Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Parts: 18-20
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Although the killing and maiming portion of the night that the Army of Legion fell ended with the death of the Immortal Steven Keane, the Slayerettes were still left with a few loose ends to tie up -- the foremost being the disposal of Keane’s corpse.
When asked to help with the ‘relocation’ of the body, the expressions of disgust on the teenagers’ faces were enough to leave Adam gaping in amazement. Put simply, the Immortal found it quite impossible to believe that, given all their ‘extracurricular activities, they’d never before seen a dead body.
“Well, not exactly,” Xander admitted for both himself and his friends. “Most of the things we kill are kinda self-cleaning, if you know what I mean.”
Taking pity on the teenagers, it was Angel who provided the easiest -- and most obvious -- solution. Working together with Adam, the two immortals shoved the headless corpse down the nearby open manhole cover. Pierson even went so far as to toss Keane’s sword in after the body.
“If the police in this town are in as much denial as you say,” the Immortal scoffed wryly, “maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll assume that Keane managed to accidentally behead himself right after he started the fire in the tunnels.”
With that said, Angel replaced the manhole cover while Adam and Oz began the laborious process of getting the injured to the waiting car and truck. After abandoning the extra pumper-truck at the empty warehouse, the group was finally able to rest at their temporary base of operations: the Rosenburg house.
It was unilaterally decided that taking four wounded people who reeked of smoke and were smudged with ash to the hospital in one night would raise far too many questions from the medical staff. Once again, the Immortal in their midst came, albeit reluctantly, to the Slayerette’s rescue. It seemed that Adam had -- at several points in time -- trained as a doctor.
Despite their initial skepticism, Adam Pierson proved to be a relatively able physician. Working with the rather well-stocked first aid kit Giles had brought earlier from the library, the Immortal did what he could for the Watcher’s dislocated shoulder while ordering Cordelia to shower away the grime on her body before he taped up her broken ribs. After binding the librarian’s shoulder, the Immortal asked Oz to help Giles to a bedroom to rest. Having finished tending to Angel’s still-bleeding wrists, the werewolf hastened to comply.
Oz and Giles were about halfway down the upstairs hallway when pandemonium broke out in the room behind them. Painstakingly retracing their steps, they returned to find a mortal and a vampire exchanging sharp words with an equally irritated Immortal. In fact, the only silent person in the room was the fiercely blushing Willow.
Apparently, Adam had requested that the two men leave while he saw to the deep cut Eleni had inflicted in Willow’s side. For once Angel and Xander found themselves united. Neither one was willing to leave the embarrassed redhead alone with the Immortal, no matter how trustworthy Adam had proven himself to be. After a few minutes of their bickering, the Immortal ended the argument in exasperation.
“Did it ever occur to either of you bloody idiots that in order for me to stitch up her wound, Willow is going to have to remove her shirt?” Xander and Angel’s sheepish expressions only confirmed that neither of them had considered the notion. At the same time, the embarrassed redhead in question gave the Immortal a look of gratitude. “Now get out of here so I can treat my patient.”
In too much pain to sleep, Giles slowly made his way down to the living room. After assisting the injured Watcher to a seat on the couch, Xander and Angel resumed their restless pacing as they waited for Adam to finish with Willow. As the minutes passed the quarter, then half-hour mark, even the seemingly unflappable Oz began to look a bit pensive.
When the shaken, pale-faced Willow finally appeared at the top of the staircase, Angel was at her side in an instant with Xander only a few paces behind. Mindful of her injured side, the vampire nevertheless swept the petite witch into an embrace. Ignoring Xander’s annoyed protest, Angel steadfastly refused to let go of the girl in his arms.
From his seated position on the couch, Giles was the only person in the room to see when the apprehension on the vampire’s face melted away as he held on to Willow. Angel’s eyes briefly looked heavenward, as if he was giving thanks for her safety. That accomplished, the vampire squeezed his eyes tightly shut, allowing him to savor the feeling of the girl he was holding.
Finally, after a long moment had passed, Willow pulled away in order to reassure Xander and Oz that she was all right. Well, as all right as a person with fifteen newly-sewn stitches in her side could be. Then, as the night’s events quickly caught up with her, Willow swayed just a bit. It was enough of a warning for Angel to lean forward to sweep the demure girl up into his arms. With a curt word to the two teen-aged boys, the vampire turned sharply, carrying his precious bundle down the hall toward her bedroom.
The librarian must have dozed off after that, because the next thing he new, Adam and Oz were gently waking him. With the aid of the two uninjured men, Giles managed to stagger sluggishly up the staircase. An almost paternal need forced the Watcher to slow as they passed the two rooms where his other charges were already sleeping. Seeing Xander and Cordelia curled up in each other’s arms did not surprise the librarian in the least.
Finding Angel and Willow in an almost identical position on her bed, however, most assuredly did.
Giles’ eyes instinctively turned toward Oz, only to find the teenager’s face totally impassive. As usual, whatever the werewolf’s thoughts on the subject might have been, he was keeping them to himself. Too exhausted to do anything else, Giles decided to follow the teenager’s example. Saying nothing, the Watcher simply filed the information away for examination at a later time.
Adam kept a close eye on all of the injured over the course of the night, especially Xander. Since they had neglected to ‘borrow’ any oxygen gear during their earlier ‘equipment raid’ at the fire station, there was little else the Immortal could do but monitor the teenager, making sure the youth’s abused lungs did not hamper his breathing any more than necessary. Fortunately, Xander did not experience any major problems.
Exhausted not only by the events of that night but also from the long weeks that preceded it, the Slayerettes spent the next eighteen hours in various stages of sleep. After sharing a relatively light-hearted and jubilant celebratory Chinese take-out dinner (and pig’s blood for the vampire in residence), most of the Slayerettes returned to their respective homes.
Although he made a good show of it, for once the Sunnydale residents were able to see through the facade Adam erected over his true feelings. While the Immortal *was* genuinely happy to have played a pivotal part in the destruction of the Legion, his confrontations with Keane and Ahrimin left him with a deeper sense of urgency. Despite his accomplishments thus far, Adam was really no closer to helping MacLeod.
