Title: You Forgot To Mention Hell, Horatio
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Complete
Warnings: Nope. Not this time.
Category: Crossover with Highlander
Disclaimer: All other characters belong to their respective owners and are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it.
This is what happens when you get involved with too many different fandoms.
Universe setting: For you Highlander fans, this story takes place sometime after ‘Archangel’ (sorry to all those Richie Forever people). Please forgive me for playing with the timelines of the shows, but hey, it’s fan-fic and I can do that ;-)
Thanks: As always, to Carrie, and to Marius, the oak and the ash to my birds in the forest.

Poised to speak, Adam was annoyed when Giles beat him to the punch.

“Are you the one from the computer...um...what was it again?” the librarian fumbled for the proper word.

“Chat room,” chorused Willow, Xander, and Cordelia. Angel and Oz both remained silent, the former distracted by the Immortal’s presence and the latter, well, just because he didn’t have anything cool or deep to say.

“Are you ROGue?” Willow asked curiously.

“I guess that would depend, Sabrina,” Adam replied cautiously. When he saw the redhead start ever so slightly, he knew beyond any doubt that he’d correctly guessed her identity earlier that morning.

Unfortunately, Adam was not the only Immortal aware of Willow’s sudden nervousness.

“Hurt her and I’ll kill you...permanently,” Angel growled.

No longer amused by the vampire’s posturing, Adam rolled his eyes. “Why would I want to hurt her? I’ve traveled a long way just to *find* her.”

“Are you really immortal?” Willow questioned shyly.

“Yes.”

“So you can’t die.”

“Not permanently, well...”

“...unless you were to be decapitated,” Giles supplied helpfully.

“But you can actually *die*,” Oz gleaned from Adam’s previous statement, drawing a reluctantly given nod from the Immortal.

“So, are we talking Superman-type invulnerability or a Wolverine-type healing factor?” Xander quipped.

The reference was lost on Adam, as pop-culture had never been one of his strong suits. “Run that by me one more time...preferably in something that resembles a language other than ‘Clueless’?”

“He’s asking if you can’t be hurt at all or, if you can be hurt, do you just heal really fast?” Willow translated.

“Yes,” Adam replied simply, trying his best not to give all of his secrets away to a group of strangers. Too bad his efforts were in vain.

“Immortals appear to possess the ability to heal at quite a remarkable rate. Depending on the gravity of the wound, reparation can take place within minutes,” Giles supplied to his amazed audience, looking to Adam for confirmation.

“You seem to be rather well informed,” Adam noted as he nodded at the accurate assessment.

“Yes, well, after your...conversation with Willow, I began some research on the subject. I haven’t yet had the opportunity to read all the materials, but I did look a few of them over this afternoon,” Giles admitted cheerfully.

“And what else have you learned about us?” Adam’s mind was already calculating odds like a Vegas bookie. Half-truths and lies of omissions were being prepared contingent upon just how much the librarian had uncovered in his preliminary investigation.

“Well, your ages vary, for one thing. Apparently, the members of your race live...for want of better word...normal lives, including typical recovery time for injuries and illnesses up until the point, when you experience your first ‘death.’ After that point, it becomes kill or be killed by others of your kind. The decapitation of an Immortal seems to trigger a large, disruptive electrical storm of some kind. There were also several veiled references to ‘the rules’ and something called ‘the game,’ yet it was mostly speculation and supposition on behalf of the diarists involved.”

As Giles wound down, all eyes focused on the Immortal. To Adam, the ultimate Master of Strategy, the situation was like a game of bridge, one where truths were trump cards. Use them unwisely and the hand would be lost. Played with finesse and skill, the victory would be his. It was time to play one now, but only a low number.

“Our Immortality comes with a price. The ‘Game,’ as it’s called, is where we fight each other. There are only a few specific restrictions -- all fights must only be one-on-one, and we do not fight on holy ground.”

"What, crosses get you guys, too?”

Adam puzzled momentarily over Willow’s question, until he realized that she was referring to vampires. So the old wives’ tales were true. He filed that information away to be examined at a later time.

