Date: Sun, 22 Jan 1995 18:13:34 -600 Reply-To: Jason Tippitt Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Jason Tippitt Subject: "In the End..." (HL/Batman) Book I, Chapter 3 At long last... ************************************************************************ "I N T H E E N D . . . " ************************************************************************ A Highlander/Batman Crossover Jason R. Tippitt, 1994 Note: This occurs in a future somewhat similar to that portrayed in the graphic novel _The Dark Knight Returns_, by Frank Miller. There are some differences--Catwoman's being an Immortal having been the most notable one so far. Caveat: Not the kindest, gentlest story ever written. Cursing, too. Book One: "The Gathering" Part 3 ******* Duncan MacLeod awoke from strange and fitful dreams to find himself transformed into one hell of a hungover Immortal. "Explain this to me, love--why the hell do I have a hangover?" he murmured. Amanda stirred beside him. "You put down enough Glenmarengie last night to kill a mortal. Don't remember it, do you?" She yawned and stretched. Duncan gave her a brief smile. "I can think of ways to get rid of a headache, but I might pass out if I had to move around too much." He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. She propped her chin on one hand and look at Duncan. "You know, if Joe saw you like this he'd say you were being really stupid." "Well, he's not here, is he? No, he's dead. We watched him go in the ground yesterday. That's the end, he's in my past, it's over. Darius, now Joe...Richie and Connor off God-knows-where...Who's left?" Amanda waved her arms in the air. "Hello? Remember me? Hint, you woke up next to me, and at least I *think* you've talking to me..." "You're another Immortal." "Does that mean you don't trust me?" She frowned a moment, then smiled and rubbed her hand across his chest. "Duncan, I'm hurt...I thought I knew *all* your secrets..." Her hand disappeared under the sheets. Duncan flinched, snatched her hand and pulled it away. "Amanda, I'm not in the mood." He gave her a sad look and shook his head. He took hold of her hand gently. "Not right now, okay?" Amanda leaned back on her pillow, looked at the ceiling. "I never thought I'd live to hear the mighty Duncan MacLeod say that. I guess it really *is* getting late..." Eyes closed, Duncan nodded. Faces flashed before his eyes. Little Deer, dead in the smouldering remains of the village...Thomas Wayne, cut down by a thug...Darius, murdered in his own church...Tessa, gunned down on the street...Bruce Wayne, dead of a heart attack after playing Halloween one last time...Dawson, the cancer.... "It's always later than we think." Amanda wrapped her arms around the other Immortal's neck, leaned against his back. "Duncan, if it came down to just the two of us, I wouldn't take your head. I love you." "I...I believe you." Not looking at Amanda, Duncan stood up, grabbed his robe. "What do you want for breakfast?" ******* Duncan was scrambling eggs in the kitchen when the Buzz hit. He ashed into the dojo and snatched his katana. He had just unsheathed it when the Immortal rounded the corner. Gregor grinned at his old friend. "Oh, no one told me the Gathering was such a dress-up affair. Wish I'd known; I left my robe at home." Duncan ran to the other Immortal and embraced him. "You should have told me you were coming by--" "I tried to call you from the airport. All I got was a busy signal..." Duncan smiled sheepishly. "Oh, yeah, it was, um, off the hook." Gregor blushed, played with his hair. "I see. I could come back..." "No! Come in and have some breakfast. I was--" He was cut off by the shrill buzzing of the smoke detector. "--just thinking about going out for brunch, actually," he said, then sprinted toward the kitchen. ******* "To old friends...living, dead, and otherwise," Gregor said. Duncan groaned and looked around the room; Amanda laughed. The wine glasses clinked together. Amanda sat between MacLeod and the Russian, chatting away with the latter. Although Amanda and Gregor had never met, she warmed up to him quickly--a bit too quickly for Duncan's taste. "Wasn't it really...*lonely* living in a monastery? Didn't you miss, um, civilization?" /Well, what do you expect, MacLeod? She told that she wouldn't take your head, the strongest and most sacred vow an Immortal can make, and you got up to make breakfast. It's like being married. And all you could say was, "I believe you." What kind of answer is that?