Authors notes: I own nothing, except for any original characters you may find.

Constructive criticisms only, please, no flames. This is my first published fan-fic, so be kind ...

I know that there is a current/new-ish Highlander/Sentinel out there (which I definitely like); I am not trying to steal the ideas of another ... I came up with this idea after lying on the couch, watching Highlander and Sentinel tapes while sick with the flu months ago, way before I read NorthernStar's fic.

Enjoy ...

The Past Revisited

Chapter One

It had been a long week. Jim, with Blair, had spent their waking hours tracking down a kidnapper and murderer. The victim had been a twelve-year- old girl. Her father, Boris Gudenov, was the local head of the Ukrainian Mafia. His daughter, Natalia, was kidnapped and eventually killed by a rival mafoski figure. It was a difficult case because the girl's father was not the most forthcoming figure with information. It was also difficult because Gudenov's people, most likely but not absolutely certain, caught up with the criminal first. The body had been horrible mutilated. The little girl, dead, was found near-by; the coroner declared that the girl had been killed at least two hours after the kidnapper.

As a result of their long hours and effort, Simon, Jim's captain, had given them a few days off to recuperate.

In effort to comply with the captain's orders, Jim and Blair found themselves at a bar, Corr's, playing darts and drinking plenty of beer. Blair, to Jim's astonishment, was an excellent dart player. As they played, they discussed everything but the case. Neither person wanted to talk about it just yet.

Close to ten o'clock, just as Blair was about to leave, someone walked into the darkly light bar. While Blair did not immediately recognize the person, he recognized the familiar tingling at the base of his skull, announcing that there was another Immortal near-by.

Blair watched the stranger closely, frozen in place. He instinctively reached for his side, where his sword was supposed to hang in the concealing folds of his jacket, however it was not there. One could not simply walk around a police station with a sword on them; it was not something that could be easily done in an age of metal detectors.

The stranger stepped into a pool of faint florescent light, revealing his face, causing Blair to immediately smile. It had been a long time, but the other Immortal was a person hard to forget, especially if they had been your teacher nearly a thousand years ago; also, especially if the other one was the oldest Immortal alive.

Methos.

"Blair. It's been a long time," Methos said in his smooth English accent.

"Too long old man," Blair said and smiled as he gladly embraced his long-time friend.

Behind Blair, Jim cleared his throat. He was curious as to who this person was. He noticed that just seconds earlier, Blair had tensed and his eyes had been darting all over the place just before the man walked though the doorway. It was markedly odd behavior by Blair.

"Oh, sorry," Blair said awkwardly. "Um, Jim Ellison, this here is, um," Blair trailed off, unsure of the name that Methos was now using.

"Adam Pierson," Methos said smoothly, offering his hand in a friendly gesture.

"Nice to meet you," Jim said, shaking the man's hand firmly, noting the strong grip and his piercing eyes. "So how do you know each other?" Jim continued.

"We went to the same university during our under-grad years," Pierson explained.

**********

(Flashback)

The year was 1066 A.D. and the Normans had invaded England. Due to the contoured royal ties between the Dutch, Normans, and the English, William, duke of Normandy invaded England. He had as good of a claim to the English throne, due to political maneuvering and his bloodline, as any other claimant. With the blessing of the pope, William became William the Conqueror by invading England and defeating the Anglo-Saxons at the Battle of Hastings.

It was on this battlefield that Edward of Nasbey, the future Blair Sandburg, met Methos.

Edward gave a gasping, shuddering breath and sat up. It was nighttime and he could see campfires in the distance, roaring cheerily, trying to keep the damp night air at bay. Around him were the bodies of his comrades and the despicable Normans that had fallen in battle.

He started to pat himself down frantically, checking for any wounds, vaguely remembering being stabbed in the chest with the sword of a Norman. He remembered the hot, burning pain as the metal slid into his body. He remembered falling to his knees, clutching at his body, trying to scream, but no words were able to escape from his lips. Then he knew nothing, blackness having overtaken his senses.

Now he was awake and apparently alive. He wondered briefly if he had been sent to Hell, because of the smell – it smelled of smoke and rotting flesh, or if this was all a dream.
To find out, he pinched himself hard. It hurt. Okay, so it wasn't a dream. Whether or not it wasn't hell, he was not too sure about that.

