By Neva
Send Feedback To: neva.crandall@csus.edu
Please send me feedback -- I need to know that people are actually reading this.
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Willow/Angel, X-over Highlander
Distribution: Anyone can archive this story or my first two stories if they want to. Just send me the address to your site please.
Information about my version of the BtVS and Highlander universes can be found with my first story "Dreams?" The first two stories should definitely be read before this one.
Disclaimer: None of these characters (except the bad guys) belong to me. They belong to other people; I'm just borrowing them for a little while (maybe a long while -- I am a slow writer). All rights and properties of Highlander are owned by Rysher entertainment, and all rights and properties of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by Joss Whedon, Warner Bros. and Mutant Enemy, etc. (Okay the legal stuff is out of the way.)
** Note to Readers: Thoughts are indicated with < and > markings. **
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The tall, intense looking man stepped off the LA to Sunnydale Greyhound bus. In one hand he carried a battered duffel bag, under his rumpled trench coat he carried a sword, and on his face he wore a scowl. The scowl had the side effect of making everyone in the traveler's vicinity leave him alone, including a couple of pickpockets. Really, he looked nothing like the mild mannered grad student he'd styled himself as lately. For the moment he looked much more like the Bronze Age raider he'd once been . . . he just needed blue face paint to complete the persona.
His ire wasn't directed at anyone in the bus station. It was all directed at himself. Well maybe a little bit was aimed in Duncan MacLeod's direction. After all the Highlander was the one who had stubbornly gotten the older man to rediscover, reluctantly, a sense of guilt and an urge to be involved in the world that he'd been doing quite well without for centuries. <Damn him. > When Methos had 'stumbled' across an encrypted notation in the most recent updates of the Watchers Chronicles about a notorious headhunter working his way towards Sunnydale he'd had to consider the options available to him. Emailing Willow or sending Joe with the information were the most obvious and sensible solutions. Methos had quickly found reasons why those two ideas wouldn't work. If he chose Joe, there was the pesky little problem of explaining to the Watcher where he'd gotten the info. Not really a huge problem but not, Methos told himself, worth the bother. That and last time he'd had to virtually threaten Joe to get him to take the book to Sunnydale. Giving away detailed information about other Immortals was certainly not something Joe would approve of. Email carried its own risk. Sending the entire Watcher file he had 'found' after 'stumbling' across the notation was more than likely going to be very noticeable. Cassandra was sure to catch onto the fact that her student had been regularly corresponding with the person Cassandra hated most in the world. Even if Cassandra did forgive the girl, it was unlikely the online friendship would continue; Methos didn't want that to end.
By the time the oldest Immortal decided what he was going to do he was also completely aware that he was making excuses. Ever since he'd begun writing to Willow he had wanted an excuse to meet the girl. Joe's brief description of, "smart, sweet kid . . . has red hair," was far from satisfactory for Methos's uncharacteristic curiosity. He'd considered hacking into her Watcher's files, then had remembered that she didn't have a Watcher because Joe and Cassandra had deemed it too dangerous on the Hellmouth for someone to follow them. Cassandra had shaken her own Watcher a while back. Joe simply didn't let anyone know that he knew where she was. In all honesty, Methos was not just curious though; he had been intensely bored. Things had been quiet in Seacouver. Even Mac wasn't getting challenged. Willow had seemed to be a possible cure for that boredom.
<I've gotten too bloody used to getting dragged into all of the Highlander's little boyscout escapades. Am I watching out for my head? No. Am I walking straight into trouble? Hell, yes. Next time I get bored I'll go get drunk or announce my identity to the world. In general either option would be safer. > If all went according to plan, no one except for his young online friend would know he was in town. Methos had every intention of staying as far away from Cassandra as possible. Partly this was because seeing the beautiful three-thousand-year-old woman managed to have the uncomfortable effect of making him feel guilty. There was also a more practical consideration --- mutual friends or not, Cassandra would want to kill him on sight. Methos had spent too much time living under a policy of self-preservation to deliberately let the person who hated him most know that he was in her territory and that he was here to talk to her student, who just incidentally happened to be his friend. Methos was going to see Willow, give her the information, and then get as far away from the Hellmouth as quickly as possible. Methos strode off into the bright, cheerful Sunnydale morning still berating himself.