“No. Immortals existed long before the Carpenter from Nazareth put in his appearance. All holy ground is off limits, no matter what the religion.”

“What happens if you fight there anyway?” Xander wondered aloud.

“Well, since no Immortal foolish enough to try has lived to tell the tale, I would venture to guess that the results can’t be overly beneficial at any rate.”

“I don’t get it,” Cordy declared to her not that all surprised audience. “What’s the deal, anyway? You just keep on fighting each other for no reason? Talk about American Gladiators, the deadly version.”

“We fight because in the end, there can be only one,” Adam stated somewhat dramatically.

“One? One what?” Cordelia demanded.

“One Immortal left at the end of the Game.”

“Oookay, well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but personally, that cleared it all *right* up for me,” Xander quipped.

“From the time most of us learn who and what we really our, we learn that we are all expected to play in the Game. There are those who choose not to fight, either living on holy ground or doing their best to hide from other Immortals. But those who hide are often thought of as ‘easy victories’ by those among us who are headhunters. One way or another, we all realize that we will eventually have to either fight or die until only one of us remains. The last one left will win the ultimate victory, the Prize.”

“I’m guessing we’re not talking about a Lone Ranger decoder ring here,” Xander surmised.

“So, what is this prize you all fight for?” Oz asked quietly.

“We don’t know...”

“Oh, that makes a lot of sense,” Cordelia commented snidely.

“You’ll have to forgive Cordelia. See, she and the other prom queens of her race only fight to the death over important stuff...like designer originals,” Xander explained.

“Surely there must be some kind of indication – legends of some kind, records that have been lost,” Giles theorized out loud.

“Immortals have existed for thousands of years, perhaps even before the advent of writing. If the origins of the Game were known at one time, even the oldest among us that still live either don’t know or aren’t talking.”

“The oldest among you?” Willow asked, curiosity burning in her bright green eyes. “How old do you guys get?”

“It depends,” the Immortal answered cagily, but Willow was not to be denied.

“And you never told us how old *you* are, either,” the redhead pointed out, remembering when she asked the Immortal the same question earlier. Once again, Adam deflected the topic.

“There are a handful of old Immortals, a few who have lived for two or three thousand years, but they are rare. Attrition and natural selection are harsh realities in the Game. As for the rest, they vary in age. Each year, a few new Immortals are added to the ranks. Some are lucky enough to find a teacher, a mentor who will train them in what they need to know to have any hope of survival. But some won’t be so lucky. Some of the...less savory... of our kind are more than happy to take an easy head.”

“So there are actually ‘good’ Immortals?” Willow seemed amazed by this revelation.

Adam couldn’t help but smile as he thought about a certain infuriating Scot. “Oh yes, every now and then you’ll run into a boy scout.”

“Oh please.” The sudden growl from the still-pacing vampire startled all of them. “Last time I heard, the Boy Scouts weren’t giving out merit badges for beheadings.”

Suddenly, Adam grew tired of Angel’s attitude. “Just *what* is your problem? Last time I checked the scorecard, not only had I just saved your girlfriend’s life back in the park, but I also hauled your heavy arse back here as well.”

“Girlfriend? What does Buffy have to do with this?” Xander’s question was echoed in the expressions of those seated around the table.

“Buffy? Who in the hell is Buffy?” The Immortal demanded to the confused sea of faces before him.

“I think he means Willow, guys,” Oz stated patiently.

“Oh,” Willow said calmly, until the words registered in her mind. Then she blushed deeply. “Ooooh! No! Angel’s not...I mean...we...we...we’re not...”

“Willow? With Deadboy?” Xander jerked a thumb in the vampire’s direction. “Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime.”

“And just why would that be so hard to believe?” Cordelia demanded.

“Because Willow’s too smart to do something so stupid...”

“Gee, Dad, overprotective much?” Cordelia challenged.