In addition, he had also picked up a new cause for concern -- the fate of the Immortal Amanda. Adam had already checked in with his friend, Joe Dawson, but the mortal’s Watcher network had not been able to locate the missing woman. Nor had they uncovered any new clues as to where the Highlander was hiding hiding himself.
Since there was little else Adam could do, he decided to stick around and finish the work that had drawn him to Sunnydale in the first place.
The following day brought a sense of renewed normalcy to the Slayerettes. Although they were still aching and tired from the battle, the teenagers all resumed their regular class schedules. As was typical in Sunnydale, nobody deemed to comment on their collective bruises or their group absence the previous day.
With the Slayerettes’ immediate problem out of the way, Adam Pierson finally found the time to delve deeply into more scholarly pursuits. Taking advantage of the quiet library, the Immortal spent his days heavily researching the demon called Ahriman. He was aided in his search not only by the resident librarian but also by the world’s only vampire with a soul.
Day after day, Giles watched the two dark heads lean forward as they poured over book after book. They rarely spoke to each other, however, save for terse exchanges when one or the other uncovered a bit a new information. And yet, despite his obvious discomfort in being around Adam, Angel was a constant presence in the library.
Guilt, Giles thought as he watched the vampire hand over yet another ancient book to the Immortal, can be the most powerful of motivators.
It quickly became apparent, however, that Angel was not the only local resident who felt a lingering obligation to the Immortal. One by one, Cordelia, Willow and Xander eventually arrived at the library after their classes let out for the day. Even Oz, who had dropped out of Sunnydale High to pursue his music interest, turned out to lend a hand in the information search.
Five days after the fall of the Legion, an unexpected influx of new research material made it readily apparent that Adam was going to need every pair of hands he could get.
As fate would have it, word about the holocaust under the streets of Sunnydale spread throughout the supernatural community...well... like wildfire. Stories began to surface, undoubtedly embellished by the vampires who had been lucky enough to escape into the night, about the Army of Light that had thoroughly vanquished the 10,000 vampires that had gathered together.
Perhaps it was inevitable that the Watcher’s Council heard of the Slayerette’s victory from their own independent sources long before Giles even had time to prepare and submit his own report upon the events.
Up until then, Buffy’s disappearance had left Giles in poor standing with the London-based Council. With the success of their victory, though, the librarian found himself back in the good graces of his peers and superiors.
Giles used his renewed status to press the Council to send any and all additional information they possessed on Ahriman. After realizing the potential danger the demon posed to the world at large, the Council complied. Within days, another large crate of dusty tomes was delivered for the Slayerette’s review.
The books, however, were not the only new information to arrive from the Council that day.
Another smaller packet was delivered to Giles at his home later that evening. In answer to his special request, the Council had also sent all the information it could quickly find on both Adam Pierson and Duncan MacLeod.
It surprised Giles to learn that the latter name appeared twice in the vast archives of Watchers. Apparently, the Immortal Highlander had first entered a report in 1840. The Slayer at the time had been dispatched to Paris following rumors of vampire attacks within the city. It had, however, turned out to be a hoax -- one perpetrated by an Immortal to cover up several run-of-the-mill murders. The deception was uncovered by MacLeod before the Slayer could even reach Paris from her native city of London. Nevertheless, her Watcher had recorded the facts in his journal for posterity’s sake.
It was the second entry on Duncan MacLeod that interested Giles the most. According to an unsubstantiated report, less than two years earlier, the Highlander had uncovered one of the greatest lost secrets of his kind: the mythical Horsemen of the Apocalypse were actually four ancient, still living Immortals. The report went on to state that MacLeod, with the help of an unidentified female Immortal, managed to kill all four in a single night at an abandoned submarine base in the French town of Bordeaux.
Although he doubted the veracity of the report, Giles could not help but find the notion intriguing. It wasn’t that he doubted that the Horsemen might have been Immortals -- after all, it was commonly accepted that most myths and legends had some basis in fact. But after witnessing just how weak Adam had been after Keane’s Quickening, Giles was hard pressed to believe that any Immortal would have had the strength to defeat four different opponents in rapid succession.
Fallacy or not, both reports seemed to paint the Highlander in a very positive light. A decent man and a strong Immortal, one that would most likely *not* be an immediate cause for alarm were he to be the one to win the Immortals’ Game.
‘And a good man to have as a Champion in fight of good against evil,’ Giles mentally noted as he read the reports.
The little tidbits about MacLeod were a novel compared on the scant information the Council provided on Adam Pierson. A birth certificate, his college transcripts, passport records, some incomplete employment history. It was all they managed to uncover about the mysterious Immortal.
Although he was not surprised by the lack information, Giles could not help but be a little disappointed. It wasn’t that he distrusted Adam -- not after the Immortal risked life and limb to help them defeat the Army of Legion. No, the simple truth was that, first and foremost, Giles lived for piecing together puzzles -- and Adam Pierson was certainly a mystery wrapped in an enigma.
An enigma that currently needed their help.
So, with no other immediate avenue of recourse, the librarian volunteered his services. Together with Angel and the other Slayerettes, his spent his afternoons and evenings in the library researching.
How quickly things had returned to status quo.
And yet, Giles noted as he wrote in his private journal on one of the following afternoons, things were not quite as normal as they appeared on the surface.
Although it often seemed that the librarian was oblivious to the personal intricacies and entanglements of his young charges’ lives, that was never truly the case. As the ‘adult’ in the group, Giles actually found it both useful and necessary to keep a careful, if distant, eye on any changes that could alter or disrupt the carefully woven relationships of the Slayerettes.
For any other group of teenagers, such changes might not have been so important. Things were, however, different for these particular children -- especially when one poorly-timed moment of distraction could cost one or more them their lives. That was an outcome that the Watcher refused to allow to come to pass. Not when he could prevent such circumstances from happening.
The only real problem was determining just what *exactly* had changed now that the dust had settled.
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The myriad of volumes that the Watchers’ Council sent on the demon Ahriman had kept the group members busy for days. The six Sunnydale residents and their Immortal guest spent their afternoons individually reading dusty book after dusty book. After a quick dinner of the take-out food de jour, they usually held a ‘group review’ to share and compare any new information uncovered during the day.
