The following is a fan fiction piece, and marks the first collaboration between Lee "Budgie" Barnett and Ryan Leary. As usual, all the good bits are mine and all the bad bits his <SMACK!> Oh wait, that's backwards. Sorry. Neither of us are professional comic book writers and this story fits into neither Highlander nor X-Men continuity, even though both of us think it should (and tried hard enough to make it possible). All Marvel characters are the exclusive intellectual property of Marvel Characters, Inc., while the Highlander characters are the exclusive intellectual property of Rysher Entertainment.

Continuity Notice: We are blatantly ignoring the fact that Selene killed Gideon and his pals.

Lee "Budgie" Barnett

budgie@compuserve.com

-or-

Leary

rcleary@compuserve.com

The Other Rule

A tale of Duncan Macleod, The Highlander

There it was again...

Duncan Macleod tilted his head slightly and concentrated. A moment later, he stood and threw some change onto the table of the small cafe in which he had stopped to have a coffee. A good looking man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, he was already half way to the door when he realised what he was doing.

It never failed - of all the cities in America, for some reason, New York attracted the most Immortals and like he had so many times before over his 400 years, Duncan felt a slight rush of adrenaline as his body prepared itself for.. for what? For the meeting of a friend not seen for decades or centuries? For a fight that might lead to the end of his existence? He didn't know; it was enough that he had felt that tingle, just behind the eyes, that told him of the close proximity of another immortal.

He stepped out onto the street and a sudden feeling of queasiness hit him, then vanished quickly. His target was moving, the feeling varying wildly in strength. But that made no sense, unless... no, Duncan didn't want to go down that route. Not yet, anyway... The Buzz finally settled in a north-western direction, and Mac walked hurriedly that way. He was tempted to run, but knew that in New York, running was merely an invitation for someone to trip you or for a cop to stop you.

The New York wind bit into him as he crossed the intersection, swerving to avoid a cab that was surely breaking the speed limit.

He could see a crowd ahead of him and as he pushed his way through it, he could hear muttered comments about "...through the air...", "Damn there's a lot of blood," and "...being chased..." He knew that the immortal he sought was mere feet away and wondered, not for the first time, if he was stepping into the middle of something. One of The Rules that Connor had taught him was that fights between immortals could only be one-on-one. No assistance until one or other was dead and his Quickening taken. But Duncan knew that wasn't the case here. He was experienced enough to know that there was only one immortal nearby.

As he neared what appeared to be the centre of the crowd, Duncan hoped it wasn't Richie who was injured. Richie hadn't mentioned where he was going, merely that he was going out and would meet Duncan later. Mac wasn't particularly worried. Richie could take care of himself. Well, normally anyway.

He remembered what had brought him to New York. It would be another five months before the millennium, yet New York in 1999 was already preparing for the new century. Richie had thought that Duncan would be unmoved by all the fuss, but he was like a kid at a county fair.

"Look at this, Richie," Duncan had said to him when he had turned up unannounced at Richie's apartment. Mac had walked to the window and looked down on The Avenue of the Americas. "It's fantastic!"

"'Scuse me, Mac," Richie had replied, "but you're 400 years old. How can you find it exciting?"

"A new century's always good to see, but a new millennium? Ah, now that's not something you see every day..."

"No kidding."

Richie had some things to sort out and Mac had wanted to walk around, get a feel for the city. They'd agreed to meet later at a bar upstate. Richie's newest girlfriend had just got a job there waiting tables and Richie wanted to surprise her. It had been a couple of years since Duncan had visited New York, but it hadn't really changed that much. A little dirtier perhaps, a little darker. Mac had found a cafe and was reading the New York Times when he'd got the Buzz.

As Duncan moved through the crowd, he was suddenly pushed backwards onto the ground and he barely got a glimpse of a young man with straw-blond hair, dressed in a blue and gold costume as the latter blasted into the air. The youth was holding his side and his flight was erratic to say the least. Then it straightened and with a whooshing roar, he left the scene. The glimpse was enough though and he recognised the young man as Cannonball, a member of the outlaw mutant team of X-Men.

The Buzz lessened, and Mac realised with a surprise that the young superhuman he had just seen was the Immortal. Oh, great, he thought, an eXternal! That's all I need! He twisted around and saw Cannonball vanish into the sky. Good, he thought. He got up, heading towards the Empire State Building, and pulled out the piece of paper Richie had given him at the apartment. Richie's scrawl was on it: Harry's Hideaway 4:30 pm See ya there!

Duncan looked at his watch, and hailed a cab...

- o -

The sound of laughter floating up from table 17 had given "Harry's Hideaway" an air of relaxation, and the waitress, weaving her way around outstretched legs, on her way to the table smiled at her patrons.

"What can I get you and your friend, Richie?" asked the girlfriend, a cute blonde named Sharon. The outfit she wore flattered her and accentuated her curves. She had spotted Richie the moment he had entered the bar with Duncan and had flashed a quick smile in their direction. They'd chosen a table near to the bar and had just sat when Sharon had walked over to them.

"I'll have a beer," replied Richie and then looked at his companion. "Mac?" he asked.

Duncan stretched out with an easy smile and replied "I'll have a scotch, please - do ye have any Glenfiddich, by any chance?"

Sharon thought for a moment. "I think so, but I'll have to check; this is only my second week..." She walked away and Duncan saw his friend's eyes follow her across the room. Richie realised Mac was watching him and grinned back at him.

"So, you were telling me - how you met an Avenger?" asked Richie.

"Well, he wasn't a member of the Avengers then - he was just a scientist with some weird ideas, well, they seemed weird at the time, and wanted to check out how much stress the human body could stand. He was a nice guy and it was a fun time. A mutual friend introduced us..."

... New York, August 1984 ...

"Duncan, thanks for coming", said the blond man as he opened the door to his laboratory, extending his hand to the newcomer.