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Nick Wolfe was ready for some answers. Several hours of sleep had cleared out any lingering fog in his mind, and his mind was now in full gear. He forced himself to stop pacing and flopped onto the couch next to the wide bookcases and computer. There wasn't any defensiveness in his posture, just curiosity and intense, barely restrained impatience. Overall, Nick had decided to trust the oddly mixed group. They seemed to be in the habit of rescuing people and had given him sanctuary the night before. Hell, they'd even sent that kid -- Xander -- to pick up his stuff while they ate. As far as he could tell it hadn't been searched. For the time being the suspicious former cop was going to give them the benefit of the doubt. Especially since they were his best chance to find someone, other than Amanda, who was willing to train him. The last few months had made it pretty clear that Nick's training as a cop wasn't going to be enough to survive.
Nick had his trust issues under control, out of self-preservation more than anything, but he still wanted some answers about his hosts and this deceptive town. Not understanding the situation just wasn't acceptable. The detective in him wanted to investigate. Last night, or early this morning, getting his stuff back, receiving a sincere promise that Cassandra and Giles would explain everything in the morning, and sleeping had been about all he could handle. Unfortunately, they had neglected to mention that they were tired enough to sleep well past noon. Nick had been up and exploring the first floor of the house for three, almost four, hours. Rested and alert, Nick wanted details and confirmation of what he'd encountered last night. Looking at the books and supplies, a lot of it archaic weaponry, stored in the workout area he'd slept in the night before had raised more questions than it had answered. How had they gotten involved in all this? The only thing that was preventing him from skeptically brushing it all off as garbage or a cult was what he'd gone through in the graveyard and learning about Immortals only months before. If Immortals existed, why not other things?
His eyes darted over to the clock . . . 1:24. Still no one else in the house stirred. Finally, something other that curiosity and impatience set in. <Okay, not too surprising. My diet yesterday was liquid, and I died. Of course I'm hungry. > Nick pulled his long frame off of the couch and moved to the kitchen, which opened off the main room on the other side of the stairs. The second floor was all bedrooms. They were all full because everyone had been too tired to leave. Nick, as the outsider, had been given a sleeping bag and told he had the downstairs to himself.
The fridge was a surprise in and of itself. Most of the contents were normal, but the crisper drawer was full of blood bags. Nick stared at the ceiling and muttered, "Somebody please wake up." Figuring that the rest of them must be easily as hungry as he was, Nick put on coffee and began making pancakes and bacon and eggs. This was about all he could cook, but he could make a lot of it. The first round he ate himself. The second, much larger round of food, he started when Nick heard movement from upstairs. The first arrivals were the young kid who'd picked up his stuff and his girlfriend.
"Thank you, I got stuck making the food last night. Some of the others are on their way down." With that the two started eating.
Giles arrived next. He looked at the food approvingly; then moved towards Nick, one hand outstretched, "I don't believe you were introduced to everyone last night. Just Cassandra and Willow. I am Rupert Giles and this Anya and Xander." Nick shook the older man's hand with relief.
"Nice to meet you. Um . . ." Nick suddenly couldn't figure out which questions to ask first.
Giles rescued the bacon that was starting to burn on the stove as he prepared his own plate. "I believe you want some explanations. Correct?"
"Definitely." He set the rest of the food and batter to the side and sat down, more than ready to listen.
"Well I believe the best way to explain would be to simply tell the history of our group." With that Giles began to describe. By the time he was finished, everyone except Willow was awake and downstairs. The food was completely gone, and Nick's mouth was hanging open. He'd gotten far more information than he expected. These people stunned him. Nick had known that his job in the police had come with risks. The danger he'd faced was nothing compared to what these teenagers and their mentors had faced. Furthermore, Immortals weren't even the strangest members of the group. Angel had politely gone into the other room to drink his breakfast, but the mug had been empty when he returned. For a moment the Immortal just sat quietly, aware that Giles and Cassandra were watching him intently.
