Rating: NC17/Adult/Slash (overall)
Pairings: Willow/Spike, Duncan/Methos (also mentions Xander/Anya)
Spoilers: Through end of BtVS season 4. Story takes place in the fall of an alternate BtVS season 5 and approximately 2 years after Hts ended.
Summary: Two Immortals come to Sunnydale to learn about demons.
Notes: ** indicate emphasis. [BtVS season 5 Spoilers in Notes!!] There is no Riley, no Tara, no Dawn, and no Glory in this fic because I had too many other characters to worry about and I just wasn’t feeling - creative enough - to write them (or the lack of them) into the storyline. And Joyce didn’t die - just ‘cause I didn’t want her to. Also, I don’t know Latin. I used an online translator, so if I got the words wrong, don’t send me complaints, but if you’re willing tell me nicely I’ll be happy to fix ‘em. And finally, I reproduced some of Giles’ speeches about the Slayer and vampires directly from transcripts at www.buffyworld.com and from ‘The Watcher’s Guide Volume 1'.
Feedback: It’s ALL about the feedback (and naked Spike)! Don’t make me beg, it’s not pretty.
E-mail: spikedluv@midtel.net
Distribution: The Seduction of Spike, Soulmates, Willow’s Lil’ Secret, Shades of Gray, The BatPack Archives, Wacky Witch Willow, Rapture, Shippers United, Near Her Always, Twisting the Hellmouth, Seventh Dimension, and anywhere else I send it. If anyone else wants it, please ask.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, just borrowing them for awhile. Everything BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Grr Argh, the WB, UPN, Fox, and whomever else they really belong to, although I wouldn’t mind having a Spike of my own. Who would? Everything Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment and Panzer/Davis. The story is mine, though.
Thanks: To everyone who beta’d this for me: Amanda, as always, beta and grasshopper extra ordinaire; Karen, ‘net bud whose fb rivals ambrosia; Elizabeth, for her HL comments; Ami, HL beta; and everyone at HLCrossroads for your helpful comments, especially Tessa. Your time and effort on this one is greatly appreciated.
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~Part: 1~
Buffy neatly staked the vampire in front of her, and quickly whirled to meet the two approaching her from the rear. She was in Holy Mother Cemetery, the last stop on her patrol route before calling it a night.
"Come on, guys," the petite blonde spoke impatiently and rolled her eyes. "I haven’t got all night here." She waved them forward with the fingers of the hand that gripped her stake, shaking her head to get her hair out of her face. "It’s Saturday night, and there’s a great band playing at The Bronze. We don’t want to miss it. Besides, its getting a little chilly, and I don’t want to catch a cold."
The two remaining vampires shared a look, and charged her. Buffy stepped to the side, easily eluding their rush, kicked the one closest to her in the back as they passed her, and then threw her stake into the back of the other vamp before they could recover.
The vampire she staked dissolved into dust. Buffy quickly ran over and bent to retrieve her stake from the ground, and stood, then slammed the stake back and up into the chest of the remaining vamp, who had been attempting to sneak up behind her. Dust rained down and she took a step forward, away from the resulting cloud.
She shook dust off of her leather jacket and out of her long hair, and was brushing dust off of her slacks when the sound of quarreling reached her ears. She just shook her head and grimaced, as she turned to face the approaching duo.
"I could have taken him," Willow was saying.
"Right, Red. He had you on your back, his fangs at your neck; I saw exactly how you were going to *take* him," Spike replied nastily.
"You’re such a pig!" Willow responded, slapping his arm as she scooted around him and walked stiffly back towards Buffy. "I could too have taken him," she muttered.
She’d been trying to use physical strength and agility to stake the vampire, not wanting to rely on her magic all of the time, but when that failed, had just been choosing the stick she was going to levitate and stake the vamp with, when Spike appeared with a growl and picked the soon-to-be-dusted vamp up, and tossed him into a nearby tree.
He’d punched the stunned vamp a few times, before finally staking it and returning to stand over Willow, who was still lying on the cold, hard ground, confused at the sudden turn-around in circumstances. He shoved the stake back into his duster pocket and lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and blew out the smoke.
"You plan on getting up anytime soon?" he asked, hiding his worry behind a facade of casual disinterest. In fact, when he’d looked over and seen Willow beneath the vamp, he’d felt fear like he never felt it before.
"I almost had him," Willow grumbled, as the bleached-blond vampire pulled her to her feet, and the argument had begun. Embarrassment and the desire not to be a liability on Willow’s side, and gut-wrenching worry on Spike’s, had only served to fuel their squabble.
Now, Willow stomped up to Buffy with her arms crossed over her chest, her lips clenched tight, green eyes blazing. Buffy looked between Willow and Spike, rolled her eyes at their constant bickering, and asked, "You get ‘em?"
"Yes," Willow replied shortly, without looking at Spike, who was leaning casually against a headstone behind her, his legs spread out before him, his blue eyes burning a hole into her back as he drew on the cigarette held loosely between two fingers. "Where’s Xander and Anya?" She allowed concern to cloud her eyes for a moment.
"Right here!" Xander cried, as he and Anya came crashing through the bushes. The brunette had a cut on his forehead, his clothes were rumpled, and there were grass stains on the knees of his jeans. Most of Anya’s currently-blonde hair had been pulled out of the scrunchie she was wearing for patrol, and hung about her face; a smear of dirt adorned the tip of her nose.
"Xander, you’ve been cut. You’re bleeding," Buffy said worriedly. "Are you alright?"
"I’m bleeding?" Xander questioned, reaching for his forehead. The ache in his head reminded Xander that the vampire they’d gone after had hit him, but he hadn’t realized he’d broken the skin.
"Here." Willow pulled out an alcohol wipe she carried in her jacket for times like these. She wiped the wound, mumbled a short incantation, and watched as the cut above Xander’s left eye closed up and healed. She wiped the rest of the blood off of his forehead and stood back. "There, good as new." She nodded, and then wobbled.
Spike, who recognized the signs of the toll her magic use took on her body when she was already tired, was behind her immediately, placing a hand on her lower back to steady her. He wanted to pick her up and carry her home, tuck her into bed with hot chocolate - although that was mostly for himself, especially if she had marshmallows - and make sure nothing could hurt her, but he knew she’d resist any attempt to coddle her.
"Did you get him?" Buffy asked, taking another alcohol pad out of Willow’s pocket and using it to wipe the dirt off of Anya’s nose.
"Yep," Anya replied, allowing Buffy to dab at her nose, and then hefting the baseball bat she carried on patrol. "I knocked him out and Xander dusted him. Eventually."
"Great!" Buffy beamed. "Then we’re done here. You guys still up for The Bronze?"
"Absolutely!" Willow enthused, pulling away from Spike’s steadying hand without a backward glance or a ‘thank you’. She and Buffy started walking toward the cemetery entrance; Xander and Anya close behind them.
"Yes," Xander added sarcastically, "my aching head will feel so much better after I’ve subjected it to loud music."
"I could use a beer," Anya said wearily, brushing her hair out of her face.
"You’re an underage human now," Xander reminded her, reaching up to pull the scrunchie out of the little bit of hair that was still holding it in place.
"I know," Anya complained, letting her shoulders slump a little. "Who’d have thought I’d ever need ID?" she asked.
Spike just shook his head at Willow’s insistence on going to The Bronze. Silly chit; didn’t know when enough was enough. She should be home resting after doing a spell, even though it had just been a small one, not going out dancing. He crushed out his cigarette beneath his boot and lit another, then followed them at a distance. Somebody had to keep an eye on her.
***
"Think that was the Slayer?" a voice colored with a slight Scottish burr asked, when silence once again blanketed the cemetery. The speaker, a tall, golden-skinned man with long, dark hair pulled back in a clasp, wore a slight frown of concentration on his face, his hands shoved into the pockets of his long leather coat. They had been reconnoitering the town before their appointment the next day, and had come upon the short-lived battle.
"Unless there’s another ‘one girl in all the world’...," his companion, a slightly shorter man with pale skin and short, dark hair, replied drolly in a mostly-British accent, a small shrug gracing his shoulders.
"Very funny." The Scot sounded faintly annoyed. "I thought she was supposed to work alone."
"Well, I thought there was no such thing as demons," the other replied, turning so that his angular features caught the moonlight.
Duncan MacLeod shrugged broad shoulders. "Got me there. Shall we follow them?"
"Sure. I might even be able to find a good beer in this place. It’s got a Hellmouth and demons, gotta have a beer I haven’t tried, right?" Methos asked.