Suddenly, it felt as if a club was hitting him repeatedly, causing a pounding and buzzing sensation at the base of his skull. Looking around widely, wondering where his attacker was, he saw a man approaching. He took little notice of how the strange sensation faded once he noticed the man.

The stranger, a Norman he guessed, was dressed in a long cloak, concealing his form. He carried in his hand a sword of unfamiliar design.

Frantically, Edward scrambled backwards, to keep away from this person that was sure to do him in. He has apparently escaped death once today and did not want it to pay him a visit again. His hands felt across the blood soaked ground, searching for a weapon. His fingers closed upon a broken battleaxe. It was not much, but it was better than nothing. He raised it up in a defensive gesture, expecting a blow from the stranger. It never came.

"You have nothing to fear from me today, young one," spoke the stranger, using Edward's native tongue, but with an exotic accent that he had not heard come from any of the Normans he had encountered before today.

"What do you want with me? The battle is over. Please let me go," Edward said, thinking of the family that he had left behind in Nasbey.

"Your battle is just beginning little one," the stranger went on. "You have much to learn. My name is Methos and we need to talk."

********** "How'd you know I'd be here?" Blair asked, his arms crossed, his head slightly cocked in an inquisitive pose.

"I talked to some of our mutual friends, "Methos said, meaning the Watchers, "and found out that you are working with the Cascade Police Department. So I went there, met your Captain Banks, and he told me that you might be here."

"So, is everything good with you?" Blair inquired. "Last I heard you were up in Seacouver, writing your life story or something like that."

"Seacouver has become too crowded and popular for me lately. Too many crowds," he said, his explanation laced with many layers of meaning that Blair immediately understood.

"Well, sit down, have a beer. On me this time," Blair answered, happy to see that his former teacher, and now friend, was there, and pulled up some chairs to a near-by table.
Methos grinned at the prospect of free beer. "Is the local stuff any good?"

Blair grinned back. "Pretty good. Just stay away from the Southwest Boulevard stuff. It's a local brew, and many of the locals like it, but I think it tastes like piss. So what are you up to these days? Are you in Cascade for a while or are you just passing through?"

Methos smiled. "I was offered a teaching position at the university here in Cascade in the history department."

"What kind of history?" Jim asked; his brow furrowed. He could not remember Blair ever mentioning an Adam Pierson, let alone any friends from before he moved to Cascade. Sandburg, while sometimes a bit of flake, did not talk too much about his personal past.

"Mostly ancient history," Pierson replied. "I seem to have an affinity for it."

Blair, who could not help it, snorted loudly, earning himself a scathing look from Methos.

They spent the next hour talking, lightly bantering back and forth, but neither Blair nor Methos truly spoke about what was on their minds.

Soon, Jim called it a night. Him and Blair agreed to meet up for lunch in a couple of days.

"So why are you really here?" Blair asked, once Jim was long gone.
Methos smiled tightly. "I was telling the truth about Seacouver. Way too crowded. You remember Macleod," he said.

"Connor or Duncan?"

"Duncan. He attracts too much trouble and attention to himself and others around him. Its that over-developed sense of honor that puts him in harm's way."

"He always was a boy-scout, even before there were boy scouts. It'll get him killed someday. But why Cascade? Don't you still have that home in Tuscany or someplace more exotic?" Blair asked.

"Why did you pick Cascade? Wouldn't you rather be somewhere eating tree bark, with some indigenous tribe on an island in the Pacific?" Methos replied, smirking at his friend.

"I'm here because of Jim," Blair replied.

Methos looked at him skeptically. "Last time I saw your Watcher file, nothing had been mentioned about you going gay."

Blair gave him a dirty look. "No you ass. Jim's a Sentinel. I met him about thirty years before, when he was just a child and I have been keeping tabs on him ever since."

"Wow, a Sentinel. They're pretty rare these days. Modernity doesn't really favor the ancient ways anymore. Does he know about our kind?"

"Nope. I know I can trust him with the secret, but I don't know if I can trust him to stay out of my fights. Not that many have come looking for me. Cascade is pretty quiet for Immortals."

"Well, since you were so honest with me, I'll do the same for you. I am here to teach at the university. I had a choice between UCLA and Cascade University. I chose Cascade because I wanted to see how you were doing."

"And? Should I be waiting for the other shoe to drop?" Blair joked, yet serious. He saw the look in his old friend's eyes.

"According to the Watcher files, Martin Gerhardt is in town," he said, watching his friend closely, noting how all of the blood seemed to drain out of his face.