"What's this, Henry? A new experiment?" asked Duncan, shaking the offered hand. He looked into the room at the party going on. "Trying to see how many people you can crowd into a lab? Your message was a bit worrying - 'get over here as fast as you can!' "

"Why, you had other plans?" asked Hank Pym.

"I'm afraid so; I can't stay - I promised to meet someone, but what's the problem?"

"No problem," replied Pym, "all the experiments are over - and you've been a real help, but no, come over here."

Duncan followed Pym and saw a young dark-haired woman, athletic and slim, waiting impatiently, tapping her foot while she sipped at a drink. When Hank had said he was inviting a friend, Jan had expected a fellow scientist, but her eyes widened as he led a tall dark-haired man over to her.

Pym performed the introductions. "Janet van Dyne, meet Duncan Macleod. Duncan - this is my fiancee."

Duncan laughed in delight. "I don't believe it. This is Jan? Congratulations! So," he said, looking properly at her for the first time, "you managed to tie him down, then?" he asked with a friendly familiarity that Janet found engaging. She thought she could detect a slight Scottish accent in Duncan's voice and wondered how her Hank and this gorgeous man had met. She leaned forward to ask and was taken aback when he suddenly wheeled and levelled a hard stare at Hank's new lab assistant.

The assistant bowed slightly and said "I am Graham Lester, from Newport, Rhode Island". Just as Jan was about to express surprise at the formal greeting, she saw Duncan nod his head in acknowledgement and heard him reply in kind, with a more pronounced accent : "Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod."

Lester nodded back and extended his hand in friendship. He seemed nervous as if unsure at how Duncan would react. Duncan smiled and shook hands and Jan was surprised to realise that for a moment there had been a real tension in the air. Duncan half turned towards her and Hank. "I'm sorry, Hank - I really do have to be going. Congratulations again." He inclined his head to Lester and from the almost sad look in his eyes, Jan got the sudden impression that Duncan was older than he appeared.

"I'll see you out," said Pym and he chatted with Mac as he led him to the door. "You'll call me when you're back in town, yes?" asked Pym...

...New York, July 1999...

"You never called?" asked Richie.

"What would have been the point, Richie?" sighed Duncan. "I've tried to avoid having scientists as friends. Sooner or later, they realise that you're not ageing and I've been the whole 'greying your hair' routine too many times before."

"But wouldn't you being, well, you know, wouldn't that have invalidated the experiments?" Richie wanted to know.

"I was worried about that as well, but the only 'advantage' my immortality gave me was that if I ripped a muscle or something, it healed faster. That was all... Didn't stop the pain though - as you well know."

Richie rubbed his side with a wry grin. "Yeah, you could have warned me about that," he said, remembering what it felt like when he had been shot, saving the life of Jim Dawson. His eyes moved across the room and landed on Sharon, filling the order at the bar. "I tell you, Mac, this is the life, - no sword fights, no Quickenings, no immortals fighting over my hea..." He stopped as a slight pressure behind his eyes told him that he may have spoken too soon. Both he and Mac looked towards the door and saw a group taking their seats near a booth. The four took their seats, a college-age man and three older men.

As they sat, Duncan recognised the younger man as the mutant he'd seen that afternoon. He didn't recognise the two of the others, who were strangers, but the shorter stockier one with the weird hair, he recognised instantly. "Oh, shit..." he uttered softly.

- o -

Across the room, they had ordered drinks and Sam Guthrie was regaling the others with how he'd just managed to escape that afternoon from a fight with a Prime Sentinel. "Ah'll tell y'all somethin' for nothin'," he said in his Kentucky drawl. "There was an eXternal in the crowd. Ah got that feeling that ah get whenever ah'm near one of 'em."

"An eXternal?", asked Henry McCoy doubtfully. He was using an image inducer to hide his natural appearance, not to disguise his bestial look and blue fur, but merely because, as an ex-Avenger, he was well known enough to attract attention no matter where he went.

"Ah'm tellin' ya'..." He paused and his eyes narrowed. "And what's more, there's one here." His brow furrowed and his face showed his concentration. "Maybe more than one..."

McCoy looked at the two men sitting with them. One was dressed in a business suit and wore glasses this evening, but there was no disguising the immediate readiness for action that hung like an aura around him. His cybernetic bio-organics were safely hidden under his suit and to all the world he looked like a lawyer in his forties out for a pleasant drink. The only thing that marred the image was a criss cross of scars around one eye. The man slowly turned and looked across the room to where Sam was staring.

He saw two men sitting at a table looking back at them. The younger blond man was unknown to him, but he took a sharp intake of breath when he saw the pony-tailed older man, "Stab My Eyes!" he muttered in disbelief.

The man who uttered this oath appeared to be in his mid forties although, as with Duncan Macleod, that would have misled a casual observer, since it bore no resemblance to his birthdate. His birthname was Nathan Christopher Charles Summers, although he had never known that until fairly recently. After being infected with a techno organic virus he had been sent and brought up in the far future with the name Nathan Dayspring Askani'son. These days he operated under the name of Cable.

And at that moment, he was in total shock. The person Cable recognised looked to be in his mid thirties, was tall, well built and, Cable knew for a fact, was equally well-muscled. It was Duncan Macleod. And there were three reasons why Cable was worried. First off, the man was dead. Secondly, and more importantly, Cable had killed him. Finally, Cable couldn't remember the month or the day, but he knew the year he'd killed Duncan Macleod. It was 2334.

Cable was worried all right...

From the man seated next to him, came a sound that was almost a growl. Logan started to move out of his chair and was only stopped when Cable put his hand out and, with every erg of strength that he possessed, forced him down. "Don't move, Logan, please."

"But you don't understand," said Logan in anger, "that's Duncan Macleod." He stopped in surprise, as Cable said "I know." Neither man noticed McCoy's face as he registered the name.

Logan shook his head and protested, "no, you don't get it - he's dead!"

"I know," replied Cable calmly, but strongly emphasised with a long hard stare.

The two of them looked in surprise at each other, a puzzlement that grew as the pair said in unison "And I killed him..."

... Vancouver, January 1903 ...