"Right. Read the label first, though," Duncan warned with a slight grin, as he started after the others. "I’ve heard they bottle Yak urine - in some places it’s considered a delicacy."
"That’s disgusting, MacLeod!" Methos wrinkled his nose. "Yak butter was bad enough!" He shuddered. One reason to not return to Tibet any time soon.
Methos, hands shoved in the front pockets of his battered jeans, caught up to Duncan and walked beside him as they followed the Slayer and her friends to The Bronze. The town looked like any other, but there was an undercurrent of...something...that gave him the jitters. He couldn’t wait until they had the information they were looking for and could get out of this place and back to Seacouver.
The part of town they were walking through was awfully dark and quiet, more ominous than peaceful, and Methos was glad he had his sword. Not to mention the dagger and gun he always carried. It never paid to be unprepared. Not that he was the Boy Scout; that was MacLeod’s role. He shot a covert glance at the other man. Always dragging him into trouble, Methos thought, and then grinned. Right where he wanted to be, usually.
"What’s so funny?" Duncan asked.
"Nothing," Methos replied, slyly.
"Methos," Duncan said his name warningly, a tone of voice that made Methos shiver.
Methos sighed deeply, and then said. "This place is trouble. I can feel it."
Duncan was silent for a couple of minutes. "I know what you mean," he said. "I miss Joe."
"I miss Joe’s beer," Methos replied.
Just then The Bronze came into view, silencing Duncan’s rebuttal. It looked like an old warehouse. There were no windows, and just a neon sign proclaiming ‘The Bronze’ to advertise its purpose. The group they were following disappeared inside, and moments later, Duncan and Methos followed them.
The inside was unexpected, given the unassuming, nay, neglected air of the exterior. There was a stage, upon which a band was performing, and a dance floor. Tables and couches provided seating; there was an upper level, and a bar along one wall. The place was packed, but a path opened before them as Methos led the way to the bar.
***
Willow, Buffy, Xander, and Anya were seated around a table with their sodas when Spike joined them, a beer bottle in hand. He didn’t say anything to the group, just took the empty seat next to Willow. Willow made a great show of ignoring him, and then headed to the dance floor with Buffy. Xander and Anya soon followed them.
Spike sat at the table watching Willow dance, growling to himself as other dancers, male dancers, swirled around her. He never took his eyes off of the redhead; he could tell that she was tiring. When she and Buffy returned to the table, Willow sank heavily into her chair.
"Drink up your soda." Spike leaned over to her, shoving her cup closer. "You need the sugar. And then I’m taking you home."
"You’re not taking me anywhere," Willow petulantly replied.
"Your body is exhausted," he hissed. "You need to rest. And I am taking you home if I have to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder to do it!"
Spike’s voice was raised by the time he reached the end of his diatribe, but the loud music and conversation around them kept anyone from overhearing. Willow wanted to slap him. She also wanted to jump into his lap and kiss him. The thought of him throwing her over his shoulder brought a blush to her cheeks, and made her angry.
Stupid vampire! Why was she always falling for people who were just so *wrong* for her? And he wasn’t even a people...er, person. He was a vampire! First she dated a werewolf, and now she had - feelings - for a vampire. And she’d called *Xander* a demon magnet, she remembered. Must be the Hellmouth, she thought, as she raised the cup to her lips and finished her soda.
When she was finished, Willow stood and grabbed her jacket, then turned and walked towards the front door without telling Spike that she was leaving. He just rolled his eyes, wondering if she really thought he’d let her go that easily.
He stood and leaned over the table. "Walking Red home," he told the Slayer. She looked away from the dance floor and up at him in surprise, and then noticed Willow’s empty chair. Spike pointed his thumb over his shoulder and Buffy spotted Willow heading for the door. She nodded her head, and Spike turned to follow Willow.
Buffy watched Spike push his way through the crowd and catch up with Willow, grabbing her arm and pulling her into him as he worked his way to the front door. "Good luck," she said under her breath.
***
Duncan and Methos sat at the bar. Duncan was nursing a tumbler of single malt scotch; Methos was working on his second imported beer, the best he could find at The Bronze. If there were any exotic demon brews to be had in this town, they weren’t being served here.
Duncan’s arms were folded in front of him and he was leaning on the bar, lost in thought. Methos had turned around on his stool to get a better look at the people crowding the club. He was leaning back with his elbows on the bar, a beer bottle swinging from one hand, the heels of his hiking boots caught on the rungs of the stool, legs splayed.
"There goes one, make that two, of the Slayer’s friends," Methos said, watching the redhead and the bleached-blond make their way to the front door.
Mac lifted his head from contemplation of the amber liquid in his glass, to look in the mirror behind the bar. He saw the redhead from earlier, but no sign of any of the others. "Where?" he asked.
"Right there," Methos lifted his chin. "The redhead and the bleached-blond."
Mac looked again. Either the blond had already made it out the door, or Methos’d had too much to drink.
"I don’t know, Mac, everyone in here seems pretty normal," Methos said, as he lifted the bottle to his lips.
"That’s just it," Duncan answered him, his gaze fixed on the napkin he was shredding, "how do you tell? I mean, Ahriman looked normal, too."
"No, *he* used the images of dead people to project himself. That’s not normal," Methos replied.
"It seemed normal, unless you already knew they were dead. How do we know these people aren’t projections of dead bodies?" MacLeod persisted.
"You’re right, Mac," Methos sighed and slid off of the stool, placing his empty bottle on the bar. "There’s still a lot we don’t know about demons. We’ll find out more tomorrow. Come on." He touched his friend’s arm tenderly. "Let’s get out of here."
Duncan tilted his head and looked at Methos’ face, and then the hand on his arm, and nodded his head. "Okay," he agreed. He finished his glass of scotch and threw a couple of bills on the bar, and then turned and followed Methos out of the club.
~Part: 2~
The sun was high in the afternoon sky when Duncan MacLeod knocked sharply
on the door with his knuckles, and then turned around to survey the courtyard
Methos was busy exploring. Probably looking for possible traps and escape
routes, knowing the old man, Duncan thought.
When no one answered the door, Duncan knocked again.
"Coming." He heard someone call from inside, and then the door was pulled open. "Yes?" the bespectacled man who answered the door enquired.
"Mr. Giles?" Duncan turned on the charm as only he could. Methos walked around the fountain that graced the middle of the courtyard so that he could get a closer look at the fascinating Scot at work.
"Yes," Giles replied cautiously. "And you are?" he asked curiously, as he hadn't been expecting any visitors.
"My name is Duncan MacLeod, and my associate, Dr. Adam Pierson," he indicated the man standing behind him. Methos inclined his head in greeting.
Giles continued to stare at them in confusion. "I'm sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me?" he finally asked in confusion.
"We have an appointment...," Duncan began, and then broke off. "No one called you and set up an appointment?" he asked ruefully.
"No, no one did. In fact, if it wasn't Sunday, I wouldn't even be at home this time of day. What is it you wanted to see me about?" Giles asked, tilting his head in inquiry.
"We were hoping that you could give us a moment of your time. We have some questions that we think you might be able to answer for us."
"And the subject matter of these questions would be?" Giles queried suspiciously. These two men made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They looked human, but any number of demons could take human form. And they were both wearing long, heavy coats on a relatively warm day for Sunnydale.
The brawny man standing in front of him hesitated, as if he didn't want to speak the words aloud. He glanced at his associate, and turned back to Giles with a renewed determination.
"Demons," he said firmly, almost gruffly.
"Ah," Giles replied with a slight frown. "Well, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place, I don't..."
"Does the name 'Ahriman' mean anything to you?" Methos asked, and watched the other man closely for his reaction.
Giles felt as if the floor had moved beneath his feet, and knew that
his shock at hearing that name would most certainly be mirrored in his
face. Ahriman. The millennium demon. He remembered reading about it, and
the Champion who would defeat it.
"Ahriman," he repeated the name slowly, trying to buy enough time to decide what to do about these two men. He looked from one to the other. They looked young, but their eyes told a different story. They reflected untold years of experience, and not all of them pleasant.
"What is your interest in Ahriman?" Giles asked. He needed more information before he divulged anything more than what they might have seen on his face.
"Nothing. Anymore," Duncan replied brusquely, and then fell eerily silent as he remembered the days spent under Ahriman's influence. Days haunted by James Horton, and Kronos. Even after a year studying and meditating with the monks at the monastery in Malaysia, it had been difficult to face and defeat the demon. He wasn't interested in Ahriman per se. He wanted - needed - to learn more about demons so he could figure out how to live with what he had done while Ahriman held sway over his mind.
