actually be abandoned. His watcher barely escaped capture last week." Joe continued, "For being a young immortal, he has a very strong quickening. Heís killed a few pretty powerful immortals in his life time, but prefers sticking to basic tricks." After thinking about this for a minute or two, Methos said, "Thanks, Joe. ĎBye." He hung up after Joe said goodbye as well and told Eric what heíd learned, except for the part about Raiman actually being Weiss. He may not know everything about Crows, but he did know that if you happen to mention an assassin who is alive and on the loose, they would stop at nothing to bring him in themselves. What Eric really wanted was to bring the gang in. If he wanted to fight Weiss himself, he wouldnít have asked Methos for his help. "Wasnít Joe the guy at the bar last night?" Eric asked. The immortal nodded. "Yeah. Weíre good friends, and we help each other out a lot." After lots of pleading from both sides, Methos thought. He left that part unsaid. "Is he immortal?" "No. But he knows about us." "Immortal?" Sarah asked. "Whatíre immortals?" "Well, for one thing, Iím one," Methos said. "This is has something to do with the sword thing, right?" Sarah asked, pointing to the folds of Methosí coat. He nodded. Eric descended the step that led up to the window. "Come on," he said. "Letís go pay a visit to Raiman." Sarah started walking after him, but Eric firmly said, "No, Sarah. Youíre staying here." He turned back toward the door and walked out before she could protest. Methos nearly had to run to catch up with him, because Eric was already halfway down the hall towards the elevator. "Hold up," he called, but Eric didnít slow down. Fortunately, he waited for him in the elevator. As they descended, Methos mumbled something in Ancient Egyptian, even though no one would have known that nowadays. As if to prove that fact, Draven turned his head to look at Methos and asked, "What?" "Nothing." Methos said, trying to sound innocent. Eric decided to let it pass. Methos crouched outside of a brick building facing the back, just out of range of immortal senses, or at least what he suspected was just out of range. Joe was right. It looked vacant, as if not a soul had entered it in years, maybe even decades. Many of the windows were cracked, but not broken. The interior, after glancing through the windows, seemed dark and alone. But the windows could have been covered. The two couldnít tell from where they stood. Methos sincerely hoped Raimanís watcher wasnít hiding in a spot where he could see him. After the watchers had found out he was actually the immortal he was researching, he had done his best to keep his location secret. Joe had assured him that heíd gotten the watcher to watch in the front, but he still didnít know if he could trust Raimanís watcher to listen to his boss. Eric was standing in the front of the building. He was to enter the building via the front door, while Methos was to enter through the back. There were three floors of the building. Eric had acquired a gun for the old immortal, while he was weaponless. "I heal from bullet wounds much faster than you do," Eric had said. "Besides, I can always get guns from the men inside." So now, all they were doing was waiting for the right time to strike. Joe had told Methos most of the people leave around noon every day, so they were waiting for that to happen. The minutes crawled by like hours. But, at twelve on the dot, ten people came out the back door and walked down the alley. Methos didnít know how many people, if any, were presently walking out of the front door, but it didnít matter. Now was the time to begin the attack. Methos stood up from his hiding place and picked up the gun. His sword was safely tucked away in his coat. He walked up to the back door and burst through. He found himself in a small room. There were at least five occupants. When they saw Methos, they immediately took out their guns and started shooting. Thankfully, they had very bad shots, so Methos wasted no time temporarily dying. He shot back, careful to hit their legs or weapons, anything that would spare their lives. Before he could open the door to the next room, two men burst through it. Methos fought them and won with only minor injuries. He walked over their unconscious bodies into the next room, where he found a stairwell and Eric fighting a group of four. He ran to the stairs, and when he had ascended only a few steps, the immortal buzz went through his head. At the top of the stairs, he found four more members of the gang waiting for him. Six others were behind them, but after Methos took care of the first four, he flew up the next flight of stairs, hoping they wouldnít follow. They didnít. Instead, they had to deal with Eric, who was already on the second floor and blocking the stairs Methos was going up. He knew Raiman was waiting for him there. Unsheathing his sword, Methos walked through the door at the top of the stairs and found himself in an open area. He could see all four walls of the building, and no interior walls blocked his view. Methos looked towards the shadows between windows for Raiman. "Show yourself, Weiss!" he shouted. His voice echoed off the walls, filling the entire room with those very words. A shadow moved off to the side of Methos. He turned to see Carl Weiss step out of the shadows with his sword out as well. "I am here," he said. Recognition crossed his face. "Youíre Longís bodyguard, arenít you?" Methos nodded. "I am." "Then we fight." Weiss raised his sword at Methos, waiting. The older immortal did the same. "I am Dr. Carl Weiss." "Adam Peirson." And the battle begun. Weiss attacked. Methos blocked. The same thing happened a few more times until this cycle was broken when Weiss pulled a trick not even the old immortal was expecting, and he suddenly found Weissí sword at his neck. Weiss