“So what will it be tonight?” Xander questioned as they decided to break for dinner. “Chinese? Burgers? Or that great old stand-by -- triple-cheese-meat lovers?”
“Oh God, not pizza *again*,” Willow protested, her face taking on a barely discernable greenish-hue at the very notion.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to side with Willow on this one,” Adam Pierson calmly intervened. Exchanging a friendly smile with the young redhead in question, the Immortal continued to speak. “There are actually four other food groups out there -- some even with items that *don’t* harden your arteries just by looking at them.”
“Hear, hear!” Giles muttered under his breath.
“At Willow’s suggestion, I took the liberty of phoning in an order to the ‘Lettuce Patch’ earlier,” Adam revealed.
“Salad?!?” Xander exclaimed. “Salad isn’t food. It’s what food eats!”
A mere four days away from his ‘time of the month’, Oz found himself nodding in agreement.
“Geez, Xander,” Willow chided as she rose carefully from her chair. The wound in her side was slowly healing, but it was still too early to remove the fifteen stitches that had been required to close it. “It’s not poison, just salad.”
“How do you know?” Xander called to the witch’s back as she headed off to the restroom. “What if I have an allergic reaction or something? Cordy,” the teen turned to his girlfriend in desperation, “how ‘bout an emergency Mickey D’s run?”
“Huh?” The cheerleader in question’s head jerked up at the mention of her name.
“Rabbit food verses Big Mac,” the dark-haired teen reiterated for his girlfriend’s benefit.
Much to Giles concern, such lapses in Cordelia’s concentration had been occurring at an alarming frequency as of late. Although her normal attitude and acid tongue still found many a victim among their little group, she could just as often be caught staring off into space, as if pondering the mysteries of the universe itself.
Since her elevation to a full-fledged member of the Slayerettes, Giles had come to realize the Cordelia wasn’t *quite* as vapid as he had initially believed. Still, the librarian whole-heartedly doubted her to be capable of deep philosophical meditation. That being the case, he was left to wonder just *what* she was thinking during those occasions.
Shaking off her malaise, Cordelia rejoined the rest of the group by opening another round of her endless bickering with her boyfriend. It was good to know, Giles thought to himself, that some things never changed.
At some point during their affectionate bantering, Willow slipped back into the library. The petite girl was readjusting the straps on one of the pairs of the brightly coloured baggy overalls she tended to favour wearing. Coming in to find her best friend and his girlfriend in the middle of one of their typical ‘discussions’, she rolled her eyes.
“Ready to go, Willow?” Adam asked while grabbing his car keys from the table.
“Sure,” she replied with a gracious smile.
The librarian watched the friendly exchange between the witch and the Immortal with more than a casual eye. Ever since the night of the Legion, something had changed between Willow and Adam. Something that Giles could not seem to put his finger on. It wasn’t anything untoward -- of that much, the librarian was certain. Unlike Angel, who had the ability to ‘blend-in’ with both adults and teenagers centuries his junior, Adam presented a much more...mature...impression. Perhaps that was why Willow’s and Adam’s sudden...closeness...left the librarian feeling a bit uneasy.
While Giles often thought of Buffy as his surrogate daughter, the young witch also held a special place in his heart. With her fierce intellect and pure determination, the Watcher often thought of Willow as his protege. Given the fact that her parents were often out of town, Giles had long ago taken it upon himself to keep a close watch over the girl.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one in the room to do so, Giles noted with a glance in Angel’s direction. For his part, the vampire was scowling at Adam’s departing back. Not for the first time, the Watcher found himself pondering Angel’s motivations. What, if anything, was going on between the vampire and the witch?
Giles’ own thoughts were interrupted as Angel abruptly rose to his feet.
“I’ll be back,” the vampire said softly to no one in particular. He really didn’t need to say anything else, though, since the guilt-ridden expression on his face was explanation enough.
Angel was going off to feed.
Despite the residual resentment the Watcher held for the vampire, Giles could not help but feel a bit sorry for Angel. Ever since his return from Hell, the vampire had worked so hard to redeem himself -- to once again prove himself worthy in the eyes of the Slayerettes. Even though his multiple violent attacks on Adam the night of the Legion were practically an involuntary response, his actions nevertheless cost Angel a great deal of hard-won ground in the eyes of the mortals with whom he worked so closely.
But not everyone was unnerved by the vampire’s assaults on the Immortal. As it had been for months now, Willow remained Angel’s closest friend and his fiercest advocate. This time, however, she was not alone. Adam Pierson had made a point of being friendly to Angel, especially when in the presence of the other, more skeptical Slayerettes.
Now, as he watched the obviously unhappy vampire vanish into the upstairs stacks, Giles found himself wondering what had disturbed the vampire more: the fact that his two strongest supporters had left the room, or that they had left *together*.
Lost in his thoughts, the librarian began to absent-mindedly move books off the table to clear a space for their upcoming meal.
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Less than an hour later, Adam and the Slayerettes were once again elbows-deep in research. Only Angel was absent, following his evening habit of doing a quick patrol before returning to the library. Surrounded by legal pads and a half-dozen mostly empty Styrofoam take-out boxes, the assembled group was already deeply into their nightly review.
Xander and Willow had already presented what little new information they’d come across that afternoon. Cordelia was next to go, offering some inane connection between the world of high fashion and the rise of ancient demons as only she could. Stifling a sigh at the cheerleader’s bizarre leaps in logic Giles permitted his attention to briefly wander.
It was, he thought to himself a bit sadly, the beginning of the end of their collaboration with Adam Pierson. Earlier that day, the librarian had noticed that the amount of books provided by the Watcher’s Council left to be leafed through was down to practically nothing. Working together, the seven of them had managed to comb through the vast amount of reading material rather quickly -- with a fair amount of results to boot. Before the Immortal went his own way, however, there was still some work to be done.
Although they had not yet managed to uncover the key to defeating the Ahriman, they had pieced together a great deal of history on the Zoroastrian demon. Nevertheless, they kept at it -- fitting all of the miscellaneous tidbits and facts they uncovered about Ahriman into some kind of bigger picture.