"We have had the dubious pleasure of meeting Ahriman," Methos added, as he moved closer to the open door. He could see that Duncan was in no shape to continue the conversation. "We need some information from you."
"You survived an encounter with Ahriman?" Giles asked in surprise.
"Yes," Duncan replied, with a humorless curve of his lips, his eyes rising slowly to meet Giles'. "Survived. That's one way of putting it." He had survived, but Richie hadn't. Under Ahriman's influence, he had killed his student - a young man he loved like a son.
"Mac...Mr. MacLeod banished Ahriman over two years ago...," Methos began.
Giles staggered and reached out to the doorframe for support. He closed his eyes, and then opened them to look at the two men standing on his doorstep, the sun shimmering off of their dark heads giving them an otherworldly glow. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, before replacing them and taking a deep breath.
"You're Immortals?" he asked, surprised that his voice didn't shake. "And you...you're the Champion?" He looked at Duncan MacLeod, studying him as if he might be able to *see* the truth.
"You know about Immortals and the Champion?" Duncan asked in surprise. This was a turn of events they hadn't considered. Of course, if Rupert Giles knew about demons, why wouldn't he have come across some information about Immortals at one time or another? Many people, including his father, Ian MacLeod, chieftain of the Clan MacLeod, had considered him - them - demons because they couldn't be killed.
'Bloody hell!' Methos thought, looking around them nervously. Immortals, especially Methos, were always wary about revealing their identity. To Immortals or mortals. That was especially true after their experience with the Hunters, led by a former Watcher, James Horton; mortals who considered Immortals to be abominations, and who were responsible for the death of Darius, an Immortal priest, on holy ground.
"I've read the prophecy," Giles replied to Duncan's question, his voice a little breathless. "A Highland Child, born on the Winter Solstice, who has seen both Darkness and Light..."
"Well, that's wonderful, but we don't usually advertise ourselves," Methos interrupted tersely. "Any way we could take this inside?" he asked, straightening his shoulders, and suddenly looking more imposing than he had half a second ago.
"Certainly. If you can," Giles replied and stood back, gripping the door for support and indicating that they should enter, without actually issuing an invitation for them to do so.
Both men crossed the threshold while Giles watched them closely. When they were both standing in his apartment, their combined presence making it seem awfully small, he closed the door behind them.
"What was that all about?" Duncan asked, as he surveyed the apartment. He was standing in a small dining area, and beyond that was the living room. To his right was a small kitchen area and a hallway, to his left, stairs that led to a loft. The apartment was cozy. The living room contained a small fireplace, a couch and several chairs, and bookshelves. Lots and lots of bookshelves.
"Some demons, vampires, for example, can't enter a home without an invitation," Giles explained. "May I get either of you anything to drink? Tea?"
"Do you have anything stronger?" Methos asked, wandering around the apartment. After all, the man had just confirmed the existence of demons, not to mention his knowledge of Immortals, and rehashing Ahriman was going to require some liquid courage. He briefly wondered if they could trust him with their secret, and if not, what then?
A book lay on the end table, and Methos turned it with long, slender fingers, so he could read the title; 'Portals and Dimensional Travel.' His hand shook a bit as he removed it from the book. Well, that was unsettling. Okay, he'd been willing to believe in demons because he'd 'seen' one, but dimensional travel? That was a bit much, even for a 5000 year old Immortal. Maybe this guy was just a kook after all.
"Tea will be fine," Duncan replied evenly, wondering how he was even still standing. This man had not only corroborated that demons actually existed, he knew about Ahriman specifically, and had looked surprised - no, shocked - to hear the name. And he knew about Immortals. Of course, other mortals knew about his immortality, like Joe and Anne. Like Tessa had. But their numbers were few, and they were lovers, or friends. This man was a complete stranger, and now he knew their most private secret.
Methos rolled his eyes at the younger Immortal's gentility. "Fine," he agreed, really wishing for a beer, or something stronger. "Tea it is." He glanced at Duncan, who looked like he was ready to fall over.
"Please, have a seat while I put the kettle on," Giles offered, and turned towards his small kitchen. He filled the teakettle and put it on to boil, scooped tea into the tea ball and placed it in the teapot, then set it and three mugs on a tray. These men didn't look like the teacup and saucer types. He added cream, sugar, lemon slices, and three spoons to the tray, and then returned to the living room.
Duncan MacLeod had sunk into the leather chair in the corner, his long coat thrown across the stool in front of him, while Adam Pierson continued to prowl the room like a restless cat; his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans.
"Your accent...British?" Giles asked Methos curiously.
Methos turned his head toward the Watcher. "A little bit of everything, really," he hedged, allowing himself a small smile, "though I have spent a lot of time in Britain."
"Ah, of course," Giles nodded. "And you," he turned to Duncan. "Scotland?"
"Aye," Duncan replied politely.
"Highland child," Giles whispered in wonder, and shook his head to clear it. "Why are you looking for information on demons?" he asked. "I mean, you've defeated Ahriman; your battle is over. Is it not?"
"I need...to understand," the broad-shouldered man leaned forward in the chair, placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his joined hands.
"Mr. MacLeod..."
"Just MacLeod, please. Or Mac," he said, raising his head, and then indicated the smaller man. "Adam."
"All right." Giles nodded. "Uh, MacLeod, you may both call me Giles, or Rupert if you prefer." Giles took a deep breath. "What, exactly, is it that you are looking to understand?" he asked.
Duncan was silent for a moment as he tried to find the words to convey what he wanted - needed. Giles glanced over at Adam, but he was staring at MacLeod's bowed head. His face was a practiced blank mask, but he couldn't hide the concern for his friend that filled his eyes.
"Why," Duncan finally spoke again, his voice flat and even, afraid to betray too much of himself to this stranger. "Why they exist. Why I was chosen. Why I'm alive and Richie's dead. Why?" he looked at Giles, and the Watcher saw more sorrow in those brown eyes than he hoped to ever see again.
"Who is Richie?" Giles asked, and watched Duncan's eyes fill with pain and sorrow - and guilt.
"Richie was a friend," Methos answered quickly so Duncan wouldn't have to, but his voice remained soft. "He was killed by Ahriman."
Duncan made a move as if to dispute Methos' statement, but Methos placed his hand on Duncan's shoulder and squeezed gently, offering support - and the acceptance Duncan couldn't find in his own heart to give himself.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Giles said, knowing first-hand the pain of losing friends, loved ones, in the battle against demons. "I don't know if I can answer those questions for you, but I *can* tell you a little bit about demons. Let me just get the tea," Giles said, when he was interrupted by the whistle of the teakettle.
He walked stiffly to the kitchen, his body almost as numb as his mind. These men were Immortals. Immortals were sitting in his living room. He had heard rumors of such a race of humans existing, but he had never been sure. He poured the water into the teapot and carried the tray into the living room, carefully set the tray on the coffee table, and lowered himself onto the couch.
"Well, too bad Buffy's not here." Giles gave a wry smile as the thought of giving his patented 'speech' reminded him of her irreverence - what were her exact words again? Oh, yes, 'blah, blah, blah'. "She so loves to hear my speech."
"Buffy," Methos repeated the name. "She's the Slayer, correct?" he asked, as he lounged back against the bookshelf, hands still tucked casually in his pockets. Giles froze. He should have realized that if these men knew where to find him, they might know about Buffy, but he was suddenly struck by how little he knew about them. He had only the words they told him to explain their presence here.
"What do you know about the Slayer?" he asked, his voice suddenly frigid, his protective instincts for his Slayer roused.
"One girl in all the world, Chosen One, yadda, yadda, yadda," Methos replied, ignoring the other man's frosty tone. "Just enough for us to find you, really. She wasn't our main focus. Finding someone who could tell us about demons, was."
"Yes, well, how is it, exactly, that you did find me?" Giles asked the question he had been too overwhelmed to consider before.
"Luck, mostly," Methos replied. "And lots and lots of cash. Once we discovered the existence of the Watcher's Council, it wasn't difficult to determine who the current Slayer and her Watcher were, and where they were located."
"Right," Giles replied, unconvinced, eyes narrowed. "I've only just realized that I only have your word as to who you both are..."
"Technically, you don't even have that," Methos corrected. "We never told you we were Immortals, you guessed. And I don't believe we confirmed...exactly." He loved verbal sparring. It was much more fun with MacLeod, but this fellow put forth an admirable effort.
