(Doctor Who/Highlander Crossover)

Disclaimer: Doctor Who and Highlander don't belong to me...whimper.

The first time Jack met Methos, he shot him with a mark eight mini-pulsar multi-phase laser pistol. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, or the middle of one; depends on which one you ask, really.

Time travel, huh?

The Outskirts of the Horseman’s Camp, 1000 BCE

Methos glared at the insolent fool lying prone on the sand before him. “You live to serve me,” he muttered menacingly as he circled the stranger.

“Oh yeah? What kind of servicing are we talking about here, pal?” the stranger returned, grinning cheekily. “Because I’m pretty sure that swing you took at my head cancelled the guarantee.”

Methos’s eyes narrowed, he did not understand the idiotic mortal’s words, but he did recognise the tone. “Do not mock me, little man, or you shall rue this day.”

Oh, come on, Doctor Adams, can we can this act? Ha, ha, you got me. What is this? Some kind of historical re-enactment?”

Tilting his head, Methos studied the intruder, why was he not cowering in fear? “Who is this Doktore Addims,” he said, frowning as he tasted the words in his mouth. “Why do you think I am he? Do you not know who I am?”

“Um, somebody who’s in need of a good barber and a few make-up tips? And, for the record; blue? Not your colour.”

Methos’s eyes narrowed. “I shall kill you for your impudence!” he hissed, raising his sword to strike, a grim smile gracing his face as he watched the uncertainty slowly creep into his prey’s face. This was more like it.

“This isn’t Venice Beach, is it?” the stranger said, his voice curiously flat as he eyed the blade in Methos’s eyes.

“Veniss Bee-atch? No. It is not. This is your death,” Methos said. At last, the mortal showed the fear more becoming to his fate.

“And this is not the 23rd century.”

“Enough of this, I grow weary of your endless prattling!” Methos declared, bringing his sword down upon his hapless victim.

“Oh, shit!” Methos blinked with surprise as the mortal rolled out of the way and onto his feet in one fluid movement. “’I know, let’s have a vacation,” the stranger muttered darkly as his hand darted into his garments and produced a small, puny, shiny stick. “It’ll be fun…you’d think I’d know better by now.”

Methos laughed. “What is this?” he retorted, grinning evilly. “Surely you do not expect to-“

That was the last thing Methos remembered from that day.


They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but after twenty-nine centuries, the memory can get a bit hazy. Especially when you’re a little busy holding onto your head

California, 1864 CE

Grimacing, Methos head-butted the irate Egyptian and reached for his sword. “I told you, I never looked at your wife!”

“That’s not what she said,” Ramset roared.

Methos bit his tongue. Sofia’s wandering eyes, and Ramset’s refusal to see it, was well known among Immortal circles. One way or another, a head was going to roll tonight. “I don’t need this,” Methos muttered as he pulled his sword free. “I’m supposed to be on vacation, damn it!

“Don’t worry, Adams, by the time I’m finished with you, you will be on a permanent vacation.” Ramset snorted, grinning at his own wit.

Methos rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” he snapped, raising his blade. With a scream of steel, their swords met and—

“Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here! I thought I recognised your voice.”

Oh great, we have an audience, ” thought Methos, not daring to turn his head around. “Just what I need.” Cursing under his breath, he tried to keep his mind on the problem at hand. Namely, the six-foot angry Egyptian who was trying to part his head from his shoulders.

“Yo, Michael, don’t you remember me?”

Michael, who the hell is Michael?” The thought went rambling through Methos’s mind as he parried another swipe, wincing as the force of the Egyptians sword carried down his arm.

“Still waving that great big chunk of metal around, I see. Hey, that guy’s good. Oh! Look out!”

“Do you mind? I’m a little busy here,” Methos sniped irritably, leaning back just in time to avoid Ramset’s blade.

“Not doing so well, are you?” Methos glared as the stranger strolled into his field of vision and waved his fingers, leaning against the wall, “My, oh my, you’re getting creamed.”

“Will you shut up?”

“Who’s your crazy friend, Adams?” Ramset muttered, through gritted teeth.

“Don’t ask me,” Methos returned. “I thought he was with you.”

“Hey guys, guys, please, no need to fight over me. There’s enough of Jack for everybody,” the stranger drawled, his smile widening suggestively into a brilliant grin.

