Mistaken Identity? by auberus (1/3)
Title: Mistaken Identity?
Author: auberus
Challenge: Immortality: Dual Roles
Words: 1143
Characters: Methos/Marcus Becker, Lex Luthor, Joe Dawson
Summary: Smallville/Highlander crossover, based on the episode 'Lucy'. Methos does his best to get himself out of a sticky situation.
(For those who haven't seen it -- in the episode 'Lucy', Peter Wingfield played a middle-management Swiss mobster named Marcus Becker -- who worked at a club called 'Kronos'. Transcript is here.)
Mistaken Identity
a Smallville/Highlander crossover
by auberus
He'd named the club 'Kronos' out of sheer nostalgia, even though it meant that there would be trouble if Duncan MacLeod showed up. Then again, everything about Methos' current life would mean trouble if the notoriously ethical Highlander chose to put in an appearance. Extortion, smuggling, drug-trafficking, and murder were not on the the MacLeod List of Approved Immortal Activities, which was why Methos had hidden his tracks so very carefully before slipping off to Zurich five years earlier.
He'd been hiding more from Joe than from MacLeod -- because Joe couldn't be trusted not to spill all to the Highlander -- and with that in mind, Methos had left no clues at all behind him. No one who'd known bookish, awkward Adam Pierson would think to look for any incarnation of him at the heart of one of the nastiest crime syndicates in Europe.
Methos himself hadn't been involved in organized crime since he'd left Chicago in 1927, but it had soon become apparent that seventy-odd years hadn't appreciably damaged his skills in that area. He'd sold his new identity a property in downtown Zurich, and three months later Marcus Becker had been an ostensibly respectable club owner. The string of felonies Methos had added to Marcus' rap sheet gave him credibility with the local criminal element, and six months after he opened his doors he'd been working a middle-management position in the local mob as well as running his club.
The violence and adrenaline of Marcus Becker's lifestyle were as close to his Horsemen days as he would allow himself to get, and he was surprised by how much he was enjoying himself. Kronos' quickening -- and Silas', and the bit of Caspian's that had made its way to him via MacLeod -- had reawakened something in him all those years ago, and that something was glad to stretch its legs even a little bit.
Then he met Lucy Lane. He'd been looking for a quick fuck; she'd been looking for a business partner, and the idea of bleeding LuthorCorp dry had been an entertaining one. It wasn't that he needed the money -- Methos was rich enough to buy several small countries twice over, and had considered it on occasion -- but the challenge of it appealed. Lionel Luthor was no idiot, and the son was reputed to be even sharper. Methos ignored the little voice in the back of his head that murmured caution, and went for it.
Of course Lucy double-crossed him. She'd called certain interested parties and told them that he'd be leaving the country. They were in the air over the Atlantic when said parties -- business rivals with whom Methos had been particularly ruthless -- took advantage of his absence and burned the Kronos to the ground. He found out about it an hour after they landed, and though the option of killing her had presented itself, he'd decided on reciprocal betrayal as the more appropriate revenge.
The tomato-less sandwich had been a particularly nice touch, in his opinion; subtle but un-ignorable. The problem was that he'd gotten caught up in his own machinations and thus wasn't paying proper attention to maneuvers on his flank. He wasn't sure where the dark-haired kid had come from, but the boy'd had a punch on him that beat even Silas', and Methos had been torn between surprise and irritation as he surrendered to unconsciousness.
***
Ten seconds after waking up, Methos knew he was in trouble. Not prison-trouble, which he could have gotten out of with a well-placed death, but serious trouble. He was handcuffed and leg-shackled in the back of a limousine, and Lex Luthor was regarding him with a combination of triumph and amusement. The smirk on the man's lips didn't bode well for Methos' future.
"Back with us, I see," Luthor said. Methos recognized the impersonal, possessive victory in his voice, and forced himself not to look at the door handle. Jumping out of a speeding car whilst shackled was a bad idea, no matter what sort of injuries one was capable of healing. Besides, the bodyguard next to Luthor looked more than capable of stopping all sorts of mayhem. The best way out of this was to bluff, and hope that Luthor didn't dig up Adam Pierson's obituary.