"Ah, yes, thank you for that little reminder. Well, perhaps now would be a good time for confirmation," Giles suggested. It might be a little late for that, but it would put his mind at ease to know that these men were who they said they were.
Giles startled at the sudden appearance of a dagger in Methos' hand. Without comment, Methos sliced his palm.
"Oh, good lord!" Giles cried. He stood and ran for the first aid kit which was kept with the weapons trunk. He pulled a clean rag out and moved to Methos' side, attempting to wrap his hand with the cloth.
"Just watch," Methos instructed, pulling his hand out of Giles' grip. Giles watched in stunned fascination as sliced muscle and skin pulled together and the wound healed.
"Oh...my," he breathed, and then wiped the blood off of Methos' hand, revealing a palm that showed no indication of the cut.
"The ability to heal quickly is one of the benefits of immortality." Methos took the cloth out of Giles' hand and cleaned his own more thoroughly, then wiped the dagger blade and sheathed it. "May I use your bathroom to wash my hands?" he asked.
"Yes, of course!" Giles replied, absently pointing towards the hallway, and then silently watched Methos' back as he moved across the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. Giles walked over to the couch as if in a daze. Immortals. It really was just...fascinating. He lowered himself to the couch and chanced a glance at Duncan.
"Are you all right?" the Immortal asked in concern.
"Yes, I believe so," Giles replied. "That was...fascinating," he spoke his earlier thought aloud. "What other benefits are there to immortality?" he asked, intrigued.
"The not dying," Methos responded dryly, as he reentered the living room.
"Yes," Giles nearly rolled his eyes, "that's one I wouldn't have thought of. All right then, back to the matter at hand. Since you already seem to know about us, I don't see the harm in verifying your information. Yes, Buffy is the Slayer and I am her Watcher. Now, as for demons," he briskly changed the subject. "This world is older than you know, and contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin as a paradise. For untold eons, demons walked the Earth, made it their home, their Hell. In time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals. For man. What remains of the old ones are vestiges: certain magics, certain creatures..."
"Including vampires?" Methos asked skeptically, eyes widening in disbelief. He knew they'd come to see Rupert Giles to learn about demons, but the fact that he could so calmly explain their existence was a bit disconcerting.
"Yes, including vampires. The books tell that the last demon to leave this reality fed off of a human; mixed their blood. He was a human form possessed - infected - by the demon's soul. He bit another, and another...and so they walk the Earth, feeding. Killing some, mixing their blood with others to make more of their kind. There are many other types of demons, of course." He waved his hand at his crowded bookshelves. "Hundreds, thousands; some benign, but most evil. All waiting for the animals to die out, and the Old Ones to return. Some more impatiently than others, which is why we are here, guarding the Hellmouth."
"Yes, the Hellmouth. Is that...what it sounds like?" Methos asked with a glance at Duncan, who was sitting unmoving in the chair, his hands hanging down between his knees, seemingly lost in thought.
"It's exactly what it sounds like," Giles replied, as he poured the tea. "This town sits on the mouth of Hell. The Spanish called the town Boca del Infierno. It's a hotbed of demon activity. The Hellmouth is currently inactive, but there have been several attempts to open it, and bring about hell on earth."
"So Ahriman was just one of many demons that wish to bring chaos and death to the world then?" Duncan finally spoke. Though he had expected to learn more about demons, he hadn't anticipated that Ahriman would be one of so many. It made his pain seem so...common, so trivial.
"Yes," Giles replied with a nod. "The scotch is up there if you'd like to doctor your tea," Giles told Methos as the other man reached for one of the mugs, intent on shoving it into MacLeod's hands. He followed Giles' pointing finger and got the scotch down from the top of the bookshelf, opened it, and poured a generous dollop into one of the mugs.
He was worried for his friend. Though he had defeated Ahriman and moved on with his life, Methos knew how much Richie's death still haunted Duncan. He handed the mug to the younger Immortal who, despite his bulk, looked like a stiff wind could knock him over.
"Though a particularly nasty one," Giles continued, as he slid a second mug towards Methos. "I read about him early on in my Watcher studies. He was thought to be a myth. Not because we didn't believe in demons, because the Council knows demons have been around for centuries, millennia, but because we've never been able to prove the existence of the Champion. An Immortal."
"Your Slayer, she's not Immortal?" Duncan asked with a little bit of surprise, as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug. He hadn't sensed her; but found it odd that the Chosen One would be mortal...fragile.
"No." Giles shook his head sadly before taking a sip of the strong tea. "Buffy has been the Slayer for over four years now. She has lived longer than most Slayers do. They usually only last two or three years before they are killed, and another Slayer is called."
"Two or three *years*?" Methos asked in amazement, and he was not easily astounded. For a man who had lived for over 5000 years, dying so young was inconceivable.
"Yes," Giles confirmed shortly, and took another bracing sip of tea. Thinking about Buffy's potential death always shook him.
"What's different with this Slayer?" Duncan asked, and Methos turned his head to look at the other man, his eyes narrowed in speculation, as he wondered why Duncan was showing such an interest in the Slayer, when he'd come here to learn about demons.
"I believe that it's due in part to her support system," Giles replied contemplatively.
"Support system?" Duncan asked, taking a sip of the heavily fortified tea.
"Most Slayers-in-Training are removed from their family and friends at a very early age, and brought up by their Watcher, training and researching most of their lives, readying themselves to become the next Slayer, should they be called," Giles explained. "They lead a solitary, lonely existence, able to rely only on themselves and their Watcher; for backup, for comfort, their duties and position kept secret from the world. Buffy wasn't...found...by the Council until she was called. She has family and friends around her to not only offer moral support, but to help her with the research and her slaying duties. They've given her a reason to keep living; to not give in to the darkness that many Slayers face," he concluded.
Just then the front door to the apartment slammed open, and both Immortals looked up, startled. Giles, used to being invaded night or day, remained unphased by the sudden entrance.
"Hey, Giles," the young blonde woman they'd watched fight the night before called out, as she breezed into the apartment. "Got a sitch...Whoa!" She came up short as she caught sight of Methos and Duncan. "Who're the hotties?"
Both men relaxed their defensive posture. Methos found himself grinning as Duncan shifted uncomfortably under the Slayer's, Buffy's, frankly approving appraisal.
"Buffy!" Giles put his tea down and stood, then walked over to his Slayer. "What are you doing here?" he asked, checking his watch. "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"
"Very funny," she said, and then stammered, "Uh, well..." She didn't want to blurt anything out in front of Giles' guests. "Something happened last night on the, uh, way to The Bronze that I wanted to talk to you about."
"What is it?" Giles asked, suddenly all business. Buffy jerked her head towards the two men in the corner, and Giles turned to see what she was getting at. "Oh!" he nodded, as the lightbulb finally went on. "They're aware of the existence of demons and, well, also who you and I are, so you may speak freely in front of them," he assured her.
"Oh, okay." She shrugged easily, as she slipped out of her jacket. "Research," she continued casually. "We ran into some vamps last night. One of them said something about their boss trying to open the Hellmouth. Again."
"Oh...bloody brilliant!" Methos muttered with a disgusted roll of his eyes.
~Part: 3~
"You found this out last night, and you're only just now telling me?" Giles asked his Slayer, wondering what he'd done to deserve this. Oh, never mind; he remembered.
"No hurry," she replied casually. Methos thought she sounded awfully blase about someone, or something, wanting to open the mouth of Hell.
"Now that we've gotten the information we needed, maybe we should get out of here," he suggested to Duncan in a whisper. Duncan didn't respond; too absorbed in the conversation between Giles and Buffy.
"And that would be why?" Giles asked, peering at her over the rim of his glasses, his left eyebrow arching, a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone.
Buffy blithely ignored the sarcasm. "He said his boss isn't even in town yet, and the ritual's not taking place until Wednesday night at midnight," she explained.
Wednesday at midnight? "MacLeod!" Methos hissed, trying to get his friend's attention.
"You got all *that* out of a vampire before you staked him?" Giles asked, a mite suspiciously.
"Well, not exactly," Buffy admitted. "I let them surround me, and then I whimpered a little bit, and the idiot couldn't keep from gloating. Then I staked him."
"Wonderful," Giles said sarcastically. "Now if only he'd given you the name of the ritual so we knew how to prevent it."
"Oh, yeah, he said something about the House of Pancakes," Buffy called, as she strode to the kitchen to get a soda out of the refrigerator.
