Disclaimer: I do not own Adam Pierson, much to my chagrin. He is the property of Davis-Panzer Productions who own Highlander: The Series. He also goes by another name, which will be revealed later on…but telling that now will spoil it for those who aren’t in the know.

Spike heard Connor ask, “So is this guy the same kind of ‘immortal’ as the Immortal?”

Spike watched as the man who called himself Adam Pierson just smiled at his nephew’s question.

“Well quite frankly, yes, we are of the same species; however, I would ask you nicely to never again put us in the same sentence. As if he is the ‘only one’ who can call himself ‘the Immortal!’ Righteous bastard is more like it. A cad, a cheat, a fool, a drunkard, a …I’m getting ahead of myself. I apologize.” Adam tipped his head to the side, reminiscent of a trademark of Spike’s, which everyone noticed.

Spike felt everyone’s eyes on him. However, he was lost on thoughts of times past.

***Flashback**** (Paris, France May 20, 1927)

The bloke before him little resembled of the drunken gambler he had met back in 1927 in Paris. Dru had had visions of the pretty blue-eyed flying man. At first he had thought she had gone on one too many vision quests and this was the result. A flying man, indeed. But then he killed some poor bugger while overhearing a radio broadcast in a bar, about how some Charles Lindbergh had successfully departed on May 20th from near New York City in an airplane. Apparently, the tosser had blue eyes.

Looking around the bar, his eyes fell on a rather drunk dark-headed fellow bellowing out that he would bet that the Lindbergh chap would crash into the ocean never to be heard from again. Knowing that Dru had foreseen blue-eyed bonnie Charlie’s landing, Spike felt this fellow was ripe to not only be his meal the following night, but also help add to his rapidly depleting purse.

The dark-headed chap was speaking French but with an English accent. Good I can play the part of the fool, a fellow countryman who just happened to fall into some inheritance to come to France for a holiday. Perfect. He smirked. He knew that as Spike this wanker would piss off and not fall for his act. Have to play William for a bit. Bugger all.

“Pardon, monsieur. Parlez vous anglais? Je parle très peu le français. I dare say, but I do believe that I detect that you are a fellow Englishman far from home such as myself, are you not?” Gnashing his teeth into an innocent smile.

The dark-haired bloke lit his eyes on what he perceived as a bumbling, mama’s boy, English gent and smiled. “Why yes, indeed, I am that. So good of you to come over to my table. Please, would you care to join me in a round of cards? I was just discussing with these fine Frenchmen about this American Charles Lindbergh. My name is Ben Adams, pleasure to meet you.”

“William. William Drayton. I would be delighted to join you. Thank you.” He nodded cheerfully to the other chaps. All nice and friendly like. This was too much fun. “Yes, I heard you say something to the effect that Mr. Lindbergh might perish during his flight. Pray tell, why do you think such a way, sir?”

“Oh, my good man,” Ben laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder, patting it twice, “let me order you a beer, or as they say here une bière. Garçon! Est-ce que nous pourrions avoir deux bières? C’est ma tournée!”

“So my new friend, what brings you to this little bar in Gay Paree?” asked Ben.

Spike lowered his lashes almost seductively, “I’m on holiday. My sister has accompanied me but has retired for the evening. Our dear father recently passed, and we came into a little sum. I thought she would like to see Paris. My sister is not well either you see. Forgive me, I do go on.” He had noticed that when he spoke of the inheritance, Ben’s eyes sparked with mirth. The fly had fallen prey to the spider’s web. Excellent. “You were saying, sir, about the American flyer?”

“Oh yes, of course, Lindbergh. Well recently I’ve traveled to America. Fascinating place. You ever been? No. Someday if are able, you should try to go, perhaps take your sister. Some places, I hear, are quite beneficial for ill health. I digress. I’ve seen some designs for these so-called aeroplanes. I really doubt that the fellow will make it across the Atlantic in one piece.” Ben answered smugly.

“Sir, you cannot possibly mean that he will perish, that the poor man will have effectively committed suicide. Has he not a wife?” Spike made sure he sounded quite perplexed, and the very air of concern.

“No, I do not think he does at the moment.”

The waiter or garçon arrived with two frothy beers.

“Cheers!” said Ben.

“Merci,” answered Spike as he sipped his beer, faking a frown at the taste. He was supposed to be the delicate gentleman.

“Oh William, if you must dwell on the demise think upon it thus, he will die a hero’s death. In the name of science, he flies to further the possibilities of reaching the Heavens. Really who wants to live forever anyhow?” The wanker winked at him. If he only knew that he was sitting all cozy like with a vampire who, by his very nature, is immortal in his undeadness. Hmmm contradiction in there somewhere, the mix of the beer and the fresh kill still flowing through his undead veins was sending his senses reeling.

“I have just wagered mes amis here a small sum concerning the Yank’s flight. Would you care to join in a friendly wager?”

Spike about choked on his beer. He didn’t even have to do a lot of work for this tosser to ask him. Perhaps he should pull out his William during certain kitten poker games. “I do not know Ben. Surely you’re not suggesting a wager on whether the gentleman lives or dies?” Using his wide-eyed innocent look. Made him want to heave.

“Why yes, I know it’s a tad morbid. But do not let the unpleasantness keep you from a spot of fun dear William.”

“If I were to wager any amount of my purse, I would care to place my chances on him surviving and landing his plane. I would much rather think of positive thoughts.” Spike countered reeling his prey in some more.

“Brilliant. Care to say £6?”

Feigning sputtering, Spike stuttered, “£6! Why that’s outrageous!” Even though secretly he was quite pleased to know that he would be winning such a huge sum of money, the thought that this bugger thought he was going to rob him blind, only fuelled his enthusiasm. “Our housing in Pimlico alone…pardon me. I forgot where I was there. Do forgive me, sir.”

Looking through his lush lashes while he sipped on his beer, in the appearance of composing himself, he watched as this Ben assessed the moderately well to do suburb of London that he had just mentioned. This bloke was falling for his play. Ben had nodded to his two French companions, both of whom Spike had not paid any considerable amount of attention to prior to the nod. His vampire senses were on high alert just in case the Frogs decided to get bouncy. Having already savored one delicacy of French cuisine this evening, he might as well take home dinner for Dru.

Ben was speaking to him in cautious, coaxing tones that made him want to just rip his throat out right there. However, no one in their right mind carried that sort of capital on their person. He would have to be smart, win the bet, and collect it at wherever the pilot chap was to land tomorrow evening.

“William…I certainly did not mean to cause you any distress. Perhaps the amount is a bit excessive?” Ben began.

“No, no…that’s quite alright. I am quite settled now. The shock overwhelmed me initially that is all. The amount is of no consequence. It is fine. Since I prefer to pray that Mr. Lindbergh will fly with success, that God himself will alight under his wings and carry him here to Paris, I feel that it is a safe wager. How will we find each other sir? Do you know where he is to land supposedly?” He had almost choked on the invocation of God during that little speech, but since he was not dust…no brimstone had struck him, he thought maybe the blighter liked his performance too.