It's too late for caution, Methos thought, and let his shoulders slump, blinked a few times, and gave Luthor a good look at Adam Pierson, Harmless Grad Student. "Where am I?" he asks, in French and with Adam's tone of perpetual uncertainty. "Who the hell are you?"
Luthor raises non-existent eyebrows. "Come now, Mr. Becker," he says in English.
"It's Doctor," Methos switches languages easily, resurrects Adam's accent, and answers Luthor as snidely as only a recent PhD can. "Dr. Adam Pierson. I'm a professor of ancient languages at the Sorbonne."
***
Lex is torn between being annoyed by Becker's lunatic assertions and being impressed by the man's acting abilities. The transformation is incredible, almost impossible to describe, but Becker suddenly looks ten years younger and genuinely confused, with the nice touch of a hint of haughty pride at the presumably brand new PhD.
"Oh, really?" Lex laughs.
"Really," Becker says, and the hint of temper he allows to show is that of a bookish man pushed to his limit by circumstance. "This is kidnapping! I insist that you return me to my flat immediately; I don't care who you are or who that other bastard was, I have a class to teach on Monday, and I would very much like to go home ."
"Unfortunately, I need something from your boss," Lex tells him.
"Dean LaFlange?" Becker asks incredulously, and without missing a beat. "You're kidding." He looks at Lex. "You're not kidding. Look," he continues nervously, "old LaFlange won't give you anything for me. He thinks that having a Brit teach languages in a French school is a violation of all that is holy and good in this world, no matter how pure my accent is. When he finds out you've kidnapped me, he'll throw a sodding party!"
Annoyance is giving way to intrigue. Marcus Becker is supposed to be a ruthless, intelligent thug, nothing more; this imaginative, impossible lie reveals a streak of quixotic lunacy that is completely at odds with the practical businessman that Lex assumed he'd be dealing with.
"Mr. Becker," he tries again.
"It's Pierson!" Becker says. "Oh, god." The tone of horrified realization sounds genuine. "You think I'm somebody else. You think I'm somebody else, and you're going to try to ransom me off to a complete stranger."
***
Author's Notes: This is unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any mistakes. As always, feedback is love.
Author: auberus
Challenge: Immortality: Dual Roles
Words: 1143
Characters: Methos/Marcus Becker, Lex Luthor, Joe Dawson
Summary: Smallville/Highlander crossover, based on the episode 'Lucy'. Methos does his best to get himself out of a sticky situation.
(For those who haven't seen it -- in the episode 'Lucy', Peter Wingfield played a middle-management Swiss mobster named Marcus Becker -- who worked at a club called 'Kronos'. Transcript is here.)
Mistaken Identity
a Smallville/Highlander crossover
by auberus
He'd named the club 'Kronos' out of sheer nostalgia, even though it meant that there would be trouble if Duncan MacLeod showed up. Then again, everything about Methos' current life would mean trouble if the notoriously ethical Highlander chose to put in an appearance. Extortion, smuggling, drug-trafficking, and murder were not on the the MacLeod List of Approved Immortal Activities, which was why Methos had hidden his tracks so very carefully before slipping off to Zurich five years earlier.
He'd been hiding more from Joe than from MacLeod -- because Joe couldn't be trusted not to spill all to the Highlander -- and with that in mind, Methos had left no clues at all behind him. No one who'd known bookish, awkward Adam Pierson would think to look for any incarnation of him at the heart of one of the nastiest crime syndicates in Europe.
Methos himself hadn't been involved in organized crime since he'd left Chicago in 1927, but it had soon become apparent that seventy-odd years hadn't appreciably damaged his skills in that area. He'd sold his new identity a property in downtown Zurich, and three months later Marcus Becker had been an ostensibly respectable club owner. The string of felonies Methos had added to Marcus' rap sheet gave him credibility with the local criminal element, and six months after he opened his doors he'd been working a middle-management position in the local mob as well as running his club.
The violence and adrenaline of Marcus Becker's lifestyle were as close to his Horsemen days as he would allow himself to get, and he was surprised by how much he was enjoying himself. Kronos' quickening -- and Silas', and the bit of Caspian's that had made its way to him via MacLeod -- had reawakened something in him all those years ago, and that something was glad to stretch its legs even a little bit.