Giles' brow furrowed in concentration as he thought about that, and then his visage brightened. "The Host of Pan'kr?" he asked excitedly, shaking his head. It was a sad state of affairs when he could actually understand what she meant with such relative ease.
"Yeah, that's it!" Buffy said, as she reappeared in the doorway and opened the can of soda. "Now, about the hotties." She inclined her head towards the two men in the corner.
"Oh, dear lord!" Giles exclaimed, as he scurried over to his bookshelves. "I do wish Willow was here. I don't think I have any books on the Pan'kr here," he muttered, as he examined the books on the shelves. "Drat! They're all at the magic shop. Hmm, although this one might have some relevant information." He picked a book off of the shelf and opened it, losing himself in the text.
"Hi, I'm Buffy," Buffy said, when it became obvious that Giles wasn't going to introduce them.
"Oh, sorry." Giles raised his head. "Dr. Adam Pierson," he said, pointing with the book he held, "Duncan MacLeod, Buffy Summers." Giles stuck his head back in his book.
"Hello, Buffy," Duncan said with a smile that made Buffy's knees melt, as he stood and held out his hand. "You can call me Mac. And this is Adam."
"Mac, Adam," Buffy said, taking Duncan's hand as a light blush suffused her skin. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."
Methos was about to reply when the door swung open for the second time that evening. Both Immortals once again jumped, startled, before recognizing the blond who entered from the fight they'd witnessed the night before. Spike, his leather duster swirling around his legs, was followed closely by Willow. He was carrying a case of soda that he'd taken from her when he found her lugging it in from the moron's car.
He stopped as soon as he caught scent of the two men in the corner. Willow ran into his back and Spike automatically reached behind him to steady her, his arm going around her waist protectively.
"Who're they?" he growled. Willow took the opportunity to press herself against his back and peek around him, her cheek laying on his leather-clad biceps.
Giles looked up. "Spike! Has the sun gone down already? Oh, these are, uh, some colleagues of mine. Here to do some, uh, demon research."
"Is that right?" Spike drawled, unconvinced, as he studied the two men in the corner. They smelled human, but not. And they didn't look like researchers. In fact, their stance indicated that they were warriors.
The awkward moment was lost, as Xander and Anya appeared in the open doorway carrying three pizza boxes. "Dinner's served," Xander announced to the room.
They set the pizza on the table, and Spike continued to the kitchen with a shake of his head, finding room for the soda in the refrigerator.
"Ah, pizza. Again," Giles grumbled from his position beside one of the many bookshelves in the apartment. "Wonderful."
"Hey, Will, check out the hotties in the corner," Buffy whispered to her friend, as Willow took off her jacket and hung it up. Willow glanced over at the two men, and then thought about Spike and blushed. "Let me introduce you." Buffy grabbed her hand and dragged her into the living room.
"Giles isn't doing the host thing very well," Buffy said to the two men, "so let me introduce you to everyone. This is Willow, that's Xander, Anya, and," she hesitated just long enough for Willow to poke her, and then continued with a grin, "that's Spike in the kitchen. Guys, this is Dr. Adam Pierson and Duncan MacLeod. Adam and Mac."
"Hi," everyone, except Spike, chorused; Xander mumbling his greeting around the bite of pizza already in his mouth.
"Mmm, more hunky man meat," Anya commented softly to Buffy and Willow, as they gathered around the table to dish out the pizza.
"Anya!" Willow blushed again.
"I know!" Buffy crowed. "Aren't they hot?"
"Xander," Giles said, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen without lifting his head from the book, "there are plates and napkins in the kitchen."
"Sure thing, G-man," Xander said, as he headed to the kitchen to get them. Giles did raise his head at the hated moniker, shook it, and turned back to his reading.
Spike returned to the dining room with a mug of warm blood in one hand, and several sodas cradled in his other arm. He set the blood down on the table, and Willow took the sodas out of his arm. He shrugged out of his duster and threw it towards the coat rack, where it hit the wall, and fell to the floor.
"Spike," Willow chastised him, and made a move to go pick his coat up.
"Leave it." He pushed her into a chair and grabbed a paper plate out of Xander's hand. He put two pieces of pizza on it and placed it before Willow. "Eat," he commanded.
"You aren't the boss of me," Willow muttered, as she picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite. Spike sat down beside her and grabbed a breadstick out of the box, sniffing it cautiously.
"It's garlic-free, fangless," Xander assured him.
"Just checking," Spike replied. "Not like I trust you, or anything." He dunked the breadstick in his blood and took a bite.
"Eww!" Xander complained.
"Shut up, git," Spike replied automatically.
Methos handed Duncan his coat, pulled the stool around to the side of the chair, and sank down onto it. He watched the group of people gathered around the table eating their pizza and breadsticks, seemingly oblivious to the end of the world that was going to happen on Wednesday. This was...pandemonium. How in the world did they ever get anything done? He found it difficult to believe that this group of people, young people, saved the world on a regular basis.
"Mac." He turned his attention back to his friend. "I really think we should leave."
"No, I want to stay. I want to watch this. Besides, if it actually happens,
if the demons open the Hellmouth, you think we'll be any safer in Seacouver?"
Duncan replied, a look of deep concentration on his face.
"Well, probably not," Methos considered. "But Paris, maybe."
When he realized that Duncan was serious, Methos leaned forward and snagged the bottle of scotch, filling his mug halfway with the amber liquid. He rearranged his sword and leaned back against the bookshelf, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, and settled in to watch.
"Uh, would you guys like any pizza?" Willow asked politely, suddenly remembering that they had guests. "We have plenty."
Methos opened his mouth to reply with a scathing 'no', but Duncan beat him to it. "Yes, I think I would," the Highlander responded, and stood to walk towards the table where the others were sitting. "Thank you."
"Bring me a piece," Methos called. "And a breadstick."
***
After everyone was finished eating, the table was quickly cleared. Willow was typing at her laptop, researching the Host of Pan'kr, while Giles sat at the head of the table reading from the book he'd taken from the bookshelf.
Buffy looked around the table, bored. "Giles, if you don't have anything for me to do, maybe I'll just go patrol."
"Alright, Buffy," he replied distractedly. "Call me if you find out anything."
"'Kay," she stood. "Coming Spike?"
"Sure thing, Slayer," Spike said, and then leaned over to Willow and whispered, "You don't go anywhere until I get here to walk you home."
Willow turned narrowed eyes on him, but before she could reply, he grabbed her leg under the table and gave a gentle squeeze. "I mean it!"
He stood up and grabbed his duster off of the floor, swinging it over his shoulders as he walked to the weapons trunk. He chose his favorite axe, and then checked his pockets to make sure he had his stakes and smokes before they left.
"Uh, G-man, what about us?" Xander asked.
"Why don't you two head on home," Giles replied, looking up and saving his place with a finger. "I'm sure I have more books at the magic shop, so when we meet there tomorrow, we should have more resources."
"Great!" Xander replied, helping Anya into her jacket before Giles was even done speaking. "Night, Wills, G-man. Uh, Adam, Mac." He turned back to his friends, "See you guys tomorrow," he said, and then he and Anya left.
"Maybe we should get going, too," Methos suggested to Duncan. "It's not like we're actually helping, or anything."
"You're right," Duncan agreed, and stood. He walked over to Giles, leaving his coat behind on the chair. "Is there anything we can do to help?" he asked earnestly.
Methos sighed deeply, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. He should have known. Him and his big mouth. Bloody boy scout.
"Uh, no, not without additional reference material, which I don't have available here. But we will be getting together tomorrow evening at the Magic Box, a shop I own in town, if you'd like to join us. We can use all the help we can get for research," Giles admitted.
"We'll be there. Adam's an old hand at research," Duncan said. "Where is the shop located?"
"Main Street. The others will start showing up before sundown. After work and classes," Giles added. "You can come then, or...earlier, if you like. Best to not be out after dark, if you can help it."
Willow silently watched their exchange while her computer was running another search. Spike had seemed suspicious of these two men, but Giles seemed to trust them. They hadn't said enough yet for her to make up her mind.
She watched Mac walk back over to the corner where his friend, Adam, had stood and was waiting for him. Mac took his coat out of Adam's hand and put it on. Something about the way it swung around his shoulders looked off. Spike's duster didn't swing like that. Not that she spent any time looking at how Spike's duster *did* swing. She turned her attention back to the screen when the computer beeped.