"Wow," he said quietly. "Uh, I need to go for a walk. It's a lot to absorb. It is safe during the daytime?"
"Mostly, yes," Cassandra answered, "but you should take your sword. The Hellmouth doesn't keep headhunters away."
Nick grabbed his coat and the sword, even if he could barely use it, and walked out the door.
Cassandra watched him walk out. The new Immortal was handling the pile of information they'd just dumped on him fairly well. Being killed by a vampire was the key to his acceptance. "Angel, please go let Willow know that she is not going to get out of training." The vampire started to protest. "No, Angel, she'll be completely recovered now. She needs to eat, and she knows that she can't ever let her training slide. It is far to important." He nodded reluctantly and went upstairs."
Nick walked slowly. He wasn't trying to figure out whether or not to accept the incredible tale that Rupert Giles had told him over breakfast. The vampire status of one of his rescuers had been unnerving. Nick felt shaken, but most of his shock was because he was accepting it all. The attack last night had been the second chink in his skeptical armor. The first had been his own Immortality. He was one to stay skeptical and unbelieving, but Nick didn't have any doubt that he had been told the truth. Slowly he pieced together the morning, sorting through his own reactions. It was more than that though. He had shown them trust, and they'd returned the trust. Nick was pretty sure that they had not only told him the truth --- they'd told him all of it. The story was just too outrageous and detailed to not be true.
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The roof of a house, in the full sun, is not the most comfortable place to sit. The summer sun was turning the dark shingles into an acceptable cooking surface. Methos patiently kept the new binoculars trained on the house. Almost an hour had passed since he'd last moved. <Someone will wake up eventually. > Endurance was rewarded when the door opened and an unfamiliar dark-haired man walked out. He didn't fit the descriptions of Willow's friends Methos had badgered Joe into giving him. When no one else emerged after an hour, the Immortal scrambled to the edge of the roof and smoothly dropped off the edge of the roof. <Let's just hope he isn't one of Cassandra's friends. > Binoculars and following people had not been part of his not so well thought plan. He'd emailed Willow from the airport in Seacouver --- the email had been bounced back 'server unknown'. Never mind that he'd sent an email to that address without the least difficulty less than two days before. He'd brought up his email expecting at least a brief response from the girl, plus an update on that demon he'd helped research, only to discover that she didn't even know he was coming. <Bloody Hell! > Methos had nearly torn apart his hotel room in response to the frustration of having his plans fall through. The Immortal pulled his thoughts away from his irritation and focused on finding his quarry.
The man was distracted and easy to find, then follow. Methos hung back noting that like himself the man wore a long coat despite the warm air and bright sun. A narrow bulge extended from one shoulder down to past his hip --- a clumsily concealed sword. A block ahead, the dark head turned a corner and vanished. Methos sped up, unwilling to lose his quarry. In his hurry he got a little too close. His feet flew out from under him as the larger man threw him against the wall of the dead end alley.
"Okay, buddy. Who are you and why the hell are you following me?" The intent blue eyes drilling into Methos made it clear what he thought Methos's reason was. The buzz of a powerful Immortal was a clear giveaway for the person being tailed.
< Oops . . . Damn, you're getting careless in your old age. > "I'm not here to challenge you. I just wanted to find out who you are."
"Why."
"It would be easier to answer questions if I could breath." The arm held against his throat moved away. The man stepped away and drew his sword, tearing his coat a little in the process.
"Maybe I want to challenge you."
"Well for one thing you don't even know how to hold that sword. And it's the wrong size for you. You're new aren't you."
The man's stern demeanor cracked a little at the clearly true information, so Methos plowed on ahead.
"I just wanted to know why you were staying with Willow and Cassandra. Is Cassandra training you? I thought she was still training Willow." Methos held himself ready to draw his sword, although the man was relaxing a little. Carefully he kept his hands visible and away from the open front of his coat. He had an idea.
"You know Willow and Cassandra."
"Yes. At least I know Cassandra. Willow I have only talked to over email."
"I was about to head back. You coming with me?" There was still a sharp look in those light eyes.
