highlander/smallville crossover (pt 1)
And Sensibilty
a Smallville/Highlander crossover
"Tell me again why we're here," Methos said, one eyebrow raised and his left foot tapping irritably on the floor of Mac's car. "Then, perhaps, you can explain again why my presence was vital to this evening's success." He was tuxedo-clad and obviously not happy about it.
"Stop complaining," Duncan said, rolling his eyes. "Cornelius Martin had one of the biggest private antiquities collections in America."
"And now the estate is selling it for charity. You've told me twice already, MacLeod."
"Well, that was the second time you've asked."
"Probably because I resent being forced into this monkey suit." Long fingers twitched at his bowtie, sending it hopelessly askew.
"Come on, Methos. I know you've worn formal wear before."
"Frequently. I had, however, managed to successfully avoid it for the past half-century. Until you, and this bloody charity auction." He pushed open the car door and got out, pulling his coat close around him. "Which, of course, is taking place on so foul and rainy an evening as to be the perfect setting for an over the top horror film."
Duncan followed him out of the car.
"Did you lock your door?"
"Of course, MacLeod." A disdainful gesture at the looming pile of rock that Cornelius Martin had called home. "Oh, look, the horror movie setting is now complete."
"I think it's supposed to be a castle," Duncan remarked.
"Not any castle I've ever been in," Methos said scornfully. "It's a cheap knock-off."
"I doubt it was cheap, Methos."
***
"What is it with billionaires and castles?" Clark asked, looking wide-eyed around the stone entrance hall.
"It's not a castle," Lex said, letting the doorman take his coat and smoothing his tuxedo jacket with three swift gestures. "It's a bad imitation of a castle. Martin saw the monstrosity in Smallville, and decided to show my father up by building a bigger one."
"Did he?" Clark asked.
"Build a bigger one? Obviously."
"No." Clark rolled his eyes, but he held still as Lex reached out, straightened his bow tie and adjusted the line of his sleeve. "Show your father up."
Lex smirked. "He thought he did. Ours is the genuine article, though, brought stone by stone from Scotland. This is a modern version, tawdry in comparison. Martin thought he'd won because he didn't understand the rules of the game - a fact of which my father was sure to make him aware, albeit ex post facto. You'll notice he isn't here tonight? Martin's will specifically prohibits him from acquiring anything in this collection. Exchanges between them were always acid at best, even in polite company."
They followed the butler to the great hall, which was as opulent as Lex had expected, with tables at each end laden with food, and a bar in the middle of the room as well as waiters circling with trays of canapes and champagne.
The glitterati had turned out in force for this event, shimmering dresses and well-cut tuxedos from wall to wall. At first glance, Lex saw three movie stars, a singer, and four professional athletes whose business interests were managed by LuthorCorp, and made a note to himself to speak to them all before he and Clark left.
There were others he needed to speak to as well, so he deposited Clark by the food and took advantage of the half-hour before the auction to work the crowd, shaking hands and making jokes, inserting a subtle reminder here and there where it was necessary. Some of those he spoke to were his own connections; most were his father's, however, and he enjoyed tying them to him, just a little bit, through conversation and by being somewhere his father could not be. He made sure to mention that to all his father's associates, and relished the look of pleasure in their eyes at the idea.
Lionel Luthor was ripe for a fall, and everyone the man knew would gladly help dig the pit while his son string the trip wire.
***
Duncan sipped his wine and tried not to laugh at Methos' increasingly sarcastic replies to the museum director he was currently talking to. His friend's newest identity possessed nearly as many obscure academic titles as Adam Pierson had, and a great deal more money, which made him much sought-after for donations to various anthropological endeavors. Eventually Methos routed the director with a barbed comment on the authenticity of his museum's culinary display, and watched his retreat with a smug smile.
"You're awful," Duncan told him. "There's nothing wrong with that culinary display."
Methos' smile widened. "I know."
They made their way to the bar and ordered drinks. Methos leaned against the oak surface to wait, the long lines of his body elegant in his tuxedo.
"I hate these things," he said conversationally. The sound of society chatter drifted up around them, identical in any age or language. Quietly, pitched for Duncan's ears alone, he added, "I've been going to gatherings like this one since Ramses I was pharaoh, and they're all exactly the same. These days, they don't even have court-intrigue to recommend them."
"I was just thinking that," Duncan admitted, taking their drinks from the bartender and handing Methos his. "I'm not as old as dirt, though, so my experience isn't quite as extensive."