***
"I can't *believe* you!" Methos groused, as they walked down the street. "Oh, what am I saying? Of *course* I believe you did that. Bloody boy scout." He repeated the charge out loud, just because it felt good to say it.
"We came here to find out about demons," Duncan replied calmly, ignoring the older man's outburst.
"And we did. They exist. What else do you need to *know*, MacLeod?" Methos asked.
"Why," Duncan replied with finality, and then remained silent, despite Methos' attempts to draw him out, or annoy him enough to get a response. They were almost to their hotel when they were stopped by a young couple.
"Hey, you guys wanna party?" the girl asked.
"No, thank you." Duncan grimaced at the interruption, though his tone was polite. He just wanted to get back to the hotel where he could digest all of the information they'd received today.
"Oh, come on!" the girl said, as her face morphed into that of the demon. "We do!"
The two vampires attacked. Duncan responded to the danger immediately, easily ducking the charge and tossing one vampire over his head. Methos went down hard on the sidewalk under the sudden and unexpected attack, just as he managed to pull his sword free from the sheath hidden inside the lining of his coat.
Duncan pulled his own sword and stabbed the vampire attacking Methos through its heart from the back. "Through the heart, right?" he asked worriedly, as he turned to hold off the male vampire. Seeing that vampire take Methos down had scared him.
"What?" Methos asked distractedly, as he rolled the female vampire off of him and stood, checking himself over for damage.
"Last night, didn't she stab them in the heart?" Duncan clarified, as he slashed at the determined vampire.
"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess," Methos replied absently. "Looks like it works, anyway, but she didn't, uh, turn to a cloud of dust like the ones last night."
Duncan and Methos made short work of the unarmed vampire and he soon joined the female on the pavement at their feet.
"What do we do with them?" Duncan asked in confusion, as they both stared at the bodies.
"I don't know!" Methos replied. "Do I look like I know everything?"
"No," Duncan shrugged, as he studied his friend. "But you usually act like it."
"Very amusing, MacLeod," Methos snorted, and Duncan allowed himself a small smile. "I say we just leave them, maybe drag them into that alley and...whoa!" Methos jumped in surprise when he looked down at the female vampire's open amber eyes.
"That hurt!" she said, as she jumped to her feet and charged Duncan.
"Mac!" Methos yelled a warning, and Duncan instinctively swung his sword. The vampire's head disconnected from her body and she dissolved in a cloud of dust.
"Looks like beheading does the job," Methos said with a shrug, and decapitated the male vampire where it lay with one swing of his sword, careful not to hit the sidewalk too hard and damage his sword, watching it turn to dust. "You know, maybe we should have thought to ask the Watcher about this while we were there."
~Part: 4~
When they got back to their hotel room, Methos took his coat off and tossed it towards a chair. It missed, and hit the floor with a dull 'clang', which he ignored as he went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a beer. He removed the top, looked for someplace to toss it, and then opted for the trash can before tipping his head back and taking a long, welcome draught of the cool liquid.
"Alright," he said, when he lowered the bottle and turned to face Duncan. "What was that all about?"
"What was 'what' all about?" Duncan asked innocently, hoping to avoid a confrontation. He had carefully hung his coat up and was sitting on one of the double beds, untying his shoelaces.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Methos ground out. "We came here to get information on demons. We got information on demons. Now we should be leaving. But you can't resist taking on another cause," he threw himself onto one end of the couch and sprawled out in a boneless heap.
Duncan sighed deeply. He should have known he wouldn't be able to avoid having this discussion with Methos, though he figured it was worth a try. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you again, Methos, or is that I've lived down to your expectations once more..."
"Oh, knock it off, Mac," Methos motioned with his beer. "If anyone is disappointed in the other, it's the other way around. Besides, this is not about disappointing me. This is about you looking for something you're never going to find."
"And what is it you think I'm looking for?" Duncan challenged, as he dropped one shoe on the floor beside the bed.
"Forgiveness," Methos said, and then tipped the bottle to his lips and emptied it. Duncan paled and Methos rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Not *my* forgiveness," he said. "And not Joe's. If it was my place to absolve you of all guilt, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but it's not my place to judge you."
"Then whose place is it?" Duncan asked. This was not the first time the question had been raised between them. There was a long silence as both men contemplated forgiveness, and judgments, and things they might do differently if given the opportunity. In 5000 years, Methos had accumulated quite a list, though being Death, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, was certainly near the top of that list. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, in his 400 years, had nothing on Methos.
"You're right," Duncan finally said. He looked at the shoe he held in his hand, and tossed it to the floor.
"Of course I'm right." Methos shrugged, with a wry grin. "So tell me again why you're doing this?"
"I need answers, Methos." Duncan frowned and wrung his hands. "Because knowing that they exist isn't enough. We knew that before we got here. I need...more than that," he finished, unable to articulate exactly what he needed. He'd told Giles that he needed to know why - why they exist, why he was chosen, why he was alive and Richie was dead. But mostly he wanted to know why he hadn't been able to defeat the demon before he killed Richie. And at the same time, didn't want to find out that he could have, should have, been able to do so. That Richie should still be alive.
Methos set his empty beer bottle on the end table and walked over to the bed where Duncan was sitting. He knelt before his friend and placed his fisted hands on the other man's knees. "I know you need closure, Mac, but the only one who blames you for Richie's death, is you. You hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else, Highlander. As much as you wish it, and as much as we often delude ourselves into believing it to be so, you aren't perfect. None of us is."
"Thank you, Methos." Duncan touched the older man's face lightly with his fingertips, as he looked down into intent hazel eyes. "That was a lovely pep talk." He mussed the older man's hair as he spoke, trying to lighten the suddenly too-somber mood.
"Hey, knock it off!" Methos pulled away from Duncan's hand and rose to his feet, brushing his hand through his hair to smooth it. "And it wasn't a pep talk, MacLeod. It's the truth." Methos pointed one slender finger at Duncan.
"As you see it," Duncan replied with a raised eyebrow.
"And how do you see it?" Methos challenged, sitting on the bed across from Duncan, and leaning forward onto his knees.
Duncan looked away from Methos, unable to face him and say the things he felt. "I'll never be able to forgive myself for killing Richie," he said sadly. "And I know you think forgiveness isn't the answer, but I don't know how to accept it. And I'm afraid I won't be able to live with myself if I don't...*do* something." He turned back to Methos, desperate for him to understand. "I don't know if learning more about demons is the answer, but I see these people...God, Methos, they're just kids!" He raised one hand in emphasis. "And they fight demons like Ahriman everyday!"
"Not *just* like Ahriman," Methos reminded him. "He was the baddest of the bad."
"Still," Duncan continued, brushing off the distinction, "they're making a difference. And I'm feeling a little humbled here. We fight each other because we have to, to stay alive. And some because they enjoy it." He thought about the Immortals who hunted other Immortals for their Quickenings. "But these...kids...they fight because it's the right thing to do."
Methos rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to make a scathing comment about do-gooders, but Duncan anticipated him, and spoke before he could get a word out. "How old do you think the Slayer, Buffy, is?"
"I don't know," Methos shrugged. "Nineteen, twenty?"
"And according to Giles, she should already be dead. I think I can learn something from them. I'd like to help them with their research and the battle against whoever, or whatever, is going to try to open the Hellmouth. And besides..." It was Duncan's turn to shrug. "...if they lose, and the Hellmouth is opened and hell *is* brought to Earth, there is nowhere we'd be safe. I can't walk away from this. But I can't ask you to stay..."
"Oh, stow it, MacLeod." Methos stood and casually walked back over to retrieve his beer. He looked at the empty bottle as if it had betrayed him, tossed it into the trash can, and pulled a fresh one out of the fridge. "What happened to 'Adam's an old hand at research', hmm?" he asked sarcastically, as he pulled the bottle top off and flung it at Duncan with a carefully honed twist of his wrist.
Duncan expertly dodged the flying cap. "Well," he said, shrugging and smiling sheepishly, "you still don't *have* to stay."
***
"Where's Red?" Spike asked, as he came through the door of the Watcher's apartment. Her book bag was on the table, and he could scent her, but he couldn't see her.
"Huh, what?" Willow sat up on the couch. "I'm here!"
Spike thought his heart would melt as he watched her rub her eyes with the heels of her hands and try to straighten her hair. He grabbed her jacket off the peg and carried it over to her.
"Here," he said gruffly, as he knelt before her, "put this on." He held the jacket for her as Willow slipped her arms through the sleeves. "Boots." He tapped her foot so she would lift it.