As the couple began one of their all-too-common spats, neither of them noticed the discomfort of the others in the assembled group. Although he was used to Xander’s petty jealousy, Angel was nevertheless seething over the implications of the teenager’s words. Willow was growing redder by the minute and, despite their amicable break-up, it still pained Oz to think of his former girlfriend with *anyone* else. Hoping to distract Xander and Cordelia, Willow chose to answer the question that had sparked the lover’s quarrel.

“The reason Angel is...wary of you is that he met one of your kind once.”

“Really,” Adam remarked drolly, wondering if it was anybody he knew. “When was this?”

“It was about 120 years ago in Eastern Europe. Bulgaria, I think. He was a really sick bastard, psychotic, a real sociopath,” Angel remembered aloud. Even Xander and Cordelia stopped arguing long enough to listen to his recollections.

“A vampire calling an Immortal psychotic? Well if that isn’t the pot and the bloody kettle,” Adam noted with an ironic chuckle. “I don’t suppose you happened to catch a name?”

“Cas...something. Umm, Casper...Casp...Caspari. Yes, Ivan Caspari. He used to play this game of capturing small children and skinning them alive.”

“Oh God!” Willow blanched.

“That’s not the worst of it. Rumor had it that he would only do it in small sections at a time. The stories said that he was such an expert at it, he used to try and break his own record of how long he could keep his victims alive,” Angel recalled with a grimace.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Cordelia said, her complexion taking on a green hue as a hand flew up to her mouth.

“I think I’ll be in the stall next to you,” Xander promised.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about Caspari anymore,” Adam stated, his mind traveling back a year in the past to the Immortal he’d long known as Caspian.

“One of yours finally put him out of his misery?” Angel asked, his eyes filled with malice as he hoped for some kind of vengeance in the name of those children killed for sport so long ago.

“Yes. About a year ago in France. And for the record, the person who put a stop to him was one of the ‘Boy Scouts’,” the Immortal answered with no small amount of satisfaction. He’d never really cared for Caspian anyway. “And speaking of Boy Scouts, now that we have the Immortal 101 lecture behind us, perhaps we can go on to the issue that brought me to your...interesting...little town...”

“Ah, yes. The demon Ahriman, wasn’t it?” Giles recalled.

“Yes. I’ve been researching Ahriman for a few months now, and to be truthful, the information that you provided was the first solid lead that I’ve come across. Everything else has been scattered bits and pieces of ancient legend.” Adam’s tone was a subtle mix of frustration and desperation.

“Aren’t they always,” Xander joked weakly.

“Sorry?” the Immortal queried, unpleased with the teenager’s interruption.

“I believe what Xander is implying is that a great deal of our time is spent piecing those fragments of myth and legend together. Even then, we are not always able to construct a clear picture...” Giles explained.

“Do this kind of thing often, do you?” Adam asked the librarian wryly.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Oh, the joys of living on the Hellmouth,” Xander sighed mockingly.

“Hellmouth? Do I want to know what he means by that?” Adam asked.

Giles launched into his usual speech on mystical convergences and ‘Boca del Infierno’ to the skeptical Immortal. Glancing at the teenagers, Adam noted the glazed looks on their faces and wondered if they were caused by hearing this particular tale too many times or, more likely, from the dry, boring, professor-like manner with which the librarian delivered the lecture. Yet, despite the large amount of information he was receiving, Adam sensed that there was more to the tale that he was *not* being told.

But it wasn’t really his concern, either.

“That’s...quite a story,” he commented. “But I’m really only here because of one specific demon. I am in desperate need of information, and the speed with which you came up with something that night on the computer led me to believe that you could help me. Can you? Will you?”

“I’m sure we can...” Giles began, only to be interrupted by a harsh growl.

“No! We’ve got enough problems on our hands as it is,” the vampire snarled. “Prophecy of Legion? Large numbers of vampires? Stop me if this rings familiar.”

While such sarcasm may have been the norm for Angelus, hearing the sharp, bitter tone flowing from Angel’s lips was unsettling to the others. They looked from the vampire to each other with expressions ranging from guilt to confusion. As was his way, Xander finally spoke first.