The sound of Adam slipping into his ‘college professor’ mode dragged Giles’ attention back to the matter at hand. The Immortal was presenting the first truly interesting revelation of the evening -- some new information he’d come across in a book on Summarian folklore.
“So they believed that the demon *could* be vanquished by the chosen champion,” the Immortal spoke with an air of excitement. “The truly fascinating part is a paragraph that translates: 'Every champion shall have to find the path that only...’”
All eyes turned to the Immortal as his normally rich timbre trailed off into unexpected silence. Adam, however, was barely aware of the Slayerettes around him. Tension suddenly filled his slender body as he quickly sat up in his chair, his eyes focusing directly upon the double doors of the library.
“Adam?” Giles asked. When the man in question ignored the librarian in order to reach for the broadsword concealed under the massive table, the Slayerettes sat up and took notice. “Dr. Pierson?”
“Take the kids and go out through the tunnels,” Adam’s tone brooked no argument as he knocked his chair backwards in his hurry to stand. When they all failed to react, the Immortal spoke again, more harshly this time. “Get out! Now!”
Seeing their guest sink into a defensive crouch and holding the large Ivanhoe sword, the others were spurred into action. Pushing back their chairs, they rose as one, preparing to heed the Immortal’s proffered advice.
But it was too late. Freezing in place, all eyes turned to the heavy door as it slowly slid open. Silently holding their collective breaths, they waited to catch a glimpse of Adam’s latest challenger.
The right door silently began inching inward. A momentary flash of light reflecting off metal alerted all of the library’s occupants that the intruder was coming in sword-first. At their first sight of the weapon, Giles reached into the sling cradling his injured arm to withdraw the stake he’d secreted inside it. Glancing over at his charges, the Watcher was proud to see the students going through similar motions, arming themselves with their own concealed defensive weapons, ready to defend their ally.
Adam’s body was tense in anticipation, his gaze focused intently upon the sword as it continued to glide into the room inch by inch. A harsh creaking sound filled the air as the other Immortal finally, cautiously opened the door enough to enter the room.
Whatever Giles was expecting, it certainly wasn’t a petite sword-bearing woman.
Upon seeing each other, both Immortals visibly relaxed, lowering their weapons simultaneously. As the adrenaline pumping through his body began to dissipate, Adam’s expression quickly segued into a mixture of relief and exasperation.
“Amanda!” Adam chided. “What are you *doing* here?”
“I...uh...was just in the neighborhood?” the beautiful Immortal asked with a hint of humor and a smile that would stop most men right in their tracks. However, it appeared to Giles that Adam was immune to Amanda’s not-so-insignificant charms.
“Where the hell have you been? Joe’s had Watchers scouring half of Europe looking for you,” he admonished.
“You *were* worried about me,” Amanda grinned, although her smile held the faintest hint of real delight.
“Of course I was...,” Adam stopped himself, apparently unwilling to be sidetracked from finding the truth of why she there.
Rolling her eyes at the other Immortal’s stubbornness, Amanda took her first real look at the other people in the room. Giles could only guess that Adam appeared...a little out of place with himself and the collection of teenagers.
“I know you’re good at blending into the background, but don’t you think that impersonating a high school student is stretching it just a bit too far?”
“You know me, always out to try something new,” Adam responded jestingly. He then turned toward more serious matters. “These people are helping me with some research on the thing that is after MacLeod.”
“I see,” she replied quietly.
After a moment of silence, Amanda boldly walked forward, using her body language as a silent cue to be introduced to Adam’s new friends.
Stammering his way through a ‘how do you do,’ the Watcher took the opportunity to study the female Immortal -- for purely professional reasons, of course. Or at least that was what he told himself.
The simple fact was that Amanda was beautiful. From her rich, sable coloured hair in its short bobbed cut to her well-proportioned curves, it was painfully obvious that she was the kind of woman who turned heads wherever she went. But without a doubt, Amanda’s most striking feature was her eyes. The doe-brown orbs were a few shades deeper than even Angel’s, but the colour was not so much what entranced Giles. It was the depth he saw there -- a timelessness that betrayed Amanda’s true age.
The introductions to the rest of the teenagers was handled in true form. Oz gave her a shy hello, while Willow speckled hers with her typical brand of babbling. Cordelia seemed a tad bit more aloof than usual, but that really did not surprise the librarian -- not when there was a beautiful, mysterious stranger so close to the cheerleader’s boyfriend.
At the moment, Cordelia’s instinct seemed to be right on the money.
Giles was hard-pressed to keep from rolling his eyes as Adam introduced the female Immortal to a slack-jawed Xander. Even as his name was spoken, it was all the teenager could do to raise his eyes above her neckline. Knowing that everyone -- especially Amanda -- had noticed where his attention had been focused, Xander blushed in embarrassment. He spoke quickly, attempting to make verbal amends for his visual impropriety.
“Do all female you guys look like you?” Xander was so overwhelmed by Amanda’s presence that he had no idea that his last sentence was a jumbled mess.
“You’ll have to forgive Xander,” Cordelia said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s oxygen depravation. He loses the ability to speak coherently when all his blood heads south.”
“Close your mouth, kid,” the female Immortal winked at Xander, who immediately blushed again. “You’re drawing flies.”
“What are you doing here, Amanda?” Adam repeated his earlier question now that all the introductions had been made.
“It’s a funny story, actually,” she began, taking a seat at the table as she spoke. “I came home to find a lot of frantic phone messages from Joe two days ago, and it started me thinking , ‘You know, I haven’t been to the States in a while. Maybe I should go see some old friends’. So, when I got to Seacouver this morning, Joe told me that you’ve been having some...trouble lately, so I hopped the first flight down here I could find.”
“Joe *knew* you were back? Why in the bloody hell didn’t he call to tell me?” The Immortal did not sound happy at this turn of events.
“I think Joe might be a little...upset...with you. He said something about you ‘hedging’ on your promise to tell him all the details of what exactly you’ve been doing down here.”