/ [Shut up, Michael, I don't want to hear it...] /No, I guess you don't. You just want to get drunk again./ [Shut the hell up, Michael! Act dead for once, why don't you?] /Fine. Lose your head if it'll make you feel better./ "--Duncan? Are you okay?" Gregor asked, looking at him. "Hmmm? Just off in my own little world," MacLeod said. He shook his head as if he were trying to get dust off his brain. "Still a bit hungover, I guess." Gregor looked at Amanda with concern for a brief second. She winced back. Duncan pushed back his plate. "I don't think I could eat another bite for a week," he said. He saw Amanda place her hand on Gregor's knee. "I'm going out on the patio for a minute." He stood up. Gregor started to rise. "Do you want--" "No!" It was a bit more sharp than Duncan had intended. Gregor sat back down. "I just need some fresh air. I won't be a minute; keep talking. You two seem to be getting on just fine." With that, he stomped off. /Bitter, are we?/ [Michael, if you keep it up, I'll find a way to behead you again...] ******* In the skyscraper across the street, an old man looked through high- tech binoculars for his prey. His eyes scanned past the restaurant's balcony, then shot back. MacLeod walked through the double glass doors, letting them slam shut behind him. "Oh, you seem unhappy, MacLeod...is there something I can do?" Duncan walked over to the edge of the balcony, leaning over to look at the street 35 stories below him. He might have been crying, but the old man wasn't sure. ******* Amanda was trying not to cry. She didn't know why she was being so open with Gregor; must've been because she could tell he was as worried about Duncan as she was. "--so he got up and asked what I wanted to eat. I swore my life to him, and he ran away. That kinda pissed me off." "Ouch," Gregor said. He took hold of one of Amanda's hands. "He'd have to be an idiot to throw away someone as beautiful as you." He kissed her hand. Amanda flushed. "Well, thank you, Greg--" "Sssh!" Gregor hissed, eyes focusing on the television above the bar. A report was coming in from the Russia, where a monastery had been wiped out by some sort of military force. The camera cut to a frightened monk, one of the few survivors. "Nikolai," Gregor murmured. Amanda gripped Gregor's hand. "Was this your monastery?" "Yes. They must have come for Rasputin. He was right." Gregor crossed himself as the cameras cut to his master's sword, plunged into the ground with the monk's head atop it. "My God...right there on Holy Ground...Is this what happens to us as the time draws near? Do we turn back into animals?" Tears began to flow. "Not all of us," Amanda soothed, wiping the tears from Gregor's face. "Things have a way of, I don't know, coming around in the end." "This *is* the end." The waiter appeared, carrying a bottle of wine. "For Mr. MacLeod. Compliments of an old friend." The waiter sat the bottle down on the table and was gone before Amanda or Gregor could ask any questions. "Is there a card?" Gregor asked, emotions in control for the moment. "I don't see one." "Should I go get him so he can open it?" Amanda sighed and rested her chin on one hand. "Like he needs to be encouraged. No, let him get a surprise." She winced, gripped Gregor's hand tightly. Easy to see she worked with her fingers. ******* The old man looked at MacLeod. The Immortal looked back into the restaurant for a moment, then back over the balcony. He thought about it for a moment. The wine was delivered by now. A few sips of that, and MacLeod would be in the ambulance with the Hunters soon enough. One way or another made no difference. No need endangering the two with him if they *were* mortals. (If only he'd had time to check the records on them...well, if they *were* Immortals, they'd join MacLeod in hell soon enough) This was an acceptable deviation from the plan--besides, who'd made the plan in the first place? Definitely not that freak with the moustache or his insane daughter. The old man murmured, "Sweet dreams, monster," and pulled the trigger three times. The first shot hit MacLeod in the shoulder. He staggered, looking around wildly for a second before the second hit his breastbone and the third cracked his skull. The Immortal fell backwards, onto the balcony. If he'd hit the street, things would have been simpler, but this would suffice. He threw the rifle off the balcony onto the street below. He'd be gone before anyone tracked the bullets' trajectory up here. If he was fast enough, he might get to catch up with his men and finish the Immortal off himself. It had been a long hunt, and he was glad to see it end in his lifetime. And if he'd left any prints on the gun, surely the police wouldn't waste their time looking for a dead man named James Horton. ******* To be continued... =========================================================================