“One moment please, and I’ll find out where he is to land.” Ben turned to one of the Frenchmen, the one with a pug nose and asked, “Savez-vous où Lindbergh sera obligé à atterrir demain?”

Pug nose answered, “Oui. Il est supposé pour atterrir au Champ de Bourget de L'un jour autour de 10 du soir s'il le fait.”

“Merci, Luca.” Ben turned back to Spike and translated, unknowing that he was not in need of the translation, “He says that Lindbergh is supposed to land at the Le Bourget Field around 10:00 tomorrow evening if he makes it. Why don’t we meet there? I suspect a crowd will be there as well, should be quite a spectacle.”

“Splendid, I shall have my funds ready just in case, and you do the same, agreed.” Ben nodded. “Thank you for the beer. I really must be going. I have stayed longer than I had intended, but your company sir has been a pleasure. My sister is expecting me you see, mustn’t keep her waiting. I bid you a good evening.” Spike even did his stupid, pratty, little bow.

“And good evening to you, William. I shall meet you at the Field tomorrow!” Ben’s voice carried after him into the night.

He loved creating mischief. The Poofter would have been amazed at his acting this evening. Damn Angelus. Running off to New York of all places. Darla had gone off to the Master who quite frankly was a little too old, stodgy, and controlling for the likes of him. No, now it was just he and Dru. But still Dru longed for her Daddy. Someday soon though, he thought, she would stop yearning for her Sire and be content with just him. Someday. Shaking off his thoughts, he grimaced. Too much acting like William tonight cannot be good. Leads to bad thoughts. He continued down the street.

@_@_@_@_@_@_ (Le Bourget Field, May 21, 1927, 10:10 P.M.)

Spike was standing amongst a sea of people. Approximately 100,000 others had gathered to witness the bonnie blue-eyed pilot from America fly into Paris to land in this overcrowded field at night. Dru was off somewhere circling the masses. He scented the air for Ben’s scent which was sort of woodsy but old at the same time. Something he just couldn’t quite explain.

Ah he smelled the bloke. Putting on his William spectacles that he didn’t need, he lowered his head in a coy-like manner as he shuffled through the crowd. He wanted to appear to run into him sort of unexpected like. With a bump into the chap’s shoulder, a muffled “Oomph,” he knew he scored a successful hit.

“Oi, watch it there mate, oh, hey there William!” Ben grabbed his arm through his coat. “William, here you are. Been looking for you, mate.”

“Mr. Adams, so sorry to have run into you like I did. My apologies.”

“William, call me Ben…remember. We’re mates now. Well it looks as if you might win this, if he lands without crashing. I cannot believe so many have come out to see this pilot.”

“You know I was thinking the exact same thing. I do hope no one gets injured. If the plane crashes as you say, then what about all the people? I cannot believe they arrange to have such bright searchlights out and ready and these rockets! Oh look another lighted parachute. And if it lands, do you think the crowd would contain itself behind the iron fence? I, myself, am glad to be on this rooftop out of the way.” He almost could not hold in his snicker – a vampire worried about humans getting injured!

“I’m here with Pierre and Luca, you remember them from last night?”

“Ah yes, bonsoir.”

Pug nose and bland boy nodded and replied.

It was now 10:15 P.M., and the roar of an engine could be heard above his head. His eyes flashed amber briefly; he could make out the outline of the plane better than most. The plane circled overhead and turned. A few minutes passed. At 10:22 P.M., a great shark-like nose came into his view gliding down to the earth, alighting on the field. Two seconds later it seemed a swell of humanity teeming at the high iron fence surged forward and broke down the gate, swarming the field. Spike could picture the rotor of the plane tearing into the lovely flesh of the stupid mob running toward the plane. Ah Dru would think it such a lovely party.

In his fascination with the landing, Spike had almost forgotten the presence of his soon-to-be meal and profit for the evening. However, once the plane touched down, he turned to gloat to the bastard. Unfortunately, Ben had fled through the crowd. Spike observed Luca and Pierre chasing him shouting obscenities. Damn welsher! With that thought, he gave chase.

When he caught up to the group, he was stunned. Luca and Pierre were aiming pistols at both Ben and another tosser, but did not seem to know just who to really aim at. Ben was in the middle of a sword fight with another strange looking blonde-haired git – well not really a sword fight. Ben had a sword; the other guy had what looked like a medieval battle-axe. They were speaking in what sounded like some Scandinavian language, but he didn’t speak it, so he could not be sure.

Dropping the pretense of William, Spike hollered, “Oi! What are you blokes doin’? You welshing on a bet, Ben? Who is this nasty buggah?”

Without looking his way, which greatly impressed him, Ben shouted, “William, don’t know about that accent of yours, but this is none of your concern. I’m not a welsher. I just have to take care of a little something.” Nodding to the fellow attempting to strike a blow to his head and countering with a block and sucker punch to the gut, “Could you do your fellow Englishman a favor and get the Frenchies off my back? Guns are not a good item to bring to this little soirée.”

Wanting his money and really intrigued that a human would actually sword fight in the early 20th century? The modern era for blood’s sake! “Right then.” He grabbed Pierre hauling him away from the fracas, twisting his neck before returning for Luca of the pug nosed clan.

Just as he returned, Ben stabbed Blondie in the gut. Apparently, Luca was displeased with this turn of events. Right, the bastard must work for the Axe-Wielding Swede. A gunshot went off. Smoke from Luca’s gun plumed from the barrel as Spike jerked him backwards. Too late, he saw that Ben had been shot in the heart by the Luca’s gun. Vamping he drained Luca who had a decidedly bad taste.

Afterwards he searched Ben’s pockets and found not one quid to the tosser’s name. Bastard.

***End of Flashback***

(Private hanger, Cleveland’s Burke Lakefront Airport)

“So Adam now is it. Interesting how that was your surname our last go round.” Spike said coming out of his reverie.

“Like you are one to talk there, William. Imagine my surprise to find out that you were a demon, a vampire no less.” Adam countered.

“Can I just say whoa and Holy Bazooka Joe! Okay wait just a second here. Adam is an immortal, but he has a heartbeat, right? Is an immortal some sort of demon?” asked a flustered Xander.

Adam cracked a smile, “Immortals are not demons. Well not really. Some of us are evil though; some of us are good. We are born, without a mother; somehow, I don’t quite understand it myself. Anyway, we are human until our first death. If our first death is from an act of violence and not a natural one from old age, then we are re-animated; I guess you could call it, at that point. Spike is correct. He saw me suffer a gunshot wound to the heart. However, at that point, I had already been around awhile. That was another immortal that you saw me fighting with by the way.” Nodding to Spike. “Soon after he must have left the scene, I awakened in that damned field free to continue my existence.”

Rona walked back up to her Watcher staring him intently in his eyes. Then she turned back around, getting a permissive smile from Spike, spoke, “Well ain’t that something. I’ve got the coolest Watcher. One that I can kill in training and everything! Cool man!”

With that, everyone relaxed. The entire troop piled into the “let-us-not-announce-our-arrival-limo.”

“Hey, Ahab.”

“Hey, Bleached Wonder?”

“I thought I told you that we didn’t want to go around announcing to the world that we had arrived here in Cleveland. This limo just screams ‘subtle’ to me,” Spike quipped.