The news that Adam hadn’t provided detailed information to his friend on his time in Sunnydale did not surprise the librarian. After all, what sane person would believe such a story? Then again, Giles quickly amended, it might be different for someone who was friends with a group of Immortals.
“Still, haven’t you ever heard of calling ahead? Not only did you almost gave me a bloody heart attack,” Adam fumed, “it could have gotten you killed.”
“Oh please, I was ready for you!” Amanda protested. “Talk about ingratitude. I just thought that you might want somebody to watch your back for a while.”
Despite her apparent selflessness, Adam’s expression betrayed his belief that concern for his well being was hardly the sole reason for her sudden appearance in Sunnydale.
“Who’d you tick off this time? The police or another richer-than-God art collector?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Adam!”
“Amanda,” the Immortal’s eyes narrowed in accusation.
“You know, that’s the thing about you, you’re always so distrusting,” she countered in a poor attempt to change the subject. It seemed, however, that Adam wasn’t willing to follow her sudden switch of conversational topics, so she reluctantly returned to her original train of thought. “It’s nothing really, just a huge misunderstanding.”
“Who. Is. It?” Adam asked relentlessly.
“Interpol,” she finally admitted before continuing on in a dismissive tone of voice. “You know how they are, always jumping to the wrong conclusions. I mean, just because the Heart of the Lion goes missing from the British Museum, *I’m* the one responsible?”
Recognizing the name from his tenure as an assistant curator at the institution in question, Giles’ eyes went wide. Speaking in an astounded whisper, the librarian could not help himself from double checking his facts.
“The twenty-carat sapphire from the coronation crown of Henry the Fifth?” the Watcher asked the question in utter disbelief.
“Yes!” Amanda answered emphatically before turning back to Adam. “See? Like I said, ridiculous!”
“You stole a priceless gem from the British Museum?” Giles clarified.
“No!” Amanda protested hotly. However, when she continued her tone was much more subdued. “Not exactly. It was mine long before it was theirs...”
“It was yours only after you stole it from Henry the *first* time, Amanda,” Adam scolded. “And, if memory serves, that was also the first time you nearly got me killed in one of your schemes.”
“Oh, please! As I recall, *I* was the one who ended up hanging for it!” Amanda reminded him, speaking more freely now that she knew the other people in the library were aware of the immortality she shared with Adam.
“I dug you up later, you ungrateful wench! *And* I was dismissed from the Royal Guard when I asked Henry to stretch your infuriating little neck rather than let you lose your head on the block!”
“It never would have happened at all if you hadn’t turned me in in the first place...” Amanda retorted before being interrupted by an awed voice.
“Y-y-you...knew...H-Henry the Fifth personally? B-both of you?” Giles asked shakily, but the Immortals were too wrapped up in discussing the 600-year-old event.
“Henry the Fifth? Was that the one Mel Gibson played?” Cordelia whispered to Willow.
“No, that was Hamlet. Kenneth Branaugh was Henry,” the redhead informed the brunette.
A loud crash coming from upstairs brought all the various conversations to an end. Both Immortals jumped out of their seats, drawing their swords as they stood. It was only then that Willow realized that she had never noticed when the Immortals had put them back into their coats the first time. Dismissing the thought quickly, she, too, focused her attention to the top of the stairs.
Angel was there, crumpled to the floor under the combined onslaught of the two old and powerful Immortals.
“Here we go again,” Adam groaned silently. He was already anticipating Amanda’s upcoming questions even as he grabbed her hand and led her towards the staircase.
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The introduction between Angel and Amanda had been...interesting...to say the least. When informed that the very attractive man sitting across the table from her was a vampire, the 1100-year-old thief had replied simply.
“Right. And I’m the Queen of Sheba.”
Ten minutes and a demonstration of ‘game-face’ later, the group resumed their places around the table, adding an additional chair for their newest guest. For the next three hours, they discussed, argued and speculated over the information they had accrued over the course of the past week. Amanda’s presence was a much- needed added bonus. Once she managed to suspend her sense of disbelief, she did contribute from to time with the fresh insight she brought to the table.
It was almost 11:00 PM when they decided to call it a night. Despite the recent devastation to Sunnydale’s vampire populous, there was still one last late-night patrol to be made. Adam also took his leave, citing the fact that they still needed to get Amanda checked into a hotel. Saying their goodnights, the Immortals headed off with a promise to meet the Slayerettes again at eight o’clock the following morning.
It was an appointment they never kept.
Later that same night Adam Pierson, as well as Amanda, vanished from Sunnydale without a trace.
When he reported for work the next day, Giles found the library exactly as he had left it with one glaring exception. The door of the weapons cage, which was normally locked when the library was empty, was ajar. Although all of the various weapons contained within were in their proper places, there were two very crucial items missing: the two Immortal journals on loan from the Watchers’ Council.
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One Week Later
Angel was exhausted as he stumbled down the stairs. In the week since the abrupt departure of Amanda and Adam Pierson, the vampire had slept poorly every single night. No matter what he tried, he simply could not avoid the dreams that seemed to be haunting him.
For the first time in his life, Angel found himself *wishing* for nightmares. Having been plagued by night terrors since his soul had first been restored by the Romani clan, at least they were familiar territory for him.
Not like these new ones.
But, it wasn’t actually the *content* of the dreams that bothered Angel the most -- it was the person that seemed to be the star of them.
For Angel was experiencing intensely erotic dreams about Willow Rosenberg.
Another round of the heavy pounding that had roused him from his uneasy slumber echoed through his warehouse apartment. Throwing a robe around his boxer-clad body, Angel trudged down the stairs to answer the banging against the outer door of his apartment.
Wiping the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, the vampire tried to determine the identity of his unexpected visitor. He was truly puzzled by that point. It couldn’t be Willow or any of the teens since school was still in session for the day, and Giles always called ahead.
The building’s northern exposure saved Angel from the worst of the sun’s rays as he cautiously opened the door. Standing on the other side was a Federal Express driver.
“Are you Mr. Angel?”
“Uh...yes,” the vampire’s puzzlement changed into a hesitant chuckle. It had been years since anybody addressed him as ‘mister.’
“Sign here,” the driver asked, handing over an electronic clipboard.