“I don’t know...let’s see here,” he said, holding up both hands in imitation of a hanging scale. “Face hoards of hungry vampires or stay here and do research....ahhh, I think I’m gonna have to go with door number two, Monty. That would be the ‘has-a-lesser-chance-of-bodily-harm’ option for those of you playing the home game.”

“No, Xander,” Giles’ voice spoke volumes of his genuine disappointment. Removing his glasses, he reached into a pocket to withdraw a handkerchief with which to absently clean the lenses. “Unfortunately, Angel is correct. We must do what we can to curb the vampire population until we can find a way to stop the prophecy. And since we effectively...had a night off yesterday, we now must face the consequences. If you’d care to come back here tomorrow, perhaps we might have some time then to research a bit further into Ahriman.”

“Oh great, now we’re setting appointments,” Cordelia groaned.

“Hey,” Willow said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t Dr. Pierson be a great help? Kind of like a Pied Piper, but in reverse.”

Adam, however, had already anticipated this request and had the appropriate objections prepared. Yet, he refrain from voicing them aloud. Had any of the group from Sunnydale known Adam better, they would have been surprised by his uncharacteristic silence. His lack of protest, however, was simply part of his game plan. He wanted to see how well-versed this group was in strategy, to see if they could find the flaw in Willow’s suggestion.

Well, that, and the fact that he had absolutely no intentions of risking his own neck for a group of strangers. It wasn’t that he was cowardly, far from it, in fact. For underneath the Adam Pierson persona that he was currently wearing resided the world’s greatest survivor. It was the man under the mask that carefully weighed his options before choosing his battles.

And this was not his fight.

Apparently Giles reached the same conclusion by different means.

“I don’t believe that it would be wise, Willow.”

“Why not?” Cordelia protested. “It’s not like he can actually be killed or anything.”

“Well, actually, he can,” the librarian reminded. “That, however, isn’t my primary concern.”

“Okay, Mr. Stratego, then what is?” she pouted.

“His presence would only drive away the vampires,” Angel stated flatly.

“But, if he came from the opposite direction, he could drive them right towards us,” Willow insisted.

“Great. Then we get mowed over by an enraged stampede of wild vamps,” Xander pointed out.

“Oh. Okay. That *would* be bad,” the redhead conceded.

“And on that note,” Giles concluded as he stood up from his chair. The others followed his lead, breaking off to gather various pieces of equipment for their nightly patrol. The Watcher gave them a few last minute orders before turning to face the Immortal again. “I will be here at seven, so whatever time is convenient for you, Dr. Pierson.”

“Seven AM isn’t convenient, it’s torturous,” the Immortal noted before his eyes flitted over to the assembling group of teenagers. Psyched for the upcoming fights, the kids were talking loudly, warming up with a good round of shadow boxing. With the noise they were generating, Adam wouldn’t have been surprised if Joe heard their discussion all the way up in Seacouver. “Little savages, all of them,” he muttered under his breath.

Giles stared at the Immortal for long minutes, until finally the intense scrutiny grated on Adam’s nerves.

“What’s the problem?” he demanded of the librarian.

“Do you actually teach...children...I mean?” Giles asked quietly.

“Yes, I do actually teach,” Adam insisted with a puzzled glance. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

“It’s just...you...you just seem to have an abidingly low tolerance of children, especially for a teacher,” the Watcher observed.

“On the contrary,” Adam insisted as a smirk appeared on his mouth. “I love children. I’ve just never been able to finish a whole one before.”

Meant as a joke, the way the librarian winced left the Immortal grimacing at his own poor attempt at humour. The comment just didn’t seem as funny in a town crawling with vampires. But then, prompted by Xander’s tickling hands, Cordy let out a exceedingly annoying, eardrum-shattering screech that caused everyone in the room to jump.

“You know, if we were anywhere other than on a Hellmouth, I might be inclined to agree with you,” Giles confided. From the expression on his face, the librarian often sought divine patience when dealing with his charges’ more exasperating behavior.

With that said, the librarian herded all of them out of the library. Adam exchanged goodnights with group as they piled into a beat-up looking van. A calculating expression marred his angular features as he watched them drive off into the night.




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