"You're a dead man, Macleod! You hear me? A dead man!", came the shout from behind him.

Duncan Macleod ran through the dark air of Vancouver's business district. He shot down the street, turned into an alley and immediately knew he'd made an error. Not twenty feet away was a solid wall at least fifteen feet high. Mac assessed his chances of climbing it. It didn't take long and he spun around looking for another way to escape. There wasn't any and Duncan realised he was in a blind alley, in more than one sense. He'd been framed superbly. He had no idea by whom - the clues pointed to someone called Gideon, but he'd never heard the name previously. All he knew was that a woman was dead and her boyfriend was out for blood - his blood!

A shadow fell across the opening to the alleyway and the man named Logan entered. A horrible grin slowly covered his face as he looked and concluded, as Mac had, that there was no escape.

Duncan took one look into his opponent's eyes and knew he had no choice. He loathed using a weapon against a non-immortal, but now he had no choice. The man facing him was not in a mind to discuss anything. Mac reached behind him and unsheathed his sword, bringing it in front of him.

Their eyes met and with a roar, the Canadian rushed at Duncan, swinging a lump of wood with a nail sticking viciously out of the end at him. Duncan side-stepped it and moved to the side, realising too late that it had merely been a feint, and with an almost graceful movement, Logan reversed the swing, catching Mac in the face, tearing skin open. Duncan fell painfully and, knowing he had no choice, swung the sword as he fell, cutting Logan's side. As Logan stopped in shock, Mac withdrew his sword for a moment and then plunged it into Logan's body. He added a twist to the thrust to ensure the wound would be fatal and watched as Logan fell.

Mac felt sick. He'd killed a man in self-defence, but had no idea why it had been necessary. He turned away from the body and put his hands to his face, wondering if he would scar. His peripheral vision caught a movement and in his last conscious thought looked in utter shock as Logan smashed the wooden lump into his head. But he's not an immortal! How could he...?

The rest was black...

When he came to, it was light and he was hungry. His face was swollen and he could feel his ribs protesting. At least two were broken and as he stood, Mac saw the lump of wood that Logan had used to kill him laying on the ground. The end of the wood was soaked in blood; Mac had no doubt it was his own blood and he knew that it would be some time before he could look in a mirror without wincing.

Of Logan, there was no sign...

...New York, July 1999...

Without looking at him, Duncan spoke to Richie - "we're leaving. Get up and get out. Now."

"But what about...?"

Duncan didn't let him finish. "Richie. Shut up for once and just do as I say. We're leaving."

Richie was about to protest again, but one look at Mac's face convinced him otherwise. They picked up their coats and walked slowly to the door, neither of them taking their eyes off the four watching them with equal solemnity.

As they approached the door, Sharon ran up to them. "Where are you going?" she demanded.

Richie started to apologise and a passing drunk grabbed hold of her arm. "Never mind, doll face, if he's leaving, I've got time on my hands."

"You've got it in your face as well," she retorted and then yelped as the drunk squeezed hard.

"What did you say?" he snarled.

Richie moved in and twisted the man's arm hard. "Leave her alone," he suggested.

"That's good advice," Duncan added and for a second took his eyes off of the four sitting nearby.

He felt rather than saw the sudden movement as Logan leaped towards him and barely managed to avoid the punch Logan had thrown. He rolled and was up in a second. He looked into Logan's eyes and any doubt he'd had about Logan's identity vanished.

He grabbed Richie and ran out the door. The four mutants followed and once in the parking lot, Logan called over his shoulder. "Sam, you take care of the kid, Macleod's mine." Without another word, he followed Mac and Richie as they rounded a corner.

With a sinking sense of deja vu, Duncan realised that he and Richie had run into an alley. The pair unsheathed their swords and waited. "Never fails," Richie said. "I haven't had to use this in six months. You walk in the door and it's the Two Musketeers again."

"Stop complaining," retorted Duncan. "It could be worse..."

"How?" asked Richie.

Duncan still looked to the alley entrance, ignoring the look of frustration on Richie's face. "When we get out of this, remember to ask me about the Other Rule."

"What 'other rule'?" asked Richie, confused. "I thought you told me all of them. There Can be Only One; No fighting on Holy Ground; Only one-on-one fights; and the Old tutor the New. There's more?"

"There's only one more and generally, it's never a problem..."

"Oh, so now you tell me there's another rule?" Richie said in exasperation. "Well, thanks a lo...." His voice tailed off as Cannonball rounded the corner, summed up the situation in a glance and triggered his mutant power. Guthrie blasted towards Richie, grabbed him around the waist and lifted him high into the air, leaving the older man to his three friends. Richie knew at once that his assailant was immortal. The feeling was there, but somehow slightly different. Richie couldn't believe what was happening to him, but reversed his sword and put it to Guthrie's neck.

Guthrie felt the cold steel on his neck and spun rapidly, dislodging Richie's sword and almost dislodging Richie as well.

"This is over right now", said Guthrie as he suddenly swerved, cutting a graceful loop through the air. Echoing some of the first words that Duncan had said to him seven years earlier, Richie replied "it's over when I cut off your head."

"Well, shucks, that'd be sensible, considering that we're currently 80 feet up in the air... and countin'." The disgust in Guthrie's voice made Richie pause. Of all the responses Richie had expected, that wasn't it. "I am Richard Ryan, of Seattle, Washington," he said in the formal way that immortals introduced themselves to each other.

"So?" replied Guthrie. "Ah'm from Kentucky, if ya' hadn't figured it out already."

Richie was stunned. "You don't know, do you?" he asked. He was shaken. How could an immortal not know? Of course, Mac had told him of those that had become newly immortal and had died precisely because they didn't know The Rules, but even so...

"Know what?" said Sam and he dropped Richie. For a second, Richie felt sheer panic and then he realised, at the same time Guthrie caught him, that the drop was merely a way of repositioning Richie so that Guthrie was safe. They swooped down to a patch of grass a hundred yards away from the others. Richie broke free and then sheathed his sword. He stood with his feet apart, and extended his hands to show he meant no harm. "Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but you're an Immortal, right?" asked Richie.