Methos smirked. "Don't I know it." He took a swallow of his drink - gin and tonic, and he'd complained about the lack of beer for nearly five minutes - and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Were you ever at the French court during the eighteenth century? The early half, I mean."
"No. I was there in the aftermath of the revolution, looking for Amanda, though."
"Oh, she got herself tangled up in that?"
"She gets herself tangled up in everything," Duncan said fervently. Methos laughed.
"True enough." He looked around. "When does this bloody thing start?"
"Soon," Duncan assured him, just as the doors at the end of the hall opened, and Martin's lawyer came out to announce the beginning of the auction. Neither Immortal noticed the dark-haired young man staring wide-eyed after them.
***
They had front row seats for the auction, of course - Cornelius Martin and Lionel Luthor hadn't gotten along, but Lex was still a Luthor, the closest thing there was to American royalty, and the lawyer knew which side his bread could end up buttered on. Clark was fidgeting, of course, which amused Lex to no end, and he leaned over to whisper in his friend's ear.
"Careful. If you move around too much once the auction actually starts, you'll end up buying something by accident."
"You'll just have to buy it for me, then," Clark said, grinning.
"Your father wouldn't let me give you a truck out of gratitude for my life, Clark. I doubt he will change his stance to make an allowance for pre-Hellenistic art. Especially since most of it costs a great deal more than the truck did."
Clark held still after that, and the auction began with an Ancient Egyptian pectoral that was worth more than Lex's last three cars put together.
The pectoral was followed by a nearly intact collection of grave goods from the tomb of a mid-level civil servant, and then by a collection of papyri which Lex bid on when it reached two million. His bid was immediately topped by an Englishman sitting next to them, but when Lex's next bid was three and a half million, the man turned his head to look at his competition.
"Damn," he muttered to his companion, a broad-shouldered man with expensively cut dark hair. "I've gotten myself into a bidding war with Lex Luthor. Four," he added, this last to the auctioneer.
'"Then you should probably drop out," the big man told him in a vaguely Scottish accent as Lex raised his hand to bid four point three.
"I don't want to drop out," the Englishman said, "I want those bloody papyri. Point five," he told the auctioneer. He did, though, when Lex pushed the price up to five and a half million, and the combination of the Englishman's frown and Clark's look of stunned amazement was worth the price all by itself.
***
The next fifteen or so items on the block were not particularly interesting, although Methos seemed to feel the urge to make snide comments about the authenticity, value, or artistic merit of each one. In Gaelic, so that no one around them could understand his 'They want how much for that? It's a bad copy of one I had commissioned for Tutankhamen, obviously made in Ptolemaic times.'
By the time a small, balding man had paid 1.2 million for a set of Grecian funeral urns that Methos had scornfully identified as fakes from five and a half feet away, Duncan was starting to get irritated.
After Methos' next comment, a sarcastic aside about a piece of Etruscan statuary, Duncan kicked him in the shin. It was pure instinct, and he was instantly embarrassed - until Methos turned to him, eyes narrowing in annoyance - then smiled innocently and turned away, pretending total absorption in the previously scorned statuary.
Duncan winced. Methos was capable of all sorts of mayhem, and the presence of people would not necessarily deter him from whatever he was planning. Still, he behaved himself through the rest of the auction, and actually placed a few bids - though he lost two of the items he wanted to Lex Luthor, which did not seem to improve his mood.
They were about to bring out the last piece, a pectoral that had originally been part of Tutankhamen's grave goods, when the lights went out. Predictably, the sudden plunge into darkness was followed by a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, and there were not a few screams from the crowd. Duncan felt a whisper of movement by his right side and grabbed for it instinctively, getting a handful of tuxedo jacket for his trouble.
"Steady, Highlander," Methos said, settling into stillness again as the auctioneer began an unseen speech apologizing for the inconvenience.
"The lights will be on again momenta-" - the crash of breaking glass from somewhere in the house interrupted him. "Momentarily," he finished. "Please, keep your seats." Anything else he'd planned to say was abruptly cut off as the doors at the end of the hall banged open. Duncan was on his feet before the handles hit the wall, Methos beside him like a slighter shadow.
"Sit down," the older Immortal hissed in his ear, suiting words to actions with a sharp tug at Duncan's jacket. The Highlander let himself be pulled back into his seat, receiving a sharp elbow to the ribs as Methos expressed his irritation without resorting to further speech.
Author's Notes: Feedback? Is love.