“Umm...where exactly?” Angel questioned, unfamiliar with the modern device. In all actuality, this was the first express package he had ever received. The vampire received little personal mail aside from the bills that came monthly to his post office box. Even the occasional items sent to him by Whistler were all hand-delivered via intermediaries.
“Here,” the driver pointed impatiently to the proper spot.
After signing the clipboard and thanking the man, Angel closed and relocked the door. Meandering in the direction of his sofa, the vampire carefully studied the unexpected parcel. It seemed too slender to be anything inherently dangerous. As far as he could tell, there were no strange scents coming from it, either.
Focusing on the plastic-covered shipping form, Angel observed the generic block lettering that betrayed nothing as to the identity of the parcel’s sender. The return address appeared to be a hotel in Manhattan, one that the vampire was unfamiliar with despite all the years he had lived in New York City. Yet the sender had been conscientious enough to include the names of the two streets that intersected outside of Angel’s apartment in order to insure that the parcel would be swiftly delivered. Finally, with no other options to pursue, Angel turned over the package and opened it.
Angel knew the identity of the sender as soon as Cassandra’s missing journal slid out into his hand. The book was accompanied by a thick stack of photocopied papers, all written in the Immortal’s neat, precise script. As he flipped through the pages, Angel realized that Adam must have translated the entire journal over the course of the past week.
Continuing through the copies, Angel came across a page marked with a yellow sticky note. Recalling that Adam often marked important passages by such means, the vampire opened the makeshift book more widely in order to closely examine the page in question. His eyes were immediately drawn to passage highlighted in yellow.
Prophecy o...{smudged} ‘Come from darkness, grown in...{smudged}, Bring forth goodness in the eternal...{smudged} From one of change, and one who spies, From one who slays, to one who’s died, One of hex, and one who lives, To fight for good, their lives sworn to give.’
Well, it was clear to Angel why the Immortal had noted this particular passage. It was more than a bit unusual though. Over the years, Angel had read a number of prophecies written about Slayers, and occasionally -- to his amazement -- even a few about himself. This was the first time, however, that the vampire had run across something that referred to the Slayer’s *friends* as well.
The places marked ‘smudged’ bothered the vampire. Prophecy of what, he wondered? Predictions were difficult enough to work with when they were complete, but this? This was virtually useless.
The other question in Angel’s mind at that moment, though, was why the Immortal had sent the journal to *him* rather than to the library? Perhaps, the vampire theorized, Adam wanted to ensure that it wouldn’t be seen by prying eyes at the high school. Or maybe he wanted to be sure that somebody, one of the Slayerettes in particular, received the book directly. Since he was confined to his apartment during the day, Angel *would* have been the most logical recipient in that case.
And where exactly was the other missing journal -- the one written by the supposedly 5,000 year old Immortal that one that Adam had initially dismissed as a fake? If it was so useless, why had he bothered taking it as well? Perhaps Adam’s interest was simply an Immortal thing -- curiosity over another of his race. Or maybe Adam was still transcribing it, intending to send it on at a later date.
Only when Angel finished skimming through all the photocopied pages did he come across the handwritten note shoved in between the translation and the journal itself. Dropping the set of copies on the coffee table, the vampire began to read.
Angel,
I hope this has found its way to you safely. I must apologize for my sudden departure, but drawn out good-byes have never been my strong suit. Then again, you strike me as a ‘slip out the back’ kind of person yourself.
I’m sure, once you see the section I’ve highlighted in the text, that you will understand why I have returned the journal to you. Although you are free to present the translations to Giles and his Council, I hope that he will honour our agreement to leave any reference to me out of any reports he makes to his superiors. Of course, after you finish reading this letter I am quite sure that you, of all people, will understand my desire for anonymity.
I suppose that I should say something here along the lines of what a wonderful time I had during my sojourn in your strange little town, but then we both know that would be a lie. What I can, and do, offer freely is my gratitude to you and your friends for the invaluable assistance you have given me. Whether you realize it or not, it takes an incredible amount of courage to do what you all do, especially your friends.
Treasure them like the gift they are, Angel. Don’t be afraid to cling to them for however long they are with you. But remember one thing, you foolish, brooding vampire, do not forget that they are mortal. It is their lot to die.
That is why you should take whatever happiness they bring to your life while they are there. Take it from somebody older and wiser. Mortals like Willow are extremely rare. She cares about you, Angel. Don’t allow your guilt over your past to weigh you down. Guilt is only the shackle with which we bind ourselves. Don’t be afraid to admit your own feelings to her. There is a fine line between stoicism and stupidity; don’t force yourself to stand on the wrong side of it. Enjoy what time you have together before she runs out of time.
Well, speaking of time, mine here in the Big Apple grows short. The information we amassed in the library has opened many new avenues of research for me to pursue. Oh, and I suppose you are wondering about the other journal...
The page ended, forcing Angel to turn the paper over in order to continue reading. As he finished the one and only sentence on the back side of the page, the vampire’s normally pale skin blanched to an even whiter colour. Stunned by what he read, his knees gave way and he sank heavily into the sofa behind him.
“Son of a bitch!” Angel whispered into the empty living room, his eyes reading and rereading the same line over and over. It couldn’t be true, could it? “You son of a bitch!”
A chill crept over the shocked vampire. Lowering his arm to rest uselessly on one of his muscular thighs, Angel stared blindly into space, his mind frantically reviewing the events of the past few weeks. Long minutes passed by as the vampire sat wondering just how they all could have missed the obvious.
‘And speaking of the obvious,’ Angel thought to himself, ‘is it possible that Adam could be right about...well... whatever it is that exists between me and Willow?’
After the fall of the Army of Legion, Adam and Willow seemed to fall into an easy friendship -- one so quickly formed it left Angel feeling unsettled from the moment he sensed it. At first, Angel wrote his concern off as simply being overprotective of Willow. She had, after all, become his closest friend and confidant in the past few months. It was, he told himself, only natural for him to worry about her safety, especially if Willow planned to keep any sort of company with an Immortal who frequently had people challenging him for his head.
‘But I wasn’t just being overprotective,’ Angel grudgingly acknowledged. ‘I was jealous.’