“Well, Ode to All Things Peroxide, we had to fit all of us into one vehicle, and seeing as how we were coming from a private hanger, I did not think a beat up Honda would say, ‘Yeah we can afford the parking, storage, and the costs of a private jet.’ Come on man, lay off. Wait until we get to HQ.” Xander pleaded.

Spike observed his charges and the rest of the group. Next to him on his left sat Connor, tense but heart rate steady just like a warrior. He was observing as well, but also looking out the tinted window. On his right was seated Illyria.

On the side seats next to Connor sat Gunn and Rona. They were whispering and flirting. Perhaps Gunn should stay in Cleveland with Rona to heal when he departed for Rome. Be good for the lad. He had heard that Gunn and Fred had been a couple long before she and Wes had started having feelings for each other. It was good to see him at least approaching a happy smile. And Rona who had never cracked a smile, except after that potential excursion when he and Buffy left the girls to fend for themselves in the crypt with the newly risen vamp, was showing one through her eyes.

Opposite them sat an obscenely snuggled Faith and Wood. She was draped over his body like he was the dark chocolate to her vanilla, making them one of those Hersey Hugs or something. Could he give it a Buffy and Dawn ‘ewww.’ He now could appreciate what Rupert felt like during the whacked out ‘Will Be Done’ spell that Willow had cast those many years ago. Unfortunately he wasn’t blessed with Rupert’s blindness, and as for his hearing. Bloody hell.

Xander was sitting on the opposite end, back facing the driver, on the same seat as Dana and Adam. Xan was pulling on Dana’s pigtail bobs or whatever those things stickin’ out from her head were called. She was beaming at him and relaying all the carnage that she had brought forth in Los Angeles. Watching the way the whelp brought out the playful side of the formerly deranged murderer softened his undead heart just a tad for his former roommate.

Adam was staring out the window seeming to pay no one any attention whatsoever. However, Illyria, he noticed was staring intently at the Immortal Watcher. Her face conveyed a look he had not seen since the Time Bomb incident when she thought they had sought to destroy her completely.

He whispered, “What’s wrong, Blue?”

Without removing her stare, Bluebell whispered back, “That one. I know that one somehow from when I laid entombed in that well with others of my kind. At times when violence reigned, images floated around me. That one and three others riding horses brought destruction and terror wherever they played. He made even demons tremble in fear. He rode a white horse. He was Death. Apes, such as you, had only begun to cluster together in what you now call cities when that one began his reign of terror.”

Adam shifted his gaze to Illyria seemingly having overheard her whisper even though no one else had; either that, or he felt that they were discussing him. He quirked a cocky smile and nodded at the Goddess.

Spike contained his shock. He knew that Grandma was around during the last great demon age, which what over 8000 years ago. She could not possibly mean that the being sitting so casually across from him was thousands of years old. No she must be mistaken. For if she was correct, he shuddered at the thought of his young vampiric-self trying to match such an old one. But then again he wondered if any vampire had ever attempted to turn an immortal. Something he would definitely have to ask later.

The limo had arrived at some suburban street. As it turned the corner, he looked out onto the houses that lined the street. The car slowed, and Spike took in an unneeded breath. Both Blue and Con looked at him strangely. But they didn’t understand what he was seeing.

Before the car had come to a complete stop, he leaped from the car, unmindful of the sun’s deadly rays. Thankfully, Con or someone threw a blanket on him and rushed him to the porch. It was Xander. Hastily saying, “You’re welcome to my home, Spike,” thereby shattering the barrier keeping him out, Xander rushed him in the house.

Inside he remained gobsmacked. Too many shocks to his system in the last twenty-four hours. His mind could not take much more, he thought. For here he was standing in the exact replica of 1630 Revello Drive down to his tree in the front yard and the furniture layout inside.

Faith had appeared beside him. “I know it’s freaky, with the whole déjà vu thing and all, but you get used to it, Bleachy. Everything’s five by five.”

**end chap 7**

A/N: In 1906 a pint of beer cost approximately 2 pence (2d). 240d or 240 pennies = £1. 12d = 1s (shilling) and 20s = £1. A guinea is 21 shillings. An upper middle class gentleman (not landed gentry) would approximately earn roughly £700 yearly. So to estimate £1 would pay for approximately 120 pints of beer for Spike back in the 1920s! Credit for this information: http://www.victorianweb.org and http://www.victorianlondon.org. For the information regarding Charles Lindbergh’s first solo flight: http://www.charleslindbergh.com/history/paris.asp.

Spike was standing in the foyer with Slayer’s den just to his left. Without turning, he knew if he looked to the right, he would see the dining room table and chairs that many a dinner was served in a destroyed Sunnydale. Before him lay the exact same stairs; where he could almost envision the sight of Buffy, newly returned from Heaven, wearing her white button down blouse. Over there was the spot he had cornered Buffy during their secret relationship, well to him it was a relationship, while the Scoobs were in the next room only to be interrupted by Glinda.

He heard Faith, but his mind was not registering any of them. As he moved into the den that had the same color scheme, the same furniture layout, the same fireplace, more memories flooded his mind. Babysitting Dawn, watching Passions, even that first sit down with Joyce when she had learned of Buffy’s calling and his true nature.

However, he did notice that the pictures he was expecting to be displayed weren’t. Still, this was all wrong. This wasn’t Joyce’s house. This wasn’t Buffy’s house. Everything was destroyed and rested in the bottom of a crater once called Sunnydale.

Eyes flashing amber, he turned angrily on Xander, grabbing him by the arms. “What the bleeding hell, have you done Harris?”

He felt both Rogue’s and Con’s hands on him, trying to restrain him. Much to his displeasure, Ahab was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Calm down, Fang breath. Ease up will ya? It’s my house, and I wanted a reminder of the only place that made me feel at home. Don’t tell me this doesn’t make you think ‘home.’ I know that it does.” Xander calmly responded.

Jerkily releasing him, Spike huffed unnecessarily not wanting to give Xander the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

Xander continued, “Besides I wanted to make sure that these future Slayers knew where it all began, well sorta. Once you look around, you’ll see that really it isn’t the same. I have more rooms in the back and on the second floor, which comes in handy for any emergency Scooby crisis. And that’s good for you…‘cause you’ll be staying here for the night.”

“S’alright Con. Rogue, let go of the leather.” He refocused on the rest of the group. Charlie and Blue had moved in behind him while Rona, Dana, Adam, and Wood skirted around the edge more into the center of the room behind Xander. Unconsciously, the two cliques had once again separated into their camps, and Spike had to inwardly smirk at this.

Regaining his cool, he decided to give the replica house a closer inspection trying to keep his emotions in check. He had remembered Pinks telling him about her Watcher crying over pictures of his Ahn, and once he cleared his memory-vision, he noticed several pictures of Demon Girl. How had the whelp recovered these? Spike walked over to one, feeling the Whelp’s eyes on him the entire time.

“She was a right bird. Miss hearing her prattle on about money and vengeance.” He looked over at Xander, who was focused solely on the photograph. Bloody hell, first the house and now the pictures of the Demon bird…Harris was making a shrine to Sunnydale. Bloke was wallowing in his grief, and no one was seeing it. Just like Willow after Oz that time.