Methos restrained the urge to sigh and decided to take a chance, putting his new idea into motion. "Unfortunately, I have my reasons < very good reasons > for not wanting to see Cassandra. I'm here to deliver some information to Willow."
"Why are you avoiding her?" The man zeroed right in on that admission.
"Have you heard of the Watchers?"
"Yes . . . how did you . . . you didn't answer may question," he sputtered.
Methos stifled the urge to gloat over surprising the man and continued to ignore the question. "I happen to know a Watcher or two and came into possession of some very important information a few days ago. I brought the information myself because of its importance. I would greatly appreciate it if you would take the file and a message to Willow." Slowly Methos pulled the disk out of his outer coat pocket.
"Why should I? And why give it to Willow instead of Cassandra?"
"Because Cassandra hates me enough to discard the information and to endanger her student. Willow and I correspond, but her teacher is unaware of it. I only ask that you give the disk to Willow. Or even just leave it somewhere it can be found anonymously."
Nick reached out and reluctantly took the disk. "It's that important?" The blue eyes pulled away from him, and Methos stepped into the mouth of alley.
"Yes. It's vital." Methos walked back into the stream of people moving down the sidewalk. The stranger followed him.
"Wait! You haven't told me why Cassandra hates you, and what's the message?"
"Ask Willow. She knows why, and the message is just to call the number written on the disk. If I haven't heard from her by two days from now, I'll leave town" Not the most satisfactory solution Methos thought as he moved away, but it was a fairly safe one for his head. And Willow would get the information, he could tell that. If he was lucky, he would still get to meet her.
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Angel softly opened the door, closing it silently behind himself. Little light seeped into Willow's room, like all the other rooms in the house the window was covered by insulated draped that fastened to the wall along the sides. The clear night vision of a vampire allowed him to navigate the room, stepping over the clothing his redhead had discarded at random the night before. He stepped to the side of the bed, gently settling himself on the edge. A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth. Only the top of Willow's head was visible; the rest of her was tucked, unmoving under a pile of blankets that lost their color in the dark. His grin widened. Willow had heard him come in, she wasn't moving but her heart had speed up slightly. Angel smoothed the blankets back from her face, stroking a few stray strands of long red hair out of her closed eyes. Willow's breath caught and sped up. Angel watched as a tiny, quickly suppressed smile flitted across her mouth. <So you what to play possum, little one? > Propping himself up on one arm, he leaned over and brushed her lips with his own, barely allowing them to touch. Angel's grin widened, turning slightly naughty, as Willow tried to not lean up into the delicate kiss. Still smiling, he leaned down again, this time kissing her lingeringly, teasing her mouth. Willow finally gave up the playacting and responded enthusiastically to the kiss, wriggling one slender arm out the blankets to wrap around Angels neck and pull him closer. Several long and highly enjoyable moments later the vampire pulled back to let her breath.
" Good afternoon, little one. Cass wants you to get up so you can train."
"Um, afternoon already?" Willow said calmly, or not so calmly --- the slender witch's heart was racing -- and pulled Angel back down for another kiss. This time she wrapped both arms around him, deepening the kiss and making him forget about everyone else in the house, just as she already had. Angel began moving one arm under the blankets, moving to support his weight on one elbow. Willow tightened her embrace in approval.
The door opened and the light turned on, startling the distracted pair. "Angel, I said wake her up, not get in bed with her." Cassandra voice was dry and amused. Only the fact that the stern teacher act wouldn't work too well if she started laughing kept the Immortal calm. "Next time I'll send Buffy to wake her up."
Willow stuck her tongue out at her teacher --- Angel settled for throwing a pillow. After all, an over two-hundred year-old vampire has to have some dignity.
Cassandra firmly suppressed the urge to laugh. Striding over to the bed, she grabbed Angel's arm and hauled him off the bed. She ignored the small growl the vampire sent her way. "Willow, be ready to train in half an hour. Angel, you're coming downstairs."
Angel looked at Willow regretfully as the surprisingly strong Immortal pulled him out of the room. As the door shut behind them, Willow flopped back onto her pillow, growling a little herself.