The mutant expressed no surprise. "Yeah, I'm an eXternal, an immortal mutant. So're you - so what?"

"An eXter- what?" replied Richie. "Waaait a minute - you think I'm a mutant? Sorry, just immortal." He closely examined Guthrie up and down, "Geeze, I thought I was the new kid in town, but you...? You don't even know the Rules, do you?" He knew the answer to his question before asking it. "Let's sit over on that bench, this could take a little explaining."

The two young men looked at each other in puzzlement and a moment later a passing onlooker would have heard a Kentucky accented voice shout out in surprise "You want to take a sword and cut off my what?"

"Calm down! Look, I know it sounds freaky, but it's the truth." Richie looked around the park quickly, and seeing no eavesdroppers, continued. "Like it or not, you're a part of this now and..."

"A part of what?" asked Guthrie in exasperation. "Ah think you've seen too many Conan films, friend..."

Richie looked up to the heavens, understanding how Duncan must have felt, explaining himself to Richie years ago. Duncan had had a sardonic attitude though - a bit difficult to emulate when you've got a mutant superhero telling you that you're crazy. "Look," Richie said, "you need to know the Rules. One of them is that the Old tutor the New, in both the Rules themselves and how to fight. I can tell you what they are, but I'm not experienced enough myself to teach you swordplay. Mac'll have to do that for you."

Sam's eyes opened wider. "Swordplay?" His expression spoke volumes, but before Richie could comment, Guthrie continued. "An' what makes ya' think ah need any trainin'? Ah've been fightin' off bad guys like Sinister and the Hellfire Club since ah was 16. Ah know how ta take care of mahself." Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the bench.

"It's not a matter of power, it's a matter of skill," said Richie. "Beat the crap out of an Immortal and they'll turn around ta hack your head off. Unless you can use a sword, you can't kill an Immortal. It's just the way things are done. Well, OK, some of 'em use battle axes, but the important thing is you have to be sure, and for that you need to be real close. A sword's the favoured weapon."

"So what else ya' gotta tell me?" Richie couldn't make up his mind whether Sam was genuinely interested now, or whether the X-Man was merely humouring him.

"The other Rules of the Gathering go as follows." Richie held up his closed fist and began counting off on his fingers. "No fighting on holy ground. It's the one place an Immortal can go and be truly safe. No- one, and I mean no-one breaks that one." He flicked up one finger.

"One-on-one fights only. No assistance from anyone else, even mortals. That means if an Immortal knocks on the mansion doors and wants to pick a fight, all your friends can't help you." Another finger. "The Old tutor the New, which is what Mac did for me and I'm doing for you now." The third finger. "And the most important one of all, There Can Be Only One. That basically means you have to fight and kill other Immortals. It isn't avoidable. Sooner or later, and we all hope it's mucho later, there'll be a Gathering, at which there'll be only one of us left. And after that... well, then it's all over." Richie looked up and saw Sam staring at him in disbelief. "Do you understand?"

"Ah suppose ah do, but if all Immortals are supposed ta know these things, and teach 'em to the new guys, howcum Gideon or whoever never tol' me spit about any a' this?" Now it was Richie's turn to stare in disbelief.

"You mean you have met other Immortals?"

"Yep." Sam wondered for a moment whether to tell Richie about his promise not to interfere in the leader of the eXternals' plans. He decided against it - for the moment.

"And they didn't try to kill you or teach you?"

"Yep. Well, yeah, they did try ta' kill me, but not with a sword. I didn't take it personal like..."

"But that doesn't happen. It's one or the other unless..." Duncan's earlier words rung in Richie's mind. When we get out of this, remember to ask me about the Other Rule. "...ah shit. I think I just screwed up big time." Sam looked at Richie questioningly, "Get me back to Duncan and the others quickly, I'll explain later."

- o -

Back in the alley, Duncan immediately put Richie out of his mind. He knew that if he allowed himself to become worried about Richie, he would never survive the forthcoming fight. Duncan was fairly sanguine about what was about to happen. He was very curious as to how a man he had thought long dead was facing him in deadly combat, but no doubt his opponent was thinking the same thing.

Logan smiled as he walked towards him. "Don't know how you're still so young, Macleod; hell, I don't know why you're still alive, but I'm going to take care of that right now. Don't need any help this time. There's been a few changes since Vancouver." With an audible Shlukt, bone claws appeared out of Logan's forearms and extended a full twelve inches.

Duncan noticed movement behind Logan and he saw the two men who had been sitting with Guthrie and Logan at the bar arrive in the alleyway.

As Logan was just about to attack, Macleod said calmly "We don't have to do this - I never killed her. I was framed. Some guy called Gideon." It was a desperate ploy and one which Duncan never expected to work, but his words had an astonishing effect. Cable stepped in front of Logan, between the two of them and said "I believe him, Logan."

Logan stepped to Cable's side and sheathed his claws. "So do I," he said, surprising Mac. "It's the one piece I could never make sense of. But how are you alive, Macleod?"

As he asked the question, a roaring sound approached and Cannonball dropped from the sky holding an angry Richie Ryan. Richie ignored the others and addressed Mac directly. "The Other Rule? It's that no super-humans are involved in The Gathering, isn't it?"

Guthrie spoke to the others - "Guys, we really need to talk..."

- o -

In a kitchen of the mansion belonging to Charles Xavier, four of them sat around the table. Sam Guthrie had vanished as soon as they had returned to the mansion to get their records on Gideon and the eXternals. McCoy had abandoned the image inducer and now stood by a unit, pouring them all coffee.

Cable had been talking with Duncan and had been extremely careful not to mention their previous (to him, anyway) meeting. He was curious though as to what could have changed Macleod so much in three hundred years. In their meeting still to come, the Duncan Macleod of 2334 had been a very different person to the man sitting opposite him.