Jealous of a centuries-old Immortal who was most likely only being polite by satisfying Willow’s intense curiosity about Immortals.
‘God, I’ve been such a fool. Adam was just being friendly to her, like I *should* be doing,’ Angel admonished himself. But given his dreams of the past few days, it was clear to the vampire that friendship was only the cornerstone of what he really wanted with Willow.
The only real question that remained was: Would Angel be brave enough to go after what he wanted?
It was over an hour before Angel finally gave up on his chaotic thoughts. A quick glance at the clock told him that he was expected in the library in less than a half-an-hour. Bringing the letter still clutched in his left hand back up, the vampire reread the entire thing twice, committing the words written there into his long-term memory. As if he would ever forget them, especially the devastating revelation the page contained.
With one long, last look at the letter, Angel stood and walked into his tiny kitchen. Turning a dial on the stove, he heard the familiar ‘click-click-click’ as the pilot caught. With a muffled ‘whoosh’, a gas-fed flame flared from the lit burner. Without so much a moment’s hesitation, the vampire thrust a corner of the paper into the burner long enough to set it on fire. As the flame rapidly expanded to encompass the entire document, Angel threw the whole thing into the sink before he scorched his fire-sensitive skin on it. Once the paper burned itself out, the vampire turned on the faucet and washed the charred remains down the sink.
His task complete, Angel took a moment for himself, attempting to bring some order to his chaotic thoughts. Realizing how useless it was, the vampire exited the room and headed up the stairs to his bedroom loft to change.
As he donned his clothes, Angel wondered how he was ever going to explain this to Giles without breaking the unfathomable confidence with which he had just been entrusted...
...well, that, and just when was he going to find enough courage to finally ask Willow out on a date?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ {Epilogue}
‘Rain in Paris,’ Adam mused to himself, ‘what a surprise.’
In the month since he had taken his leave of Sunnydale, the Immortal had steadily continued researching the demon, Ahriman. Using the information he gathered from Giles’ vast collection of books, Adam had traced and tracked down lead after lead, the latest of which he followed to the University Library here in the City of Lights.
After calling it a day, Adam headed out of the musty building, planning to grab a quick dinner before heading to the run-down hotel he was calling home for his limited stay.
At least, that was what he had intended. Instead, he found himself listlessly wandering along the Seine, deeply lost in his own thoughts.
Although he touched based with Joe Dawson every few days, the mortal still had no news of Duncan MacLeod’s whereabouts, despite the best efforts of the entire Watcher organization. As frustrating as the lack of knowledge was, it really didn’t surprise Adam. The world was a big place for only a handful of people to cover. Even Amanda was helping in the search, volunteering to track down Duncan’s kinsman and fellow Immortal, Connor MacLeod, from his African safari.
As loathe as he was to admit it, Adam sorely missed Duncan. Perhaps that was why his wanderings had led him directly to the quay where the Highlander kept the barge -- the houseboat that served as MacLeod’s home whenever the Highlander was in Paris.
Adam paused on the sidewalk overlooking the river below. The barge was still locked up tight, just the way he’d found it the day after Richie Ryan’s funeral service. After two more run-ins with Ahriman-controlled Immortals, Adam’s instincts were to keep himself a safe distance away from the barge itself, just in case Ahriman had some of his lapdog Immortals waiting around for either Adam or MacLeod to put in an appearance. Testing the waters, the Immortal took a deep breath and concentrated on his quickening. Despite the fact that he could sense no others of his kind in the area, Adam decided it wouldn’t be wise to linger too long. With one last sorrow-filled look down at the weathered deck, he continued his path along the river’s edge.
Crossing over one of the city’s many bridges, the Immortal made his way past the spectacle that was Notre Dame. Before he made it to the end of the block, however, his solitary walk was interrupted.
“You know, you’re a really hard man to find.”
“Apparently not hard enough,” Adam groused to the figure that separated itself from the shadows of the cathedral’s main entrance. The unexpected appearance of this visitor had him instantly on full alert. The person was not Immortal, that much Adam could tell by the absence of the normal ‘buzz,’ and yet, this stranger obviously had been looking specifically for *him*. Deciding that the best course of action was *not* to stick around to find out more, Adam chose to ignore any further discussion and just kept on walking.
“Hey! Wait a sec! I’m here to help you!” Seeing that his words were having no effect, the man increased his volume. “I’m here to help you help MacLeod. I’ve got information on Ahriman...” Still gaining no reaction from the rapidly retreating Immortal, the stranger played his trump card. “Angel sends his regards.”
The last sentence brought Adam to an abrupt halt. Turning slowly, the Immortal wondered what the Sunnydale resident’s involvement was in all of this. Not for the first time, Adam found himself wondering if he had made a mistake in revealing his true name at the end of the letter he had sent to Angel. Had the souled-vampire betrayed the trust Adam had placed in him by disclosing his secret to the man in front of him? The stranger was obviously not a vampire, so then...
“Just who in the hell are you?” the Immortal queried.
“Why don’t we step into my office?” he offered, extending an arm towards the doorway of the church in invitation. When Adam hesitated, he was offered reassurance. “Holy Ground, remember? I’ll respect it.”
So, the other man knew about Immortal traditions. As they headed for one of the numerous alcoves in the cathedral, the stranger continued speaking. “My name’s Whistler.”
It took a second for Adam’s mind to make the connection, but he finally recalled it from his readings of Giles’ diaries. “Ah, Angel’s fairy godmother,” the Immortal clarified snidely. “You’re a demon, right? But in a good way,” he added with his trademark sarcasm.
“Somethin’ like that,” Whistler answered.
“You said you could help MacLeod, so talk,” the Immortal cut to the chase.
“Actually, what I said was: I can help *you* help MacLeod.” Seeing Adam’s obvious impatience, Whistler pressed forward earnestly. “Look, I can show you the way, but it’s up to you...”
“Oh no,” Adam interrupted, his hazel eyes rolling in contempt. “I think you have the wrong Immortal here. I don’t *do* crusades. That’s MacLeod’s territory. Besides, I’ve already done my ‘hands-on’ bit for the next...oh...thousand years or so while I was in Sunnydale.” That said, the Immortal shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the nearest exit.