For a moment, the two immortals froze in place and locked eyes. “Did he just say what I think he said?” the Egyptian said, uncertainly.

Methos shrugged in commiseration. “Probably,” he muttered, before launching another attack.

“So, which century are you from, Michael; fiftieth, fifty-first? Where’s your ship?” the idiot yelled over the din. “Got any room for a passenger?” Blithely disregarding the life and death battle, the stranger – Jack - sat on a crate and made himself comfortable while Ramset forced Methos back against the wall.

“For the first, and last, time, my name is not Michael. It’s Adams, Doctor Benjamin Adams, now would you bugger off and leave me in peace.” Methos grunted, trying, and failing, to break the deadlock Ramset held him in.

“I’d love to, my friend,” Jack said, sighing. “But I just can’t do that.”

“And why is that,” Methos panted grimly as he tried to lever the edge of Ramset’s sword away from his neck.

“Exterminate, exterminate!”

“Ah, right on cue,” Jack said cheerily as he pulled out a small, puny, shiny

Methos’s eyes narrowed, a distant memory surging to the surface. “Wait a minute, I remember you,” he said, menace creeping into his voice.


“Sorry, can’t stop to reminisce, Michael - oops, sorry, Benjamin – and now would be a good time to duck.”

The alley exploded with light and Methos threw himself to the ground just in time to feel the whistle of something flying through the air where his head had been.

“You. Will. Be. Destroyed.”

Methos risked a glance upward, only to be greeted by Ramset’s glowering features. ”Who is this man?” Ramset yelled over the explosive din.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know!” Methos shot back, the glimmer of something large, metallic and suspended in mid air catching the corner of his eye.

“Maybe we should continue this some other time,” Ramset suggested, worry showing in his eyes.

“I think that may be a very good idea. Shall we make a run for it?”

Heads down, the two immortals dashed from the alley, not daring to look back.


The third time Methos met Jack…or should I say the first time Jack met Methos? You’d need to be a Doctor to keep this straight...hmmm, funny I should say that

London, the Blitz, WWII

Methos, huddled in his coat, tried to block out the shrill horn of the claxon as he hunted for a new shelter - one that wasn’t occupied by another immortal. “I wonder who it was?” Methos thought, irritably, as his mind wandered back to the presence he’d felt in his usual bolthole. “Damned terrible timing, whoever he is…

The streets were empty, with not a soul in sight and—

Y’ know, Doc, I’m supposed to be here on vacation.

Methos’s head jerked up. He recognised that voice.

“Jack, we don’t have time for this. You find Rose and –”

“Ah yes, the lovely and fair Rose...”

Methos squared his shoulders. The boy was mortal and it was the twentieth century. This time, he was prepared; this, time, he’d read H.G.Wells, and no small, puny… “Gun, ” he mentally chided himself. “The damned thing was a gun. Granted, it was a gun with some very strange, eye burning ammunition but, nevertheless, a...gun?"

Methos eyed Jack, who was purposely following his companion down the opposite side of the street. Methos frowned; strange, he didn’t recognise the new guy’s face but there was something familiar… Snorting, he shrugged the thought away and stalked across the street. One mysterious stranger at a time, thank you very much. “Hey, you!”

“Who, me?” Jack spun on his feet, a ready smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, you.”

“Do I know you, pal?” Jack drawled slowly, his eyes suggestively travelling down Methos’s body. “Because I’d think I’d remember you.”

“Will you stop that!” Methos snapped irritably.

“Stop what?”

The innuendo, it won’t work. Better flirts than you have eyed me, my boy, and nothing is going to distract me. I want answers, damn it!”

“Better flirts than me? Really?”

“Byron, for one,” his companion piped up helpfully, throwing Methos a friendly smile. “Hi there! I’m the Doctor, and who are you today?”

“Michael…” Methos's voice drifted off as everything clicked into place. “Bugger.”

“Time travel,” the Doctor said sympathetically, “Plays havoc with your social life.”

“Really, Byron?” Jack said, his eyes brightening. The boy sure had a one tracked mind. “Hey, is it true what they say about the goa—“

“Mommy, are you my Mommy?”

“What, the hell, was that!” Methos muttered, unease crawling up his spine.