spoke, his anger clearly showing. "Do you know what it feels like to wake up to discover thirty bullet holes in the front of your body, 29 in the back, and two bullet holes in your head? Do you know how that feels?" Weiss was almost shouting now. "When I woke up, I couldnít go anywhere. Everyone seemed convinced I was dead. Every time I tried to go near anyone, they backed away, convinced I was a ghost. Do you know how that feels?" Methos wasnít listening. Instead, he paid much more attention to the sword, as Weiss, distracted by his rage, was loosening his hold on it, and at each passing second the blade slid farther and farther away from Methosí neck. Weiss seemed not to notice. When it was no longer touching his neck, Methos lay back on his hands and kicked Weissí shins. Weiss stumbled backwards painfully but held onto his sword, giving Methos time to grab his. Weiss, angrier now, charged Methos, his sword targeting Methosí chest. Methos moved to the side, stabbing Weiss instead. Weiss dropped to his hands and knees, finally letting go of his weapon. Methos raised his sword above the othersí neck and swung down. "There can be only one," he said as it fell. The Ivanhoeís blade came down and through Weissí neck in one swift movement. As the head and corpse fell, the Quickening began. Downstairs, Eric was fighting off the last of the men when lightning could be seen throughout the building coming from the third floor. The conscious men ran in fear, not one of them staying to investigate what was happening on the floor their boss dominated. Eric raced up the stairs as the glass windows of the second floor shattered around him. He walked onto the third floor to find its windows in the same condition. Eric watched as Methosí helpless body was lifting up from the ground by some glowing blue substance that surrounding him. Methos was struck by the lightning as Eric tried to move closer, but instead Eric sailed to the wall behind him, the cause being the force of the winds that accompanied the lightning. Eric lay there and watched as a white swirling object came out of the headless body, seeking new refuge in the other immortal. Methosí screams could be heard throughout the building as he took it in, arms outstretched. As the winds and lightning disappeared, the blue glow around Methos disappeared as well, and he fell to the floor, exhausted. After a moment, Eric got up and walked towards the heap the immortalís body made in the floor. For a few minutes, Methos did not move. When he did, Eric helped him to his feet, once Methos had grabbed his sword and put it back in his coat, they walked down the stairs and out the back door. "What was that?" Eric asked. He had seen the same thing in the vision, but it hadnít been as long. "Itís what immortals call a quickening." Methos answered, still very tired. "It is the soul and power of an immortal. When an immortal wins in combat, he or she receives the otherís quickening." Eric could only nod, still not understanding exactly. But it seemed like Methos wasnít going to answer anymore questions, so he kept silent. It had been a long fight, and the sun was starting to set. Eric knew Methos was probably hungry. As if by cue, the immortal asked, "Want to go get something to eat? Youíre welcome to sit and watch me." Eric shook his head. "No, thanks. I think Iíll pass this time." They stopped at the end of the alley and faced each other. "Iíll be seeing you." Methos said. Eric nodded. "Me, too." The two parted, Eric turning left down the sidewalk and Methos turning right. After Methos had satisfied his stomach at a nearby restaurant, he walked over to Joeís. The Bar was full with its usual crowd and band, and Joe stood at the bar passing out drinks and talking to Duncan MacLeod, the source of the buzz Methos felt. Duncan turned to see him enter, then turned back to the bar and waited for him to take a seat beside him. "Joe says you went after an immortal today," were the first words that escaped the Highlanderís mouth. Methos nodded. "Sure did." "Who was he?" MacLeod gulped down an entire Scotch after he asked this. "Dr. Carl Weiss," Methos answered, as Joe strolled up to them with Methosí favorite beer. He took it happily, gulping it down much quicker than Duncan had, ignoring the Highlanderís stares. "Hey, Adam," Joe greeted him when Methos was finished. "I take it went well." Before Methos could say anything to answer Joe, Duncan spoke. "Carl Weiss? Longís assassin?" Methos nodded, then added, "Thatís a Ďyesí to you both." He pushed his glass forward for Joe to pour more. "Who was that guy you were with? I couldnít find him in the watcher files." Joe asked. "I donít think he would want you to know," Methos said. "Why wouldnít he?" Duncan asked. "Because I donít think youíd believe me or him." Methos drank the now full glass of beer. The conversation changed as the three talked deep into the night, Joe occasionally leaving to pour other people drinks. Meanwhile, Eric stood next to the window in his apartment, the crow resting casually on his shoulder, wondering just when, and where, heíd meet Methos again. He wondered if it would be in the world of the living, or of the dead. He wasnít sure. The immortal seemed to have a very long life ahead of him, not just behind. "Do you know?" Eric asked the bird. It answered him with a look, then went back to cleaning its feathers. Eric would just have to wait and see. THE END Authorís Note: Dr. Carl Weiss was the actual assassin of Huey Pierce Long. All other facts are true, except no one is sure exactly what drove Carl Weiss to killing the Louisiana senator and governor. It is true that the tank in his car was empty, and he did use a .22 caliber pistol to shoot Long. I simply used the facts to write my own opinion about what happened. The only thing that definitely is false is Carl Weiss was never an immortal.