Xander seemingly shook himself out of whatever thought he was having and responded with a goofy grin, “Yeah, my beautiful Ahn. And wouldn’t ya’ know my stupid girl died saving Andrew. Anyway, welcome to me casa. Dana can show you to your rooms later. Right now, we need to catch up on a few matters, don’t you think.”

As everyone was placing the baggage in the dining room, Gunn moved in close to Spike and whispered, “So this is what the Summers’ house looked like? I always wondered you know. I never made it to Sunnydale. LA was always my scene.”

“Yeah, Charlie boy. Bloody shrine’s what Harris has done. I’d say in all my dealings with the First, this about tops that. If the First would deign to appear as a house, I would almost think I was back in its bloody clutches.” Spike confided.

Gunn placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’m here if you need perspective, Spike. But for now I’ve got me a fine honey to cuddle up to on that sofa in there. Excuse me.”

Spike smiled as he watched Charlie saunter back in the direction of the den. He felt a presence at his side. Adam.

“I need to speak to you privately before the main festivities. I have some information for you that the others do not know and can never know.” The Immortal Watcher dourly eyed him. “Come, I’ve already told Xander that I need a moment with you, before he begins. He will detain the others.”

“Where do you propose we talk in private in this house? I know this house, nowhere is actually private.” Spike asked, careful to keep the hesitancy out of his voice. The whispered words of Illyria were still replaying in his mind. Who was this bloke, really?

“No, you knew the other house. Harris from what I gathered has changed a lot of the back of the house. Just these front rooms copy the one from the pre-Cleveland Hellmouth days. Come, there is a study.”

With a shrug, Spike followed. Adam was not lying. After the stairwell, the rest of the house was designed differently. They entered a study--the Whelp has a study--that was obviously a Watcher’s oasis. He could have easily pictured Rupert here, but Ahab was an entirely different matter.

Xander had amassed quite the collection of dusty tomes; a fully complete Watcher starter set, but in the corner displayed proudly behind glass, and backlit, were his Star Wars Action Figures and Babylon Five Collector Plates. Either Xander had shipped them out before the final days, or had restarted his collection afterwards. He had remembered Xander being so proud of those damned plates when they had been forced roomies after he first got the chip and he had worn out his welcome at the Rupert’s. Ah, the smelly, fruit rollup basement, with the plethora of Hawaiian shirts. Brando said it best, “The Horror.”

“Ahem,” caught his wandering attention. He turned his focus onto the other individual in the room. He found him propped up against the desk, having removed his camel colored long overcoat that had previously hid his sword. If Spike believed in all that color mojo, then he would have suspected someone had switched the playbook without telling him, sneering internally. For he here was wearing all black – a good guy, as if that wasn’t worth a chuckle; and then there was Adam over by the desk was wearing a white-Heather cable knit sweater with khaki pants – the quintessential white hat but was he really? That was the question of the moment?

“Ah, yes, I see, you’ve noticed our host’s priceless collection. What Americans consider art these days! Although I do sort of appreciate watching Star-Gate on occasion.” Pausing for a moment, Adam continued, “I need to tell you about Kristophe, how I know about him, what else I know, and lastly who I really am. First let me assure you, that in this matter, I have my own reasons for wanting in on this hunt. No, I personally have never had the pleasure of meeting either Miss Summers or her dear sister, but I have had the pleasure of correspondence with Dawn. She is really quite the intelligent, young lady, a voracious researcher.”

“Whoa there, Ben, Adam, whoever the bleedin’ hell you say you are. Just because we shared a few pints back in Paris don’t mean I’m gonna let you go on about my Nibblet. So shut your gob about her.” He wasn’t about to let this ‘immortal’ bugger even discuss his Dawn. He didn’t have the right. Arrogant prick.

As he began to pace the floor of the library, his questions kept on piling. “Alright, you mentioned a Kristophe. Who the bloody hell is Kristophe?”

Adam looked dumbfounded. “Why, he is the one you call ‘the Immortal,’ of course. Kristophe is his given name. He has had several throughout his lifetime actually, as have I.” At that statement, he cast a smile back at Spike. “However, Kristophe is his real name. He is an Immortal, and there is but one true way to kill him. Unfortunately, you will need me to do that for you.”

“Sod off you gormless tit! That bastard apparently helped the Senior Partners get a hold of my girls, and mate, that makes him mine.” Spike practically screamed this demand back at Adam.

“An Immortal must kill another Immortal.” He sighed as if he was teaching a remedial pupil in school and had given this lecture time and time again. Spike figured he probably had. Adam began to mutter more to himself, “True, a human or I guess another being, such as yourself could get lucky and kill one of us the proper way, but the quickening is lost, and that is entirely unacceptable at this stage of the game.”

“Quickening? Game? Is that it? Are we some lesser beings here to be toyed with while you Immortals play your games? You shite!” He was putting a sword through this guy’s heart…just for the pain of it, knowing it wouldn’t kill him, but it would make him feel a lot better.

“I wish Duncan were here, he could explain it better. Of course you two, would both go in balls to the wall after the damsels without a plan, which is why he needed me, why my former brothers needed me til I betrayed them for Duncan.” Spike noticed that the Immortal Watcher stared off into some haunted past from which he was still trying to recover. His voice was almost timid, alarming Spike at first, “I’m sure you can appreciate this, as I’ve read your tale in what Rupert has written, but also the unofficial accounts from the potentials, Andrew, Dawn, and Faith. You’re born. You grow up in a hard existence, not quite fitting in, and not really understanding why. Three older boys suddenly start to take an interest in you. Sure you are the smartest of the four, and you figure that is why they need you, but you don’t really care as long as they need you. It feels good to be part of something. They teach to ride, to do unspeakable acts and enjoy them. I was a Horseman. I became the Most Feared, for I rode the Pale Horse, and I was Death.”

Adam paused. Spike felt he should keep quiet, because he knew he would be continuing his story soon. “We raided countless villages, laid waste to thousands of communities, raped and pillaged and looted. We took, because it was all ours, don’t you see. The life of a horseman. Until she came. Cassandra. We had rode into her camp, destroyed her entire people, including her. She of course was one of us. I waited for her first rebirth to immortal life; you know what that is like. Feisty wench tried to stab me right off! Fiery green eyes that matched her disposition. For some reason, I did not treat her the way I normally treated our other spoils. I kept her for myself, and she in turn began, I believe, to care for me. Unfortunately this move of mine did not go unnoticed, Kronos made his move. In order to not be killed myself, I had to deny her, and she was taken out of my care immediately. She escaped. Funny thing, for millennia, I thought she was dead. Then she appears at Duncan’s, sees me, goes into vengeance mode, and tries to do me in. Bloody women! Further complicating matters, Kronos had reappeared along with my other brothers, Silas and Caspian, both of whom I had long thought were dead; unfortunately they weren’t, and Kronos released them. The Four Horsemen rode again!”