For his part, Duncan had decided that there was no point in not discussing things which normally he kept secret. He had promised Richie the truth and had decided that the whole truth might as well be told, to the X-Men as well as the young immortal he had mentored.

"OK," said Cable. "Let's try this again."

"All right," said Duncan in good humour. He had been through this for half an hour and Cable just didn't seem to accept it.

"You're not a mutant - we know that much because CEREBRO doesn't register you as a mutant."

"And I say I'm not a mutant!"

"But you have a healing factor?" Cable insisted.

"Yes." Mac wavered his hand a little, "Sort of."

"And you're immortal?"

"Yes." Mac smiled as he said it. It was slowly getting through, or so he thought.

Cable shook his head. "But you're not a mutant...?"

Richie smiled grimly. "Look, you two can go over this as much as you like, but neither of us are mutants. We're not aliens, androids, shapechangers, or deities. We didn't get this way by being hit by cosmic rays, gamma rays or by being bitten by radioactive spiders or ..." Richie paused, trying to think of another well known way that Marvels seemed to gain their powers. The only one he could think of was... "And I wasn't even born when World War II was on, so I wasn't part of the Captain America project." He paused as Duncan gave an embarrassed cough.

"You!?" Richie asked in disbelief.

"Well, no I wasn't, but Connor was asked to take part in it at one point. He declined the offer," Duncan said, avoiding the sceptical looks from the others in the room.

"Connor?" asked Logan, "As in Connor Macleod? I knew a guy by that name in Paris in the 50's. You telling me he's your brother?"

"No, a kinsman. Same clan, different vintage," Duncan replied with a brief smile.

"So, who are you?" asked Guthrie, entering the room. "And what's your link to Gideon?" He placed a file on the desk and flipped it open. The picture uncovered meant nothing to Duncan, but the name "Gideon - Leader of the eXternals" hit Duncan hard.

"Gideon's an eXternal? That certainly explains a few things..." He paused slightly. "As to who I am, Sam, that's a question we all ask ourselves and I'm not being metaphysical here. I never knew my real parents. My foster parents - I didn't know that at the time, but that's what they were, brought me up in the Scottish Highlands."

"OK," said McCoy. "Let's start at the beginning. Where did you go to school?" He looked puzzled, as did the rest of the X-Men when Duncan and Richie looked at each other and laughed loudly.

"Haven't you heard anything Mac has said?" asked Richie. "He's immortal. When he was born, there were no schools."

McCoy looked sceptical. "So when were you born, Duncan?" he asked. He looked shaken as Duncan replied "I was born in 1592, Henry - I'm 407 years old."

Logan popped open a beer and took a long drink. "Well shit, I guess I gotta buy all the rounds next time we're out at Harry's." He looked at his friends, then noticed Duncan and Richie's puzzled expressions. "Sorry, it's a standin' bet that I'm older than anyone we'd ever meet. Been a long time since I lost that one..." He smiled and took another swallow from his beer. "Now, as to business. What connection do you have to this piece of filth?" He tapped the file and looked expectantly at Mac.

Duncan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, his fingers forming a steeple on which he rested on nose. "You have to understand that none of us know our true parentage. None of us. The..."

Guthrie interrupted. "Wait a sec', Time-Out for a minute! Now to rewind, if us eXter... Immortals... ain't supposed ta know our parents, howcum ah know mine? Mah Daddy's dead, but mah Momma's still around and kickin'."

"Impossible," said Mac, harder than he intended. He looked at the young mutant. "I'm truly sorry, Sam, but that just can't be. How did your mother react when you died and then came back? That's normally the way you find out the truth."

"Ah never told her - she doesn't need to know how dangerous being an X-Man is, let alone finding out ah'm immortal." Sam thought for a moment. "Nope, sorry - ah don't buy this. Mah Daddy was mah Daddy, just as mah brothers and sisters are mah kinfolk. Ah'll accept the rest of what you're sayin', but ah can't let you take away mah roots."

Richie spoke up. "Can't or won't, Sam?" he asked gently.

"Ah don't care, yer wrong." Sam said resolutely, arms crossed over his chest, staring down the two men in front of him with a resolute glare.

"Look, you ARE a foundling, Sam." Duncan insisted, trying to sound understanding, yet firm.

"Yer wrong."

"No, Sam, you're just being difficult. Listen to me, no Immortal has ever known their true parents."

"Yer wrong."

"I am not wrong. I am 400 years old and I know a lot more about this than you."

"Yer wrong."

Guthrie looked in pain. If the rest of what the immortals were saying were the truth, and Sam wasn't too sure about that, then maybe...? No, no matter what else might be true, Sam wouldn't let go of the love that he had for that hardworking, fierce but gentle man who had died of the Black Lung in the hills of Kentucky and was still buried there.

Cable looked at Macleod and Richie. "Let's drop the subject, gents. Whatever the truth, you'll find parentage of anyone wearing an 'X' can be a complicated matter." He gave a private smile. "Let's move on... Macleod?" Duncan shrugged, but threw Sam a glance that implied 'this isn't over yet', and continued.

"OK, well, Super-Immortals, or eXternals, as you call yourselves, are pretty new to the Game. The first on record to have taken a Quickening only dates back to just about 250 years ago. A friend of mine, Dawson, is part of a group that has been recording the activities of Immortals for several centuries. If he says that's the first incident, I'd have no reason to doubt him. After that, the Other Rule -- Don't involve Marvels in the Game -- became the Broken Rule. The Rules we live by... well, they've been around for over 5,000 years, according to the oldest Immortal I know of."

This time it was Richie who interrupted him. "Hold it a second, Mac, that can't be right. Sam told me earlier that there are eXternals waaaaaay older than that, some dating back to ancient Egypt and even the Stone Age. How could Dawson have missed them?"

McCoy pulled up a chair and sat at the table. "Indeed, there is a gentleman, for want of a better word, of Egyptian extraction. And when I say that, I mean that he's reputed to have lived when Moses was negotiating with the Pharaoh." For a man with the innate curiosity of Beast's level, this new development had thoroughly gotten his attention.