"I can..."
"Just do it," he replied, and Willow obediently lifted her foot. 'She must be really tired,' Spike thought absently, as he slipped her boot on and zipped it, then tapped her other foot. When he was done, he rose, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet.
Willow followed Spike to the table, too tired to argue with him any more this night. She'd argue with him extra tomorrow, she promised herself. He grabbed her book bag off of the table and led her to the door.
"'Night, Watcher," he called as he pushed Willow out the door and into the courtyard.
"Oh, 'night, Giles," Willow called back belatedly, not having even realized that Giles was still up. All of her attention had been focused on Spike.
"Goodnight, Spike, Willow," Giles said, following them to the door.
"I can carry my book bag," Willow said, reaching for the bag.
"No. You just worry about walking," Spike said, realizing that she was too tired to walk and carry the book bag. He did want to get her home before the sun rose.
"I can too...oh!" she cried, as she tripped over the first step.
Spike shook his head, swung her book bag over his shoulder, and then lifted Willow into his arms.
"I can walk," she protested.
"Obviously not," Spike replied, carrying her up the steps.
Giles shook his head and closed the door behind them as their bickering faded into the night.
"Spike! Put me down!" Willow insisted.
"No," Spike said. "Get comfortable." There was no way he was putting her down now, she felt too good in his arms, all warm and soft.
"You...big...dummy!" she said, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and settled her head on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. She might as well take advantage of the situation. Probably the only time she'd be this close to him.
He smelled like the leather she had her cheek resting against, and she wondered what he would taste like. Would he even notice if she kissed his neck? Probably not. And if he did, he'd think she was sleeping.
Willow shifted in his arms as if she was getting more comfortable, and brought her mouth closer to his neck until her lips were pressing against the soft skin there. Slowly, she stuck her tongue out and touched his neck, tasting him.
Spike jolted. Did the little chit just lick him? No! No bloody way she'd be caught dead in his arms if she wasn't so tired; she certainly wouldn't touch him with her warm, wet tongue. Would she? He tightened his grip on her, feeling her breasts crushed against his chest. He barely held back the moan as her fingers tangled in the hair at his neck.
'Probably dreaming about dogboy,' he snorted to himself.
***
The next afternoon, Duncan and Methos stopped by the Magic Box to check it out before everyone else was scheduled to arrive. They also hoped to get some more information out of Giles. Like how to kill vampires.
The bell rang when the door opened and Anya chirped, "Hello, welcome to the Magic Box... Oh, it's you. Are you going to buy anything?"
Duncan looked at her in bemusement. She hadn't spoken much the evening before and he was slightly surprised to see her here.
Methos broke the silence. "Do you have any love potions?"
Anya wrinkled her nose. "Love potions can be very tricky, you know. You shouldn't... Oh, you were just joking, weren't you?"
Duncan gave her an apologetic smile. "We're here to see Mr. Giles," he said.
"He's in the back. Just a minute." Anya turned away from them and yelled, "Giles!"
"Yes, Anya, what is...oh!" Giles sounded annoyed as he appeared from behind the beaded curtain to the backroom, until he realized why Anya had interrupted him. "I'm in the middle of inventory right now..." His tone turned apologetic.
"That's alright," Duncan assured him. "We were just checking out the lay of the town...in the daylight, and thought we'd check out your shop. Nothing else to do."
"I thought you were here to research demons," Anya said.
"Except, of course, to stop in here and do some research," Duncan continued, almost seamlessly, with a nod to Anya. "On demons."
"Do you think all demons are bad?" Anya asked.
"Excuse me?" Methos asked, startled out of his appreciation of Duncan's quick thinking by the odd question.
"Demons. Do you think they're all bad, or do some have the capacity for rehabilitation? You know, to become productive members of society. And the workforce," Anya expanded her question.
"Ahh, well," Duncan floundered, "we've only actually, uh..."
"Anya," Giles said, "why don't you go do the inventory?" He handed her the clipboard and physically ushered her into the back room despite her protests that she had to keep an eye on the money.
"Sorry," he said to the two men when he returned. "She has some, uh, issues."
"That's a bloody understatement," came a voice from halfway down the shop. "This translation is driving me bleedin' nuts. Why couldn't those wankers have included the soddin' translation in the bloody book?" Spike asked, as he stood and moved around the table he was sitting at and into the aisle. "I need some blood...er, bloody...tea." He headed for the kitchen area to heat up a mug of blood.
"So does he," Giles added with a slight grimace.
Methos and Duncan just nodded, wondering if living on the Hellmouth was dangerous to your mental health as well as your physical.
"Well," Giles continued, "since you're stuck here, perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone. Why don't you have a seat while I just get..." Giles disappeared behind a bookshelf as he spoke, and returned with a large tome in his hands. "This."
Giles set the book in the middle of the table, and Duncan and Methos each removed their long coats, hung them on the hooks at the end of the bookshelf, and took a seat. Giles slid the book across the table until it lay in front of Duncan.
"'Demon Anthology: A Complete List of Demons Known to Man As Of 1920'," Duncan read the title.
"Yes, well," Giles said, "the author was a bit pretentious. However, this book will give you an idea of what you're looking at, in terms of the different types of demons that exist. And at the same time, if you come across any reference to the Pan'kr or the Host of Pan'kr, that would be most fortuitous."
"Right." Duncan looked at the imposingly thick volume warily.
"Thought they had their own research to do," Spike said mistrustfully, as he returned to the table and took his seat.
"Well, actually," Giles responded, "they're interested in learning about demons in general, and helping us with our research will help them with theirs. I think."
Spike stared at Giles for a moment, then tilted his head and gave a knowing smirk. "Ah, somebody just found out that demons exist, and they want more information. Well, isn't that bloody industrious of you," he mocked.
"Spike..."
"No, he's right," Duncan interrupted Giles, and then turned to Spike. "We did just find out about demons...well, recently, and we, or rather, I, do need to find out more."
"Bloody fools," Spike muttered, as he lowered his head to the text in front of him.
"Why do you say that?" Methos asked, agreeing with him completely.
"Because you didn't have to come to the Hellmouth to find out about demons," Spike replied without lifting his head. "Talk about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fiery pits of hell."
"Spike...," Giles began again, then hesitated, a speculative expression on his face.
"What?" Spike looked up. He'd been waiting for the Watcher to chastise him for being rude to their guests, and when it didn't come, wondered what the other man had to say.
"These two men," Giles spoke slowly, deliberately, "well, they faced the demon Ahriman."
Duncan and Methos started; surprised that Giles had given that information out so freely. But their reaction was nothing to Spike's, as his already pale face blanched. "Ahriman?" he croaked. "Bloody hell. That wanker makes Acathla look like a child's play toy."
"Exactly," Giles said, and paused again, but this time mostly for dramatic effect. "And MacLeod defeated him."
Spike froze, the only movement his eyes, as they moved between Duncan and Methos. "No soddin' way," he finally spoke. "The Champion? You're Immortals?"
"Does *everybody* know about us?" Methos asked, throwing up his hands in disgust.
~Part: 5~
"Know what about you?" Willow asked, as she closed the door behind her and made her way down the steps and towards the back of the magic shop.
Everyone turned and peered around the bookshelf as one, to gaze at her in surprise, and Willow froze.
"What did I say?" she asked.
"Nothing," Methos replied smoothly. "We were just discussing a demon we'd come across and didn't hear you come in."
"Uh huh." Willow continued towards the table and carefully slid her book bag off her shoulder and set it on the table. "Hey, Giles," she greeted the Watcher.
"Willow," Giles replied. "How are you this afternoon? And why are you here so early? Nothing's wrong, I hope?" he asked, concerned.
"No," Willow smiled. She realized that Giles didn't like his normal routine disrupted. "Nothing wrong. I just thought I'd come get a head start on the research, 'cause, you know, opening the Hellmouth and all, I figured this was more important than finishing my term paper that's not due until, well, you know, the end of the term." Willow nodded her head.
"Yes, well, you're right, of course." Giles took his glasses off and let them dangle in his fingers. "I found some books that might be helpful." He indicated several books lying on the table. "And Spike is translating a passage in one of them for us."
Willow glanced at Spike when Giles mentioned his name, and found the blond vampire looking back at her. She swallowed hard, and turned away. "Okay," she agreed, her voice a bit shaky. All she could think about was licking Spike's neck last night. He hadn't mentioned it, so he must not have noticed. Thank the Goddess.