“Damn,” the Doctor uttered distractedly. “They’re earlier than I thought. Remember the plan—”

“What plan? Hey, wait, ” Methos interjected. “You didn’t tell me what—“ But it was too late. Bemused, Methos watched the two tear down the street, hearing their words float into the night.

“You do know what he is, don’t you…”

“No, should I?”

“Never mind.”

That was when the bomb fell.


When you have a hard decision to make, probably the last person you’d ask for advice is Jack, but sometimes Captain Jack can surprise you…up to a certain point.

Bordeaux, France, 1998 CE

Taking a deep breath, Methos leaned against the wall, his mind still reeling from Cassandra’s anger. “And she’s entitled to it,” he reminds himself. “Oh Gods, is she ever entitled to it. ” He shook his head in bewilderment. He’d thought he’d left this all behind, but maybe he should have known better. He’d always known that Kronos would catch up with him one day, but he had hoped…

Methos laughed bitterly; he had hoped that Kronos would change; that he’d never have to make this decision. Of such things, nightmares are made. “You idiot,” he muttered under his breath, “You should have killed him years ago.”

Footsteps echoed through the shadows, and Methos abruptly straightened. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, especially now. The figure slowly emerged from the darkness, and Methos did a double take. “You. What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I think that should be my question.” Jack drawled. “What are you doing here, man? This isn’t your style.”

“You mean you don’t like my vacation spot?” Methos said, dryly. “What’s not to like? Sea breeze, great privacy—“

“Apocalyptic virus in the freezer. Yeah, I heard all about it.”

Methos tensed. “Tell me again, why are you here?” he asked, softly.

“The Doctor sent me,” Jack said, as if this explained everything. “He thought you’d might need a familiar face to talk with before…you did something you couldn’t take back.”

“So now you’re my agony aunt?” Methos snapped. “Give me a break.”

“Listen, Michael…”

“Michael, who’s Michael?”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, I get it. So, who am I speaking to, today? Dr Adams, Benjamin, I know, how about scary assed bronze-aged guy with a bad paint job.”

Methos winced “No, not anymore, that’s half the problem,” he said, quietly.

“Yeah, well, life goes on,” Jack said. “The question is whether or not you want to move with it. You know what’s right, you know what’s wrong; make a decision. We all have to, sooner or later.”

“That’s it? That’s your sage advice?”

“What were you expecting, the Magna Carta?”

Methos choked back a laugh. “Call me Adam.”

“How come I get the impression that that’s not the name on your birth certificate?”

“Because you’re not just a pretty face?”

“Ah, at last he admits his fatal attraction for me! I knew you’d break down and admit it, sooner or later…which reminds me—“

It came out of the blue. One moment, he’d been glaring at his smug face; the next, he was kissing him. He hadn’t been expecting it, but he should have. Idiotic boy.

At last, Jack came up for air and Methos took a hasty step back. “It is customary to ask first,” he retorted, flustered.

“Sorry,” Jack said, his unrepentant grin telling the lie. “I just had to know what three thousand years of experience kissed like.

“More like five, actually,” Methos muttered distractedly, and then froze. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but the grin on Jack's face grew wider. “Don’t worry, I know how to keep a secret – and, hey, we’ll always have Bordeaux.”

“Don’t you mean Paris?”

Jack shrugged as he stepped back into the shadows. “We’ll see. Good luck, you’re going to need it – and remember, stay cute...”

A few moments late, Methos heard footsteps again but, this time, it wasn’t Jack.

“It is time, Brother.”


The fifth time Jack and Methos meet has yet to happen, and Methos isn’t exactly sure how he feels about that. In the meantime, however, he’s off for a weekend break in Cardiff. Nothing like vacation in Wales to remind you why you like Bora Bora so much.

On a Train to Wales, Present Day, Right…about…now.

A shadow passed over him, blocking his light, and, sighing, Methos looked up from his book. “Excuse me, do you mind…oh, good grief, it’s you again,” Methos eyed the grinning form leaning over his seat. “My day is complete.”

“You wound me, Adam, you really do.” With a smirk, Jack threw himself onto the adjoining seat. “You don’t write, you don’t call…is that the way to treat an old friend?”

Methos groaned, something told him this wasn’t going to end well…