"Apocalypse, you mean?" asked Logan. "Yeah - he's been around the block a few thousand times. First time I threw down with Mr. En Sabah Nur himself was..."

He was going to finish, but Duncan was too busy falling out of his chair to care.

"NUR!?! HE'S Apocalypse?"

Richie finally caught on. "Nur? The Missing Immortal? The one Dawson told us about? But how could that have happened, I mean..."

Sam spoke up again. "Pardon me fer askin', but exactly what the hell are the two a' ya' gettin' all shook up about?"

"En Sabah Nur, the first Immortal to lose the Watchers. The story goes that he went up to the Mongolian mountains and was never seen again -- there was no body found and no Quickening was taken. He just... vanished." Duncan said, still trying to accept what he'd just learned.

"Yeah, ah heard about that. Gideon and his pals told me 'bout 3 or 4 years ago."

Duncan looked at Richie in shock. Just how far back did this thing go? Sam noted their glance, but continued anyway.

"Actually, it was the older fella by the name of Saul who told me, 'cause it was him that met ole' Pack-o-lips up there."

"Saul was involved?" Duncan rubbed his temples tenderly, becoming more confused by the moment. Even men with 400 years of experience got headaches when the X-Men were involved. "That might explain a few more things."

"You know about Saul?" This was from Cable, who had been keeping what little he knew of the eXternals a secret the best he could.

"Yes, he's another of the Ancient Ones." Duncan got five blank stares, including Richie. "In other words, the really old Immortals." He smiled, then continued. "Back when he first appeared, he was just another Immortal, no powers, no X-Factor, nothing special about him except that he somehow managed to go through life without ever learning the Rules. But that all changed the day he began to walk the Winding Way or magical path."

"Once word got around to the other Immortals about this, everyone started avoiding him like the plague. What fool would try to duel with someone who could freeze you in place while he cut your head off? I don't think he could really do that, but hey, even us Immortals are open to our own brand of superstition. It's even rumored that the superstition itself gave birth to the Other Rule, to keep Marvels out of the game at all costs." Duncan reached out for the file and took a long look at Gideon's photograph.

Sam looked to Duncan questioningly. He waited until Duncan raised an eyebrow.

"Ah suppose, but back to this guy 250 years ago and that 'Quickening' thing. If an Immortal can only get killed by havin' his head chopped off..." he waited while Duncan shot a glance at Richie, who gave him a 'sorry' expression in return, and continued "...and he wasn't carryin' no sword, what super powers did this guy use?"

"Well, by chance or by fate, the eXternal was carrying a sword, but not because he knew of the Game." Duncan cleared his throat and swallowed. "The story goes that the eXternal in question was a legendary pirate operating on the Indian Ocean during the 1750s, and he had come across a trading vessel with an Immortal named Galford Simms onboard. The pirate felt Galford's "presence" like all Immortals do, but mistook it, apparently, for Galford being a person that he didn't like, but couldn't remember why." Mac stopped and looked at Logan. "A lot of that went on back then."

"Anyway, he threatened to have him dismembered and thrown to the sharks, so Galford, being faced with death one way or the other, took the chance of breaking the Other Rule and possibly surviving. To make an even longer story short, it didn't work and the pirate took the Quickening. The Other Rule was officially broken, which is in part why I didn't tell it to you, Richie." Duncan nodded to his apprentice and friend, solemnly.

"And how do ya' know all a' this?" Sam says curiously, causing both Richie and Duncan to smile widely.

"The Watchers know all." They say simultaneously. "Dawson told us."

Beast leans over and quietly whispers in Cable's ear. "You don't suppose this Dawson's first name is Uatu, by any chance?" They both smile softly, their comments meaning nothing to Richie.

Oblivious to the conversation, Duncan continued. "The eXternal pirate, I can't remember his name right now, was obviously a Marvel, reportedly having purple skin, sharpened teeth and claws..."

"Crule." Sam says, interrupting Duncan. "His name's Crule, and he's another one a' Gideon's pals."

Duncan raked his hand over his hair slowly, muttering something under his breath about calling Dawson really soon, "Galford was my friend for nearly 60 years by that time, and a great drinking buddy. He could outdrink anyone." Duncan ignored Logan's snort of disbelief, "He was supposed to meet me in Vietnam, which at the time was still a French colony. The survivors of the attack landed at port and came off yelling and screaming about a purple-skinned demon that took a man's soul after dismembering him. I knew at once that Galford was dead, and because of his odd skin color and teeth, that the pirate was an eXternal. For many years, I was the only Immortal to know that the Other Rule had officially been broken." Duncan pauses, remembering his old friend's long-faded memory.

"Anyway, this meant that eXternals were no longer out of the Game, and were open targets if any Immortal felt brave.. or foolish enough to challenge them." Duncan's expression showed a feeling of nostalgia coming on, "Aside from our own... altercation, Logan, the first time I came across a Marvel personally was in the early 40s..."

Logan offered a half-smile as he finished the beer and lit a cigar. "1940's?"

"Yeah," Macleod returned the grin, "the 1940s. I was in New York at a bar when a couple of reporters were mouthing off about the Human Torch and Namor." Mac smiled at the memory. "All of a sudden, this blond haired guy sitting next to them spoke up and said they didn't know what they were talking about. Then he melted the window and flew off. First time I saw the Torch in action..." His voice trailed off and for a few seconds there was nothing but silence.

Duncan stood up. "Sam, let's take a walk, you and I. There are some things you need to know and I could do with a stretch." He looked at the others. "Is that OK?" he asked.

Cable looked at Logan and McCoy. The three nodded at each other and Logan spoke for the rest of them. "That's fine - Macleod, but when you get back… we go for a round in the Danger Room. There's a hundred year old account that needs balancing between us. What can I say? I've waited a long time for this."

The words struck a chord with Cable and he shot a sharp look at Logan as they left and memories sprung alive in his mind...

... Eurasia District, April 15th, 2334 ...