He snickered, “You thought Angelus cornered the market on being a right bastard, just know he could have been properly schooled by Kronos. He saw Duncan as an obstacle to their getting me to return to their ways, and the bonus that Cassandra was in town was too great an opportunity to pass up. Had to play both sides close to the vest, fortunately I chose Duncan.”

Methos, ‘Death’ stalked over to the bar cabinet, opened up the mini-fridge, took out a beer, raised his eyebrow in offer to grab one for Spike, threw one to him, and then moved to a comfy chair to sit. “My real name is Methos. Please do not let anybody in the Watcher’s Council know that Methos and I are the same.” Spike nodded in agreement, for he felt like when would he ever tell the Wankers’ Council anything anyway. He twisted off the top of his imported beer, impressive choice of Harris, must keep it on hand for Adam…Methos. Feeling the cool liquid soothe his throat, he felt better just having the bottle in hand, if nothing else, he could beat the bloke over the head with it once it was empty.

Now that he was Methos, his demeanor changed, and Spike could see the inner warrior that had waged war millennia ago. “So mate, how old are you, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

“Working on 5000 years, give or take a few years.”

Drawing an appreciative whistle, “So what’s with all the secrecy about being Methos? Hell of a better name than Ben or Adam.”

“Well the Council has it in their minds that if I really existed, being that I’m the oldest, living Immortal, I would be quite the find. Furthermore, imagine the embarrassment having me under their bloody nose for years without any of them being the wiser. In 1984, as Adam I graduated from their Academy to study Immortals and to become a Watcher. I maneuvered myself into the task of compiling the Methos Chronicles, to separate fact from myth, as many of my colleges who are now dead, due to the Immortals/Renegade Watchers Wars and then the Caleb explosion, believed he (I) was a hoax. With this plum assignment, I was able to control what information flowed about me. However, the Cassandra and Kronos debacle blew not only my human cover but also my Adam Immortal identity as well to those in that division. Here’s some bitter irony, I had my own Watchers assigned to me.”

He had closed his eyes for a second. Spike figured that whatever had happened must have been bad. His past dealings with the Council proved they were a bunch of Wankers; Travers was no great loss to him. So for this guy to have infiltrated the lot, knowing his chance at exposure could bring him a world of trouble raised his estimation of him slightly. What surprised him was that the Council has this supposed separate division he never knew about dedicated only to immortals. Who knew? And here, the tosser Kristophe, what a pouncy name, was holding himself out to be the only one. Right bastard!

Methos’ continued, “I had severed my official dealings with the Watcher’s, but those of us that were part of the Immortal section bore these tattoos.” He raised his sleeve slightly to show a blue Celtic-looking circle contained a weird W. “If you see this, you know it is one of us. However, there are still some of the renegades out there, so we have to be cautious. Years went by, I went sort of underground, only keeping contact with a certain trusted member of the Council – no before you ask, not Rupert. Anyway, after the bomb that destroyed HQ and incidentally my three Watchers, my friend contacted me. He informed me what Rupert Giles was trying to establish and how I could be of assistance. When I came here, Rupert knew of my research skills, and he needed trained watchers, fortunately the records containing the information about my expulsion were in the building and were never recovered. I had a clean slate again, until you threw a spanner in the works.” The last was said with a smirk.

“My heart bleeds for ya, truly.” Finding a chair of his own to settle in, he sat and asked, “So Methos, tell me about the tosser Kristophe and what else it is that you know. I plan on lettin’ the kiddies rest the night, but I don’t intend on wasting my time dawdling here in Cleveland while Evil Incorporated is holding my girls. So get on with your tale.”

“Spike, before I tell you more about Kristophe, let me put your mind at ease about one thing. I have a friend watching out for Buffy and Dawn.”

“Wot?”

“Hopefully, if all goes to plan, he’ll be making contact with them soon. Then he’ll give me a status update. I expect to here from him within the next few hours.”

A/N: Inner thoughts are in italics. Dialogue credited to BTVS: ‘Chosen’ and my own ‘Poetry Slam.’ This chapter contains sexual situations, so purely NC-17…but then again the whole fic is rated that, but I wanted to emphasize this.

~@~@~@~@ (Rome, Italy)

Curled up on the green plush chair in the makeshift sitting area, Buffy reflected on the past 24 hours.

When Dawn had first awoken, she was still drowsy from the drug these ‘lawyers’ had given her. Buffy had scoped out a medicine cabinet and found some aspirin, but she wasn’t about to trust any medicine they put forth. Instead, she found a washcloth, wet it, and used it to cool Dawn’s forehead hoping to prevent any headaches.

Dawnie, of course, wanted to seriously put a hurt on anyone and anything when she became fully aware of what had happened. Learning that the Immortal helped kidnap them royally brought her Summers’ temper in; full force. Her eyes flashed with a hurt that looked so much like Spike’s it tore at her heart even more.

Neither of them liked him at first. They had moved to Rome for Dawn’s studies. Buffy had been emotionally numb since Spike’s death, well romantically at least. She did feel free to do things she never thought she would be able to do, like travel, and see Europe. The only downside to having that freedom was she didn’t have Spike by her side.

She tried to put on a brave front like she always did. Only Dawn really knew how she cried at night; how the nightmares of repeatedly seeing his hand ignite in hers and him telling her, “No you don’t. But thanks for saying it,” haunted her, night after night. But even Dawn didn’t know about that last night, the night before she lost him.

***FLASHBACK***

Standing across from him in her basement, he stood before her. She knew that he would be happy to merely hold her for the night as he had the past several nights. As he stood there, she could almost picture the man he once was, the man he had become, and the man he was destined to be, and it astounded her. He had done it for her, to be hers, to be given such a gift, and only now here at the end to really appreciate it. But still he stood there, anxious to see what her move would be. Here stood the man, yep, no longer just a vampire to her, a man who pieced her back together the other night and helped her regain her confidence when she so desperately needed it, he was always there. He never left, only that one time, when he went out to get a soul for her.

Standing there, she realized that yes, she loved him, the whole package, and tonight she would show him.

Buffy had caressed his cheek, then moved her fingers to the curls on the nape of his neck, “Kiss me.”

He had smirked before pleasuring her with one of his knee quivering kisses. God, he could kiss. She had learned that during Willow’s ‘Will Be Done’ spell but foolishly tried to deny it for so long afterwards.

Pushing him back onto his cot, she removed her white sweater. She hissed as she felt his cold hands rub her nipples through the material of her simple cotton bra. And just like that, a flood of wetness dampened her panties. He could arouse her in the simplest of ways, sometimes with just a look, sometimes watching him fight, and now here with his touch.

He leaned forward nuzzling her stomach and growling, causing wicked sensations throughout her body but especially to her most sensitive.

“Spike,” she moaned. Leaning down, she nibbled his earlobe, which always drove him to distraction.

“Slayer,” he sing-songed back to her. Using his hands, he swiftly undid her pants, and she kicked them somewhere to the side. Then he ripped her underwear from body.

Damn. Oh well, if she died tomorrow, she wouldn’t need to shop for more anyway. She tugged at his black tee shirt that seemed permanently attached to his rock-hard body. Whimpering got his attention, and he complied by raising his arms for her to remove his shirt. Oooo…delicious. She bent down to taste the skin on his chest, teasing one of his nipples.

