The Dead Past

Warnings: no, not really. a rare no-owie fic.
Archive: yes, please, if deemed worthy. Thank you, elves.

This was intended as my answer to the Missing Scenes Challenge, but I fear I've missed the deadline. Oh well. I was never one to color inside the lines anyway. This is my first TS fic, and constructive criticisms are welcome.

Warning: unbeta-ed at your own risk.

This work, and all other rights available under the law, is owned by the author, and may not be reproduced without expressed written permission from the author. Highlander: The Series is owned by Rysher Entertainment et al. The Sentinel is owned by Pet Fly Entertainment et al. No copyright infringement is intended. Copyright August 1998. Blah, blah, blah, I don't own any of these characters, though if I did S2 wouldn't have ended the way it did.... Don't sue me, all you'll get if you do is my horse, the computer, and a hyperactive dog who will growl at you each time you walk in the room.

This takes place in-between the capture and the gymnasium scene in "Foreign Exchange".

The Dead Past

From a safe distance, Blair Sandburg stood in the Major Crimes doorway and watched four uniformed officers lead the tall figure towards the booking area. His pale eyes downcast, his posture stooped in defeat, his demeanor that of a man downtrodden.

A man who had lost.

Jim Ellison, Sentinel cop and Blair's partner, and Inspector Megan Connor had arrived a few moments before but were still busily celebrating the capture of this perp. Scott Brunell, a known armed robber who didn't care how many innocents were injured or killed so long as he got away with the loot. Brunell deserves to be imprisoned, Blair thought, he's earned it by taking life so callously.


Startled by the unexpected appearance of his partner, Blair felt the top of his skull brush the ceiling. "Jeez, man, give a guy a heart attack, why don't ya?" Calmly, he thought, Jim can't know anything's wrong.

Worry clearly reflected in the tall cop's dark blue eyes. "You okay?" A hand calmly attached itself to the younger man's shoulder and squeezed, trying to offer comfort if needed. "Don't take this the wrong way, Chief, but seeing you so quiet kinda worries me." Jim's warm smile took away the sting of his words.

"I'm okay, big guy. Really."

That response earned Blair a suspicious look. Damn. "You're sure everything's okay?"

Blair could see the older man put on his measuring face, checking his vital signs, trying to determine whether or not he was 'obfuscating' again. Sometimes, he really hated that. Forcing himself to remain calm, in spite of incredible odds -- as lying to a Sentinel was nearly impossible -- Blair did his best to create a smile that would lay any worries to rest. "I'm sure, Jim. Everything's as it should be and all's right with the world."

Except that the man probably cooling his heels in a holding cell right now was going by the name of Adam Pierson the last I knew, and I was pretty sure he'd turned over a new leaf.

Guess I was wrong.

********** **********

Blair felt the familiar signature buzz of the prisoner before he reached the last cell in the row. It was welcome and yet terrifyingly threatening. "Dammit," he swore softly, "why in all the gin joints in Cascade did you have to come to mine?" The shivery rumble in the back of his mind had that same aftertaste which he'd always associated with his oldest friend over the millennia.


It had been nearly twenty years since their last meeting, and that meeting had not lasted very long by mutual decision. The meeting before that, over fifty years ago, had been even more unpleasant. Neither meeting was one on which either cared to dwell.

"Hello, old friend."

The ancient immortal raised his head and surveyed his small visitor carefully. "Belen." He paused and nodded quietly, clearly at something of a loss for something to say. "I don't suppose you brought me a beer?"

"Not this time."

"Then what do you want?" snapped Methos, with some impatience.

Blair wasn't sure how to phrase what he wanted. Hell, he wasn't sure what he wanted. "How did you get into this mess?" He threw his arms wide in disbelief. "The last I'd heard, your name was Pierson! Where the hell did this Brunell loser come from?"

Methos smiled softly, and his eyes, like those of a wise old cat, glittered in the low light. "It's a long story, my friend."

"We have time."

The older man shrugged. "Brunell used to be one of us. You heard about the bridge job in Sydney?"

Blair nodded. He had, indeed, and he hadn't liked what he'd heard. He liked this scenario even less.

"He challenged me shortly after that had been set up. I won, he lost. But Brunell hadn't exactly played fair...he arranged for his thugs to tag-team me if the fight went on for a specific period of time." A wry smile crossed Methos' face. "We never reached it, but it turned out that Brunell had arranged it all by phone." He shrugged. "When I came out the winner and still champion, they thought I was him...and if I denied it--"

"--You were as good as fish food," finished Blair, knowingly. In their way of life, mistaken identity was the norm, especially if you shed your past lives as easily as other people changed their underwear.

"Exactly. So I had to go along with it for the sake of keeping up with my little charade."

"Tough break."

Another wry smile. "It wasn't too bad until I came here. Connor must be the Australian version of a bloodhound."

The curly-topped head nodded enthusiastically. "I had that same thought." His bright blue eyes glinting, Blair considered the Inspector briefly and then their light dimmed with concern. "My impression was that you'd left the evils of your past back in their past." His eyes began to burn again, fanning the embers of rarely-shown anger to a pale blue flame. "I honestly thought you'd outgrown that angry young man stage in your youth."

"I did."

Blair snorted. "Doesn't look that way from here, man."

Methos sighed. "I know, but I did. That's the truth."

The younger immortal weighed the elder one's words carefully and nodded his acceptance of them. "Okay, man. You're forgiven." Turning to leave, Blair was halted in his tracks by a plaintive shout.

"Where are you going!!"

The young observer turned back to his former teacher of so long ago with an evil grin. "I'm going to have dinner," he explained, as if to a small child. "You're going to stay here in your nice cozy holding cell."

The former grad student stared back at him, his green-gold eyes wide and his mouth nearly open. Blair hadn't seen him this shocked in centuries. It was great to witness. The only thing that could have made it better was if he'd been able to somehow catch it on film. After all, he supposed there were a few people in Seacouver who would gladly pay cash money for such a photograph.

"But you can't leave me here! You just can't!!"

"Watch me." Blair swung merrily on the outside bar of the cell nearest the stairway, dancing a little jig as his toes landed on the concrete floor. Sneaking a look at his shocked friend, the younger immortal continued speaking with a impish grin. "Who left me working in a Roman whorehouse because he thought it would broaden my horizons?"

"And it served its purpose, didn't it?"

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought." Blair snickered and hurried down the hallway, ignoring the curses and threats and promises echoing off the walls behind his retreating back. Revenge was good.


Comments? Please?

Continue to the Sequel

© 1997

This page hosted by Yahoo! GeoCities Get your own Free Home Page