The house computers beeped loudly to inform Cable he had a visitor and after scanning the videotron, he opened the door with a smile.

"Duncan!" Cable said with warm pleasure as his chess companion of the last few months walked into the room. Macleod offered a grin and immediately walked to the bar. Mac noticed that his friend had restocked since his last visit and poured himself a large synthetic scotch. Since they'd banned alcohol at the start of the century, this was about the best he could get. His face lit up as he realised that this wasn't erzatz alcohol, but the real thing.

Mac had learned not to ask where Cable managed to get such items, merely to enjoy them.

***

Cable had been in this time zone for little under a year, recovering from wounds inflicted by Stryfe at their last meeting several decades in the future. He'd needed a bolt hole to recuperate and had set Graymalkin's TDC (Time Displacement Core) for a random destination, knowing it would take Stryfe at least a subjective year to track him down if he stayed quiet. He knew time was running out and that Stryfe would soon have his location, but he'd been strangely reluctant to leave the twenty-fourth century. So much was happening that had been lost in the "Great Plagues" at the end of the century, with both computer and human viruses involved. This was also when the last of the great space missions went into uncharted territory and the last time that Earth played hostess to several alien races prior to the Isolationist Trade Embargo of 2416.

His TDC would allow him to return to his home time at a suitable juncture, but for the moment, he was enjoying the 2300's. His present companion had a lot to do with that. Cable had arrived in need of rest and recuperation. After he'd healed and recovered sufficiently to psionically cover his cybernetics, he had walked through one of the few parks remaining in the city. He had purchased a news sheet and was walking past a group of people playing chess. One table had been occupied by a tall pony-tailed man, his face in frustration at the position his opponent, a young blond man wearing a classic American baseball cap and sunglasses hiding his face, had left him in.

Loathing the curiosity that nonetheless compelled him to wander closer, Cable looked at the chess board. It was white's game - Cable could see that instantly. Mate in five. And the dark-haired man was sat behind the white pieces. A warm face looked up and saw Cable's eyes staring at the board.

A Scottish accent, though with traces of American spoke up. "Grab a chair - maybe you can figure it out." He looked to his opponent "Do you mind?"

"Sure Mac, I promised Amanda I'd stop by and say hello anyway." He got up and began to walk off, "I'll be seein' you around."

"Have a seat." Duncan offered the chair with a wave of his hand.

Cable took the chair and, reversing it, sat down, looking at the board. "Er," he said apologetically, "White to mate in 5. Nathan Dayspring," extending a hand.

"Duncan Macleod," replied the other, absently raising his right hand. "And I know it's white's game, but it should be Mate in Four and I can't see how. I've been looking for two hours and ..."

Mate in Four? Cable looked again. Let's see, the bishop's got that diagonal covered, and that pawn holds the rook, so what if...? Ah, yes, there it was... "I hate to do this, but...?" Cable asked.

Macleod sat back in his chair and waved his hand. "Go ahead," he suggested. He looked in disbelief as Cable moved the King and "castled" on the Queen's side. "Damnation!" he said as he saw the manoeuvre played through. "Of course - you have to sacrifice that rook." He looked at Cable for the first time. "My thanks - can I buy you a coffee?"

And so it had begun, a friendship that Cable was now reluctant to lose. To his delight, he had found Mac to be a scholar, and for the first time in years, Cable had enjoyed philosophical discussions. The only time Mac had shown any passion was when he was discussing the nature of cause and effect, especially in a historical context. He was vigorously opposed to violence and only rarely mentioned his past, which suited Cable, since Mac asked as little information as he offered.

***

By the bar, Mac drained his drink. He moved to the table where they had left their last game unfinished. As they both sat, Duncan's head suddenly straightened and for a moment, Cable didn't recognise his friend, such was the change in his visage.

"I'm sorry, Nathan," he said, standing in a hurry, "I have to leave."

He never got a chance to, as moments after he spoke those words, the front of the house just disappeared. One moment it was there, the next, only remnants were left as four people smashed though the living room. A soldier suddenly had a sword (a sword?) at Duncan's neck and as Cable grabbed a weapon from beneath the table, he was suddenly slammed against the wall as something took ahold of him and telekinetically smashed him across the room. Cable slapped his side and as his cybernetic link to his sentient computer came on line, he almost shouted: "Bodyslide by Two - Me and Macleod. Graymalkin bound. Now".

"I don't think so, Dayspring," said a metallic helmeted figure, strolling through the living room. "I've waited a long time for this." As the time distortion field took hold, Cable aimed a shot at the newcomer, a particularly nasty derivative of napalm - but more hazardous to health. As Cable watched, though, time seemed to slow and with an almost casual gesture, Stryfe deflected the shot. As Cable looked on in horror, the blast enveloped the soldier and Macleod, burning the pair of them, the smell of burning flesh remaining in Cable's nostrils long after he'd vanished...

With a telepathic grimace, he'd cancelled the transport for Mac... One more death at Stryfe's hands... one more friend to mourn...

...New York, July 1999...

As they left the main building and walked into the dwindling sunshine, Mac took a deep breath. "OK, Sam - now that we're away from the others, there's something you need to know before I leave." He pauses briefly, but continues. "I know this is difficult to accept, especially being a hero like you are, but you have to kill if you want to live."

"Ah don't believe you -- ah mean, can't ah just beat the tar out of 'em an' then get rid of 'em? Without killin'?" Sam's fear was etched in his features.

"Then they'll be back... and the next time you might not win." Duncan looked at Sam with a sort of longing mixed with jealousy. It'd been so long since he was a mortal, and had forgotten what it had felt like to take a life for the first time. The Macleod's had been a warrior clan and in some ways, it was fortunate that he had been raised as a fighter, destined from birth to become a killer, as he had been for most of his adult mortal life. But Sam? Sam wasn't anything like that at all, he was just a farmboy who fate decided to make a king.

"Look, it's not that ah don't appreciate your warnin' me or nothin'..." said the young mutant. "And ah guess ah have to take everything you say seriously..."