At that, he flipped her onto the cot causing her to momentarily lose her breath. While she recovered, he had already removed her bra and had one nipple in his mouth tweaking the other between his thumb and finger. His demin-clad cock was hitting her clit. Damn! What are his jeans still doing on!

As much as, oh yes, that felt good, she really wanted to feel more of him, but he wasn’t pushing the issue due to what had happened last year. Trailing her fingers down his back, to his waist, she manipulated his belt buckle and unzipped his jeans, releasing his cock into her ready hand. He stopped with a questioning look in his eyes. In answer to his question, she began to move her hand on his cock, to use her feet to push down his jeans, and eagerly press her lips to his in a hungry kiss.

When she broke the kiss for much needed air, he moved to kiss and nip at her neck and breasts. Again he gazed up, but this time his face contained a demon’s mischief. Oh, she was in for it now! Even though his lips were cool, her skin seemed to sizzle with each kiss as he moved further down her torso.

The menace teased her with that talented tongue of his, swirling it in ways that reminded her of Heaven. Pulling on his bleached locks, she locked her knees around his head, so happy that he didn’t need to breathe. She had so missed this! Trembling, she found herself coming hard into his waiting mouth. Of course, he had to smirk at her, coated with her juices.

Jerking him back to her lips, she kissed him tasting herself. Before he could get settled, she flipped him to where she was on top. Smiling wickedly, Buffy grabbed his cock, positioned herself over him, and then slowly inched herself down onto him. His girth stretched her walls, and his length reached her in places no one else ever had reached.

His eyes had rolled back in his head, and his hands strayed to her hips urging her to move. Varying the pace, she started to ride him quicker placing her hands on his chest for support. Spike shifted his hips, raising himself to a seated position, and kissed her lips.

Sitting astride his lap with him nuzzling her breast, a sudden urgency overwhelmed her. She needed more. She needed to tell him, show him, and give herself to him. Purposefully slowing her rhythm, Buffy waited for him to turn his sapphire eyes up to her face.

Studying his face, wanting to savor each moment, she whispered, “I want you to make me your girl.”

For a moment, he eyes shone, but then dulled. “You don’t mean it, luv,” he replied.

His expression echoed the same one he had after she told him she was just using him after she had helped blow up his crypt. God, could she have been any more a bitch. Watching Spike quickly cover his true emotions, Buffy realized just how emotionally scarred her vampire really was, and her heart felt heavy with the guilt of her contribution to those scars.

Inspiration struck. The words came to her; she suddenly knew what to say. She urgently whispered, “Yes, I do. I want it more than anything. This may be our last night. I am yours, William. I am yours, Spike.”

Keeping her slow rhythm, Buffy watched as Spike shifted into his beautiful game-face. She had always secretly thought that for some reason he always had the most beautiful vamp face, even when she first met him.

“Tell me you love me,” he pressed as his pelvic bone hit her clit.

Could he read her mind? Did he know that she had just thought of that moment too? Should have known he would have that memorized, but she’d surprise him by showing him that she did too! Not able to stop the smile forming on her face, she replied, “I love you. You know I do.”

“Tell me you want me.”

As she said this, she allowed the truth to fill the words, she hoped he picked up on it, “I always want you. In point of fact…”

“Good enough.”

Buffy felt his fangs enter neck where it had been marred by the Master and Dracula. Even though her Slayer instinct should have been screaming at her for allowing him to bite her as it had the three previous times, this time her Primal Slayer self arched closer to his fangs.

After she felt out him pull her blood from her body, he demanded, “MINE.”

None of her previous bites had been anything like this. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, in time with pace of their bodies joining, his cock hitting her cervix. Spike’s hands seemed everywhere at once – her arms, her breasts, her back, her hair, her ass, her stomach. All the while his tongue lapped more blood, each time causing a deep pull in her loins.

What? Her Primal Slayer instructed her. Licking her lips, she latched her teeth onto his alabaster skin. Biting harder than probably necessary, she smiled inwardly when his blood pooled into her mouth. Swallowing a bit, she removed her mouth to clearly state, “MINE.”

Spike growled in her ear, and her womb quivered in responding climax as his filled her. Her inner muscles squeezed and milked his cock for the last of its spendings. Meeting his stare, she found love in his sapphire depths.

***End of Flashback***

Later that night, she had coaxed him into marking her over Angel’s bite. Now she rubbed both sides of her neck through her black turtleneck sweater.

The first few hours after being rejoined with Dawn, she went into recognizance mode. Searching the prison apartment, she discovered hidden cameras and microphones. When she had ripped out the first microphone, Miss Voice had immediately squawked that she stop removing them. Two burly, but Italian-suited goons entered the apartment, guns drawn, with a techie-type, who replaced the mike.

Earlier, she had also found one camera in the bathroom, which she promptly had obliterated into a million little pieces. Now it was a safe place to at least shower and pee. No one was going to tape her Dawnie using the bathroom. That was just too much!

When Miss Voice had come on, she let her have it with both barrels. Asking Miss Thang if she would like her own lawsuit about taping an underage girl basically in the realm of pornography, not to mention additional damages of taping her without her consent. She had listened to Willow rant about child internet pornography many times, that it she guessed had soaked into her brain, because legal jargon spewed out of her mouth, enough that Miss Voice, Miss CEO of Evil Lawyers, Inc. shut the hell up and didn’t replace the bathroom camera. Score one for the Buffster, Buffy the Evil Lawyer Slayer!

Still microphones were embedded in all parts of the furnished prison apartment, so they had to be careful about their conversations. If they truly wanted a private conversation, they went to the bathroom and turned the water on full blast, but nevertheless keeping their voices lowered.

Buffy came out of her reverie as the door to their cell opened, and two men entered. Both men were different from those who had come before; however, that wasn’t unusual. One pushed a food cart; he was heavy set, and looked stupid, in an old black-n-white movie comedy ‘stupid crook’ sort of way. He obviously deferred to the other one who walked with a cane.

Mr. Cane had salt and pepper hair cut messily short with a beard to match. Unlike the others at this firm, this guy wore a worn heather-gray wool jacket and jeans. Also unlike the others, he looked straight at her. This drew her attention even more to him, which made her realize that it wasn’t a limp that caused him to walk with the assistance with the cane; he wore prosthetics on both legs.

“How did you lose your legs?” she couldn’t resist asking. She knew that all her conversations were monitored and that these ‘helpers’ were directed not to speak to her. None of them had, so she just had to see if she could get this one to.

“Little lady, now that was a rude question.” He hobbled over toward her. He then motioned to Stupid to bring the cart over to him. To Stupid, “Wait for me at the door, I need to correct Miss Summers on her rudeness.”

Buffy at first couldn’t believe that he responded to her question and then got suspiciously angry at what he implied to Stupid. Dawn had noticed the unusual interaction and had moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to a defensive position behind her. Good.

“Miss Summers, and ah, I see your sister has joined us.”

“Leave her out of this, don’t speak to her,” she interrupted him.