Then he met Lucy Lane. He'd been looking for a quick fuck; she'd been looking for a business partner, and the idea of bleeding LuthorCorp dry had been an entertaining one. It wasn't that he needed the money -- Methos was rich enough to buy several small countries twice over, and had considered it on occasion -- but the challenge of it appealed. Lionel Luthor was no idiot, and the son was reputed to be even sharper. Methos ignored the little voice in the back of his head that murmured caution, and went for it.
Of course Lucy double-crossed him. She'd called certain interested parties and told them that he'd be leaving the country. They were in the air over the Atlantic when said parties -- business rivals with whom Methos had been particularly ruthless -- took advantage of his absence and burned the Kronos to the ground. He found out about it an hour after they landed, and though the option of killing her had presented itself, he'd decided on reciprocal betrayal as the more appropriate revenge.
The tomato-less sandwich had been a particularly nice touch, in his opinion; subtle but un-ignorable. The problem was that he'd gotten caught up in his own machinations and thus wasn't paying proper attention to maneuvers on his flank. He wasn't sure where the dark-haired kid had come from, but the boy'd had a punch on him that beat even Silas', and Methos had been torn between surprise and irritation as he surrendered to unconsciousness.
***
Ten seconds after waking up, Methos knew he was in trouble. Not prison-trouble, which he could have gotten out of with a well-placed death, but serious trouble. He was handcuffed and leg-shackled in the back of a limousine, and Lex Luthor was regarding him with a combination of triumph and amusement. The smirk on the man's lips didn't bode well for Methos' future.
"Back with us, I see," Luthor said. Methos recognized the impersonal, possessive victory in his voice, and forced himself not to look at the door handle. Jumping out of a speeding car whilst shackled was a bad idea, no matter what sort of injuries one was capable of healing. Besides, the bodyguard next to Luthor looked more than capable of stopping all sorts of mayhem. The best way out of this was to bluff, and hope that Luthor didn't dig up Adam Pierson's obituary.
It's too late for caution, Methos thought, and let his shoulders slump, blinked a few times, and gave Luthor a good look at Adam Pierson, Harmless Grad Student. "Where am I?" he asks, in French and with Adam's tone of perpetual uncertainty. "Who the hell are you?"
Luthor raises non-existent eyebrows. "Come now, Mr. Becker," he says in English.
"It's Doctor," Methos switches languages easily, resurrects Adam's accent, and answers Luthor as snidely as only a recent PhD can. "Dr. Adam Pierson. I'm a professor of ancient languages at the Sorbonne."
***
Lex is torn between being annoyed by Becker's lunatic assertions and being impressed by the man's acting abilities. The transformation is incredible, almost impossible to describe, but Becker suddenly looks ten years younger and genuinely confused, with the nice touch of a hint of haughty pride at the presumably brand new PhD.
"Oh, really?" Lex laughs.
"Really," Becker says, and the hint of temper he allows to show is that of a bookish man pushed to his limit by circumstance. "This is kidnapping! I insist that you return me to my flat immediately; I don't care who you are or who that other bastard was, I have a class to teach on Monday, and I would very much like to go home ."
"Unfortunately, I need something from your boss," Lex tells him.
"Dean LaFlange?" Becker asks incredulously, and without missing a beat. "You're kidding." He looks at Lex. "You're not kidding. Look," he continues nervously, "old LaFlange won't give you anything for me. He thinks that having a Brit teach languages in a French school is a violation of all that is holy and good in this world, no matter how pure my accent is. When he finds out you've kidnapped me, he'll throw a sodding party!"
Annoyance is giving way to intrigue. Marcus Becker is supposed to be a ruthless, intelligent thug, nothing more; this imaginative, impossible lie reveals a streak of quixotic lunacy that is completely at odds with the practical businessman that Lex assumed he'd be dealing with.
"Mr. Becker," he tries again.
"It's Pierson!" Becker says. "Oh, god." The tone of horrified realization sounds genuine. "You think I'm somebody else. You think I'm somebody else, and you're going to try to ransom me off to a complete stranger."
***
Author's Notes: This is unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any mistakes. As always, feedback is love.