Willow took the empty seat next to Spike and pulled a book over.
"Sleep alright?" Spike asked. He couldn't believe he hadn't sensed her coming. He could still feel her lips, her tongue, on his neck, where she'd touched him in her sleep.
Willow froze, and then continued to turn the page. "Yes, fine, thank you," she replied, attempting for casual, and hoping he couldn't tell that she was lying. She'd lain awake for hours remembering the way he tasted.
"Good," Spike said, and turned his attention back to his book.
Methos watched the exchange between the two, and smiled to himself. Ah, young love. He glanced over at Duncan, wanting to share his amusement, but the other man was already immersed in the demonology text before him.
Methos noted that Willow was busy reading and Spike was muttering to himself as he attempted the translation. Giles had gone into the backroom, presumably to complete the inventory, and the blonde girl, Anya, had returned to her position behind the counter.
He thought about leaning back and closing his eyes, but figured MacLeod would scold him if he didn't help. No, he took that back. Mac would just look at him with wounded eyes, and Methos would feel guilty. He hated feeling guilty. Hadn't had to worry about it for years, nearly a thousand, until he'd met MacLeod. He sighed in disgust.
He shook his head to clear it, contemplated the muttering blond, and leaned closer. "Perhaps I can help," he said. "I'm a fair hand at languages."
"Demon?" Spike asked, without looking up.
"Excuse me?" Methos replied sharply, wondering if the other man was calling him a demon. It wouldn't be the first time. Although, it would be the first time after he found out that demons in fact existed.
"Are you familiar with demon languages?" Spike clarified, as he glanced at the man beside him.
"Oh, well, no...wait, yes, I know Latin." Methos smiled. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw Willow's lips twitch. His suspicion was confirmed when Spike turned to her.
"You think that's funny, witch?" he asked menacingly.
"Oh, no, Spike, not at all," she replied sweetly, as she continued to read. And then she snickered.
Spike liked it when Willow was happy, and for that reason alone didn't tell the other man, *Dr. Adam Pierson*, he thought snarkily, to sod off. He slid the book over so Adam could look at the passage he was trying to translate.
Methos leaned over the book and lost himself in the new language.
***
Spike and Methos finished translating the text, but it hadn't given them the information they'd hoped for. In fact, it didn't give them any useful information at all. Spike picked the book up to throw it across the room in frustration, but Giles, who had finished his inventory and joined them an hour ago, managed to wrestle it out of his hands before he could loose it, while Willow ducked out of their way.
"That book is *priceless*! Let go," Giles admonished.
"Bloody Corians," Spike muttered. "I need a fag." He rose and shoved his chair back against the wall.
"Corians?" Willow asked. "Who...what...? I thought we were looking for Pan'kr."
"Are," Spike said, as he moved past her, his hand brushing lightly against her arm. "But that passage about the Pan'kr was written in Corian."
"Ah," Willow nodded. "Nothing useful then?"
"Unless you're interested in the breeding habits of the Pan'kr, no," Methos replied, with a quirk of one eyebrow. "Although there was this one really interesting posi..."
"Adam," Duncan warned, without raising his head, and Methos fell silent, his lips twitching slightly as he tried to rein in a grin.
"What?" Willow asked.
"Uh, nothing." Methos shook his head, and pulled another book over. He ran his hands over the soft leather binding, the book so old that it was difficult to read the title on the front cover.
Giles watched him for a moment, and asked, "You really do love books, don't you?"
"Yes." Methos looked up sheepishly, slightly embarrassed to be caught fondling the book. "It shows?"
"Yes." Giles nodded with a small smile. "I too, love books." He indicated the shelves around them.
"These books are so old; the leather so soft," Methos mused, his voice dreamy.
"Actually," Giles said with a frown of concentration. "I believe that one's bound in human skin."
"What?" Methos asked, confused, barely noticing Spike slip back into his seat.
"The binding, it's not leather, technically, it's human skin."
"Human skin?" Methos asked, holding his hands away from the book. "What have you gotten me into, MacLeod?" he hissed at the Scot, who ignored him other than a brief mirth-filled glance.
Methos looked at the book, and tentatively reached out to flip it open with the tip of one finger, careful not to touch the binding. "The pages aren't human skin, too, are they?" he asked.
"No," Giles replied distractedly, as he peered through his glasses at the book before him. "Human skin was very expensive; you only find it used in the rarest of books."
Methos nodded, as if he understood. After spending 1000 years as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, you'd think a book bound in human skin wouldn't bother him. "Ah, of course," he replied, and then began reading.
***
"Hey, everyone!" Xander bounded into the shop. "Look who I ran into outside!" He indicated Buffy, who had followed him in and shut the door behind them.
"Xander!" Anya ran around the counter and embraced her boyfriend. "Missed you." She kissed him soundly on the lips.
"Missed you, too, An," Xander said. "Make lots of money today?"
"No," Anya replied. "Giles isn't charging enough." She returned to her position behind the counter and continued counting the money. "And he isn't paying me enough."
"Well, all right, then!" Xander turned to the group seated around the table and changed the subject. "How we doing?" he asked, rubbing his hands together.
"Hey, Xan, Buff," Willow greeted her friends. "Not so good."
"Why am I not surprised?" Buffy asked. "So, research. Yay." She pulled a chair out and seated herself next to Giles. She briefly considered sitting next to Mac, but figured from here she'd be able to look at both Mac and Adam.
"How's it going, Will?" She peered around Giles as she pulled a book off of the pile.
"Great," Willow replied. "I got an A+ on that chem lab!"
"Color me shocked," Xander said, as he took the seat next to Duncan.
"I don't always get A+'s," Willow replied with a pout.
"No," Xander said. "Sometimes you actually get an A."
Giles quickly brought Buffy and Xander up to speed on the results of the afternoon's research. When he was finished, Xander took a book off of the dwindling pile and opened it. "Hey, anybody ever notice how soft this old leather is?" he asked.
Methos looked up from his book and stared at the young man, then looked over at Giles. The man's head was bent, but he had a slight smile on his face. He wasn't sure if the man was laughing at him, or at the boy.
"Careful," Methos intoned dryly. "Sometimes they used human skin to make the bindings."
"Eep!" Xander shoved the book away from him, and Spike snorted his laughter. Willow giggled, and Giles couldn't retain the laugh that erupted. After a moment he took his glasses off and wiped his eyes with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket.
"So sorry, Xander," he said. "But I rather needed that."
"Glad to help, G-man," Xander replied sarcastically, making a face. "Is that really human skin?" he asked, pointing at the book.
"No," Giles shook his head. "Adam got the only book covered in human skin today." He tucked the handkerchief away.
"Yay, you!" Buffy cheered.
"What's that one called?" Xander craned his neck. "So I know not to pick it out next time."
"Is anybody else hungry?" Willow whined. Everyone just looked at her. "Uh, that might not have come out right."
***
Buffy slammed her book shut. "Nothing," she said in disgust. "Giles, I think I'm going to go patrol." She stood and pulled her jacket on, checking her pockets for stakes. "Spike, you..."
"Would you mind if we came with you?" Duncan asked. "I could really use some exercise after sitting here for hours."
"Uh, well, I'm not sure that's... Giles?" Buffy turned to her Watcher. Patrol was dangerous, and she didn't want to be responsible for two researchers who didn't know how to fight. Even if they were both hotties.
Giles looked at the other men. He hadn't been able to learn much about Immortals yet in their brief acquaintance, but he figured that they knew how to handle themselves in a fight.
"They should be fine, Buffy," Giles said.
"Maybe you can give us some pointers on how to kill vampires," Duncan said, as he stood. "We ran into a couple on the way home last night, and got lucky."
"Oh, good Lord!" Giles said. "I should have thought to tell you. Yes, Buffy can fill you in while you're on patrol.
"The talkin'-'em-ta-death method probably won't work for everyone," Spike commented, without looking up from the book he was reading.
"Shut up, Spike," Buffy said. Willow giggled under her breath. "Willow?"
"Yes?" The other girl looked up guiltily.
"You gonna get home all right?"
"I'll make sure she gets home safely," Spike said.
Buffy smirked. "Make sure you do. Ready?" she asked the two men who had put their coats on and now filled the aisle.
"Ready," Duncan said, and made a motion with his hand to indicate that she should precede them.
"Thanks," Buffy said. "We don't usually have such gentlemen around here," she called back over her shoulder, as she passed them and started up the steps.
"They just want you to get eaten first," Spike muttered.
"I heard that!"