“Of course.” He lowered his voice noticeably; “Damn it girl, wise up and play along. You think just anyone here would speak to you.” Louder, “Miss Summers, it is rude to address me in such a manner. And here I am to serve you a nice dinner of your favorites.”

Buffy closely observed as he raised the lids to one of the entrée plates, his wrist sleeve raised just slightly showing a weird looking blue tattoo with a Celtic looking circle enclosing a blue W, but more importantly inside the lid cover was a note. She looked up into Cane Man’s face and saw an urgent but kind expression on his face.

Opting to play along as if she didn’t see the hidden note, she coyly said, “Oooo goody. Look Dawn at the yummy goodness, aren’t we fortunate! So how did you lose the legs?”

“Vietnam.”

“Oh, sorry.” Buffy actually felt a little tinge of regret, but then again this guy was working here for her abductors. Regardless of what he said in the lowered voice, she’d been played too many times in her recent history to just listen to someone who told her too. Yep, Rupert would be proud. Heh, Spike would be even prouder. Spike. Her heart ached for him; but now was not the time to dwell on what she would like to do when she finally saw him again. Well, if he’d let her that is.

“Well, you’re highness, you and the princess will be so happy to know that I’ll be your regular server from here on out. Franz, who doesn’t speak any English,” he said with a nod, “will be assisting me. You can call me Joe.”

“So Joe, what d’ya know?” she giggled.

She couldn’t help it. His name just brought out her inner Xander, and God what an awful image that conjured in her mind. Yuck. Oooo, Snoopy dance. I wander if Spike would do a naked Snoopy dance for me…yummy naked Spike parts, dancing.

Her mind felt a definite sharp rebuke, as if Spike was telling her, ‘No bloody way in hell!’ about the Snoopy dance. Well, that was certainly different. Okay no time to focus on what that meant, back to business. Be serious Slayer Buffy now.

Joe and Dawn were both looking at her strangely. She must have zoned out there for a second. “Sorry, must be the low blood sugar. You were saying?” Dawnie kept giving her a weird look, so she tried to signal to her to leave it alone for now.

Joe continued, “Like I said, I’ll be by later to collect the plates. My ‘boss’ will be happy to note that both of you look well.” Buffy again felt that when he said ‘boss’ he wasn’t meaning Wolfram & Hart or Miss Mysterious Voice. She had to find a way to read that letter without the monitors catching her doing so.

“Oh yeah, confinement just does wonders for our complexions. I hear it’s the latest spa treatment. Don’t you, Dawnie?”

“Umm, yeah, Buffy…what you said.”

“I will see you later, Miss Summers.” With that Joe departed.

“Buffy, what in the world….” Buffy brushed her bangs away from her face, interrupting Dawn. That was their signal to stop any conversation until they got to a safe spot.

“Dawnie, let’s just see what exactly we have to eat first, okay.” She gave her one of Joyce’s best ‘I want no arguments young lady’ looks. Dawn immediately took the cue, realizing the seriousness of the look and the request behind it, and joined Buffy at the food cart.

Carefully lifting each lid off their respective plates, Buffy saw that each dish contained either her or Dawn’s favorite foods. She did not flip the lids to look underneath them in case the hidden cameras had zoom lenses. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to covertly feel under them either to see if any others possessed a note. Stacking them could ruin ink possibly, so she took each one over to the bed. If Dawn found that odd, she didn’t let on, because Dawn was already digging into one of her dishes.

“Ummm, Dawnie.”

With her mouth full of food, so typical Dawn, even more mature, “Mm…yeah?”

“I’m just going to eat on the bed tonight, okay. I don’t feel like eating at the table. I’ll be sure to clear off any crumbs.”

“M’okay.” Said Dawn, taking in another forkful of food.

Buffy helped herself to a small plate of her favorites and settled herself on the bed. She made a big production for the cameras of arranging the lids to serve as a makeshift food tray, which enabled her to feel underneath each one. Those that didn’t have a note underneath, she stacked on top of another.

Two had notes. Those she surreptitiously slipped into her long-sleeved black sweater. Hey, she did learn Spike’s slight-of-hand! Fake stretching; she made sure they stayed in her sleeves, while she ate.

Finishing her food as quickly, but as unsuspicious a manner as possible, which was extremely hard to do, Buffy made her way to the bathroom.

Opening the first note, she gasped in surprise. Quickly flushing the toilet to cover her gasp, she began to read.

The heart that now only sees half of everything sends his regards. Friend of Eve’s husband.
I’m one who records & keeps a diary.

That note ended due to length of paper, she quickly unfolded the second.

Remember Cleveland Rocks!
An Observer
Turning on the sink, Buffy began to cry. Xander! This guy, if this wasn’t a trick, was sent by Xander and Adam and on top of all that was a Watcher. She and Dawn were no longer alone here. Relief filled her body, as her tears ran down her face.

Upon hearing the sink, Dawn came into the bathroom.

“Buffy, are you okay?” she said loudly for the microphones in the other room.

“No, Dawnie, I think I have an upset stomach. Too much good food.” Buffy responded equally as loud. She handed over the notes to her to read.

Wiping away her tears, she watched as Dawn’s face went from incredulity to barely contained elation. Nodding after Dawn mouthed in question, “Xander? Adam? Watcher? Joe?” She ran and hugged Buffy tight.

Drying her tears, Buffy signaled to calm down. Running water over the notes, Buffy wet the paper and swallowed them in order to assure herself that no one would find them. Putting her arm around Dawn, together they returned to the main room more hopeful about the future.

A/N: Here I officially disclaim that I do not own Joe Dawson. He is the property of Highlander: The Series and Davis-Panzer Productions.

A/N: Much thanks & patience to my beta Always_jbj. Stephi & Jesse this chapter’s dedicated to you both. Thanks for keeping me encouraged to write even when I felt like curling under the covers and sleeping.

(Cleveland, Ohio)

Methos cell phone buzzed from his coat pocket, he crossed the room to retrieve it as he said to Spike, “Hopefully, this will be news.” Answering the cell, “Pierson, ya? Good. So made initial contact…how did they seem? So the contact worked getting you inside. Wonderful, well he owed me a huge favor. (Smiling) She asked what? (snickering) Right. Straightforward isn’t she!?, Too bad, old man; she’s way too young for you. Besides a certain vampire would take offense, Dawson, if you tried your rock-blues musician play on her. He’s got that whole punk rock idol look going for him old man.”

Spike arched his brow listening to Methos’ description of him to some guy who was in contact with his girls. Earlier he had felt her have the most revolting, disgusting thought ever, and he had been an author to a few in his hundred plus years. First he had clearly received the image of the Whelp doing that hideous Snoopy dance of his, which then sickeningly morphed to a naked version of him doing the exact same dance. No bloody way in hell! He felt he needed a shower, just at the thought of being so closely connected with anything Xanderish, especially whilst naked. Fuck!

Tuning back into the conversation Methos was having with this ‘Dawson’ person, he focused intently on the relieved vibes he picked up from Methos. Clearly whatever Dawson was telling him was good news. This meant that Buffy and his Nibblet were at least physically unharmed. However, he was royally ticked off that he had to learn about his girls from others, instead of just relying on the Claim.