Mac could almost see the 'but' hanging in the air.

Guthrie gathered his thoughts. "But... there's something you don't know about the eXternals. Someone's killin' us off, an' ah don't mean the Legacy Virus. Ah know there's been five deaths in the past year or so, and there ain't that many of us around as it is!"

"All the more reason for you to learn to defend yourself then," replied Duncan, meaning well, but surprised at the vehemence of Sam's reaction.

"And what the sam hill do ya' think ah've been doing for the past eight years? Ah've had more people tryin' to kill me than you could possibly imagine. As it is, us mutants are in for a hell of a time. There's this guy Bastion..." The mutant shook his head. "Look, this is all too much."

Mac realised exactly what he was asking of the younger man. He had only tutored four immortals in his 400 years. All of them had been novices, like Richie. Certainly, none had been as experienced in combat as Sam, yet, in some ways, Sam was the most innocent of them all.

"I won't lie to you, Sam, I really can't understand where you're coming from. I was raised to be a killer before I ever became an Immortal, so I was prepared for this part of it. You're not, not in the slightest, despite your experience." Duncan puts a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'll teach you what you need to know, but only you can decide if you'll use it." Duncan turned and walks inside without another word. Behind him, Sam, stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking aimlessly into the dark, subconsiouslessly heading towards the boathouse.

Soon afterwards, he heard footsteps behind him and a voice he recognised. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" His voice came out dry and weak.

Cable stood next to the man he considered as a son, or at the very least, a younger brother. "Richie told us what being an Immortal meant, about being forced to kill." --Even Logan had sat back in surprise at that one.-- "I figured you might want to talk about it... as a friend?"

"Why me?" Sam asked suddenly, looking at the stars dotting the night sky.

"Pardon?" Cable asked, puzzled.

"Why the hell did all a' this get pinned on me?" Sam looked at his former mentor, the anger, frustration, fear and helplessness showing in his expression. Even if Nathan wasn't a telepath, he could sympathise with Sam's position.

"Ah never asked ta be a mutant, but ah came ta' accept it easily enough. Ah never asked ta' be a leader, but hell, ah played the hand life dealt me. Then ah became an eXternal, an' ah decided ah'd live with that too; go on livin' even though ah knew ah'd outlive mah best friends by hundreds a' years an' more. But this? Bein' a killer?" Sam smacked one fist hard onto the railing in frustration. "Damn it all, ah'm just not sure if ah can accept that... ever."

"What is... is, Sam." Nathan joined Guthrie in leaning against the railing, looking to the sky, ignoring Sam's bitter glare. "Remember who you're talking to. I was only a child when I was given the T-O virus and I hadn't even seen my third birthday before I was sent to the future by the Askani. I was raised 2000 years in the future and became a freedom fighter against Apocalypse, only to come back to the time of my birth as an old soldier and teach people who held me as a baby how to fight."

Sam couldn't help but notice the disguised tension in Cable's voice. He turned his gaze away, looking over the lake.

"Fate's been cruel and sadistic to the both of us," Cable said, "giving us futures we never wanted, but it's the way things are, Sam. The only thing we can do is accept who we are and keep fighting."

"Ah... ah know. But, it's hard." Sam ran his fingers through his hair slowly and let out a heavy sigh. "It's hard ta' be somethin' ah've been taught mah entire life is evil. Especially knowin' ah ain't got a choice in the matter."

"Just remember Sam, we'll be here for you. All of us." And with that, Cable left Sam the same way Duncan had.

Sam thought hard about his life, his immortal life, and what he could do about it. It didn't take long. Nothing, he finally admitted to himself. Though he couldn't understand the reasoning or the motives, he accepted that this was the life God had chosen for him, and he would do what must be done. For in the end, There Can Be Only One.

- o -

They were offered a lift back to town and Duncan and Richie gratefully accepted. Cable had vanished for five minutes before they left and returned carrying a book. He drove them back in a red sportster and when Cable stopped the car, by the bar where they'd met, Mac shook hands with him. They exited the car and Mac noticed that the lights were still on in the bar. There were no cars around, though, and he assumed that only the staff were left. He glanced at his watch and noticed that it was almost midnight.

"Do you play chess?" asked Cable.

Mac was puzzled at the question. "I don't," he replied. "Always meant to learn the game, but never got the opportunity."

Cable leaned over and held out the book he'd retrieved from the mansion's library. He tossed it to Mac, who caught it and looked at the title : Teach Yourself Chess. He looked in puzzlement at Cable, who shook his head and merely said "We'll meet again." He placed such emphasis on the words that Mac was certain they would. Moments after he'd spoken the words, though, Cable realised that it wasn't necessarily the case. Time was mutable; his own existence proved that.

Cable smiled at Richie and wished him luck, assuring him that if ever he needed help, he could always call on the X-Men. Then he put the car into gear and drove back to the mansion.

It had been a strange evening; that, no one could deny. Nonetheless, everyone involved had gained something from the meeting. Tentative friendships had started and who knew where they might lead? Sam had promised to call Dawson in the near future to discuss both what he knew of the eXternals and his parentage in greater detail, and Logan and Duncan had settled an old wound for both of them. Days after that night, Sam began to take lessons in swordplay from his old comrade-in-arms, Shatterstar, though he kept the reasons behind it to himself. Shatterstar asked him no questions, simply teaching Sam what he himself had been taught all his life.

The life of an immortal was never easy - how could it be when there was always the possibility that your closest friend may be the one left? There Can Be Only One. It sounded trite until you realised the meaning. That sooner or later, you would face your friend in mortal combat. And that was if you were lucky, if neither you nor he had been killed earlier.

Mac shook off the thoughts, and grabbed Richie around the shoulders. "Come on," he said, "let's go and apologise to that girlfriend of yours." He wanted a scotch. And why not? If anyone deserved it, it was Duncan Macleod, born 400 years ago in the Highlands of Scotland. Duncan Macleod, who for centuries had waited for the time of the Gathering.

Duncan Macleod, The Highlander.

The End.