“You walk away now, and you’ve just sealed MacLeod’s fate!” Whistler said loudly, earning himself a few sharp glares from worshippers in the nearby pews.
“I don’t do guilt, either,” Adam tossed over his shoulder as he kept on walking.
“Will you just listen to me?” Whistler growled as he rushed forward, grabbing the Immortal’s elbow to keep him from leaving. The powers that Whistler answered to had warned him that recruiting this particular Immortal would be his toughest job yet; but they had also insisted that he was the only one with the ability to handle the matter at hand. Personally, Whistler wasn’t too impressed. Given what he’d been told, the demon had been expecting a huge, bulking warrior-type, not the mild-mannered researcher in front of him
“It’s like this. There are twelve portents leading up to Ahriman’s release. The Legion was the ninth. You and Angel’s crew did a good job, by the way.” Whistler paused as Adam dipped his head in mocking acknowledgement of the compliment. “Unfortunately, while you guys were busy, Prophecies ten and eleven were also taking place, and for those two, the good guys got their asses kicked.”
“This is all very interesting...”
“Nah, we haven’t got to the interesting part, yet. See, with those two loses, that makes the score 6-5 in favour of the bad guys. Every time one of these Prophecies goes in their favour, Ahriman gets more powerful. You with me so far?”
“I’m listening. I don’t know why, but I’m listening.”
“We’ve got one more Prophecy coming up. If the home team wins this one, the balance between good and evil will be square. It’ll still be up to MacLeod at the end, but at least it will be a level playing field, if you see what I’m sayin’.”
“So? Find yourself another Immortal,” Adam spoke dismissively.
“No can do. They say it’s gotta be you. You’re the only one with the abilities to give you half a chance at pulling this off.”
“Oh, now there’s a ringing endorsement.”
“Look, all I know is that if you walk away without even trying, you, me, and the rest of the whole world are gonna be sucked into Hell; and your buddy, MacLeod, is gonna be first in line.” Whistler paused, seeing the effect as his words put a chink into Adam’s thick emotional armour. “You ever been to Hell? Did Angel maybe tell you a bit’a what it’s like? You...you think you’re destined to go there, don’t you? You think you deserve it for what you’ve done in the past? Maybe you do, maybe you don’t; it’s not my place to say. But can you honestly see MacLeod there? Can you really sentence him to eternal damnation on account that you want to go on living for another couple of what? Days? Weeks? Or however long we’ve got until the world ends?”
As soon as he saw Adam’s hand come up to scrub over his face, Whistler knew that he had won. It amazed the demon to realize that, after the lengthy time this particular Immortal had existed, his greatest weakness would be a Scottish Highlander he’d known for less than four years. Hearing Adam’s tired sigh of acquiescence, Whistler waited for the inevitable question.
“All right, what exactly is it that I’m supposed to do and when am I supposed to do it?”
“Actually, we’ll get started as soon as your...partner gets here.”
“Partner?” Adam parroted warily.
“Even you aren’t good enough to deal with this on your own. You’re gonna need other skills that are outside of your expertise, and there’s too much riding on the outcome to take any chances,” Whistler explained hurriedly.
“So who...,” Adam stopped suddenly when he felt the first tickle of the buzz brush against his consciousness. Craning his neck, his gaze careened around the cathedral seeking out the other Immortal he knew was nearby.
Then, despite the distance between them, he found that for which he was searching.
“Oh, you can’t be serious!” he exclaimed. One quick glance at the no-nonsense expression on Whistler’s face sent Adam into a string of curses that spanned several long-dead languages, even as he felt himself slip back into his memories.
She was as beautiful as ever, probably even more so with all the time that had passed. She carried herself with an almost regal manner, one that bordered on overly proud. It was a far cry from the sorry girl he had once enslaved with the words ‘you live to serve me, never forget that.’ He killed her time and again, forcing her to bathe him, feed him, and even share his bed. For that, she had sworn to kill him. The memory of the threat she posed brought him swiftly back in the present. Instinctively, his hand reached for his sword, not trusting her even though they were on holy ground.
Ignoring the woman walking toward them, Whistler trained his attention on the Immortal standing next to him. He found it fascinating as the disbelief on the other man’s face faded into a few heartbeats of total blankness before one of the most amazing things Whistler had ever seen happened.
That was when the half-demon realized why the powers-that-be had insisted on this particular Immortal. Even with all his own years of experience at reading other creatures, Whistler had never seen anything like it. Adam Pierson, master researcher, was nothing more than a mask -- one that was being shed like a snake ridding itself of an unwanted layer of skin right before Whistler’s very eyes.
Within the span of a single heartbeat, every conceivable aspect of the Immortal changed. From the lackadaisical slouch of the man’s shoulders to the air of semi-detachment from his surroundings, it all disappeared. The intrigued-but-reserved, slightly cautious expression faded away, instantly replaced by a face that spoke volumes of jaded wariness borne of long experience. But the most amazing difference was the eyes, the one feature that was almost impossible for anyone to significantly change. The slightly amused hazel gave way to the calculating, ancient eyes of the world’s oldest survivor.
As the woman completed her approach, Whistler saw the other Immortal’s white knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword. About to remind the pair that they were in church, the demon held his tongue when the Immortal stopped short of pulling the sword from its sheath secreted in the depths of his long trench coat.
The pair eyed each other warily for a long moment before the silence was broken by a cool, wary voice.
“Hello, Cassandra.”
The expression of pure contempt on her face was the product of Cassandra's 3,000-year-old hatred for her former captor. Almost 2,000 years his junior, being in his presence never failed to send a chill down Cassandra’s spine. For unlike most, she knew who this Immortal really was, and what he had done in the past. In her mind, he would forever be the monster on a pale white horse who, along with his fellow Horsemen of the Apocalypse, thundered across the desert steppes to butcher her tribe and force her into slavery.
In a tone that could have frozen hard liqueur, Cassandra spat out 'Adam Pierson's' true name in venomous tone that sounded more like a curse that an acknowledgement.
“Methos.”
*finis*