Since he had been hit with that first real feeling of connection with Buffy on the plane, he had been testing out their link through the claim. True, it had been well over a year since they had claimed each other. It was weak. Hell, he hadn’t even known until then that it still worked! Like a muscle that had atrophied from lack of use, the power of their claim just needed to be exercised. So he began trying to just feel her, reach her in some way. And what does he get for his troubles…an image of Xander’s Snoopy dance and then him performing the same dance naked! Bugger!

“Thank you, Joe. Talk to you in say two hours. Alright.” Clicking off the phone, Methos shared a tiny smile that Spike supposed he’d used to woo his women throughout the centuries. “That was Joe Dawson, the only Watcher that I trusted for a solid decade before throwing in with you lot.”

“And he’s the one you were hinting at earlier, the one who told you about Giles and whatnot?” Spike asked.

“Yes. Joe is, well you’ll be meeting him, so you’ll see…he’s quite unique…not the typical Watcher by any definition.”

“Well Ripper didn’t turn out to be Travers’ pride and joy either, come to think of it neither did Wesley.” Spike countered, unsure what Methos was trying to imply. Although he really didn’t understand why he rose to defend Rupert like he had. He was still right cheesed off at Giles for slamming the phone down on Peaches when they were trying to save Fred. Habit? Must be being in this damn replica house.

“Quite. I only meant, in our little circle, Joe was never to have revealed himself to his charge, which was Duncan. He did. He also plays a mean blues guitar, and owns his own club. You’d really enjoy it.” Methos seemingly glided from his chair to the door to the study. “The others will have started to wonder about us by now.”

Tilting his head, Spike had picked up angry snippets from both Connor and Gunn just a few moments earlier. Sensing Illyria and Connor approaching the door quickly, he cautioned, “I’d open the door now if I were you, Adam.”

Methos quickly heeded his warning, throwing open the door and jumping out of its way, right as Connor ran shoulder first into the room almost tripping on the rug. Illyria stood stoically at the entrance to the study examining in turn Connor, Methos, and then Spike.

Laughing, “Brilliant technique, Connor! I give it a 7.5 on execution, but full marks on comedy effect. Blue? Something we can do for ya?”

Spike swore for a brief moment Illyria’s skin suit flickered a deeper blue as if warning him of her anger. Shifting her icy gaze at Methos, Blue said, “Connor seemed agitated that this Immortal kept you separated from him. I too felt this alien sensation you refer to as concern. It makes my skin crawl like little ants marching. I did like it. These new humans are strange. The one you call ‘Rogue’ keeps exchanging mouth fluids with her companion. ” Cocking her head to the side, “You say you are Adam. You are not. I have seen you fill fields with the blood of innocents and ride the mount of Death.”

Spike saw Methos pale and start to back away from Blue towards his sword. Connor had risen to his feet, confused but ready to battle. Fuck, things were going to get all bollixed up quickly if he didn’t stop it now.

“Bluebell. Everything’s aces, luv. Adam and I have an understanding, and yeah, I know who he really is now. No need to get all ‘Old One’ over me, though I do appreciate it. Could cause a bloke to get all sentimental. Now Con, you haven’t known me long, I realize that, but use that noggin of yours boy. Don’t be all like your da. Barging in here, not knowing the full situation. Could have gotten yourself killed, and that would have been just brilliant now wouldn’t it?” he said trying to look scolding but couldn’t quite pull off the look. Hell, who the fuck did he think he was he kidding? He’d gone into to situations knowing a damned sight less.

He added, “Now Illyria, please close the door. Adam, my nephew and this Old One can be let in on your secret. If you don’t want the others out there to know, that’s fine with me, but if you’re going with us, then I insist that these two know. Gunn, I’ll worry about later. He’s going to need to stay here. He won’t like it, but he won’t have a say.”

Spike could tell Methos didn’t like it, but he didn’t give a shit. Behind the closed doors of that study, Methos retold Connor and Illyria his own tale.

**** 10 minutes later ****

Emerging from the study, the four of them reentered the den area. Gunn and Rona had snuggled on the couch. Dana was sitting on the floor doodling on a pad of paper. Xander was in a green comfy chair talking to Gunn. Faith and Wood had pulled in extra seating from other rooms it seemed just to accommodate the extra people.

Connor took a seat beside Gunn on the couch. For some strange reason now that Methos had confirmed his identity, Blue appeared to exhibit actual fascination, an emotion he would never have thought to see expressed by the usually impassive goddess. Perhaps it was Methos being the next oldest person in the room, or perhaps he saw a spark of Fred’s old scientist instinct. Spike watched as she followed Methos if not physically at least with her eyes as he purposefully found a chair opposite her.

Spike simply leaned against the wall, as was his habit of late. “So, Xander, you’ve been all promoted to big Watcher now. That little Slayer of yours was a right surprise in LA. So were Roni and Rogue.” Pinky smiled brightly at him. Chit still gave him the shivers. “Ta for them helping out and all, but unless you’re going to help us on our way to Rome, I’m not clear on why we’re here.”

Xander slow smiled in response, “And now I remember how much I hated you. Well, Mr. Formerly Evil Dead, I’ll accept your thanks, cause hey I know how much you hate saying it to me. But how I feel about you and how you feel about me isn’t important right now. Buffy and Dawn, they’re the important ones. Now, I’ve got some information about this Immortal and more about Buffy & Dawn’s kidnapping.”

“Right then. Go on, tell me who I need to thrash.” Spike said slowly.

“Okay. First off, the Immortal was up to his Gucci shirts in this. Adam has a contact who hacked into the Immortal’s bank records. Guido received a sizable wire transfer from the Lobo Corporation about three hours before Dawn was grabbed at school and Buffy was taken from her apartment. The sleaze actually took part in Buffy’s…” Xander began.

Before Spike could say anything, Adam piped up. “For those of you who don’t know, the Immortal has a name. Kristophe. He makes like he’s the only one of us running around, but to the rest of my kind he is a joke. He shies away from others of our kind, which is why he is still running around at the moment. Also the Lobo Corporation if you haven’t guessed is a shell company for Wolfram & Hart. Lobo, of course, means wolf. The arrogance of this firm astounds me. They haven’t really even tried covering their tracks. My informant traced back other transactions between Lobo and Kristophe. He’s secretly been receiving payments for some time; especially in the last six months, ever since Buffy came into his sphere of influence.”

“That bastard! He accepted euros to court my Slayer?” Spike began pacing the floor, his anger coming off of him in waves. “First he made me a cuckold with my Dark Princess, and now this indignation! Who the bleeding hell does he think he is?”

“Easy there Uncle, we will all make this Kristophe pay for his audacity.” Connor’s hands on his shoulders stopped his pacing. When he looked into his nephew’s eyes, Spike saw fire and anger there. His nephew actually cared that his ‘uncle’ had been made furious. In such a small amount of time, this boy had decided to love him unconditionally, and his undead heart swelled with that realization.

“Ta, Con. That we will.” Spike smiled and ruffled Con’s hair.

“Watch the hair!” Connor fussed, trying to tamp it back down into place.

“Oh no! Not another one! First we suffered through the Master of Hair Gel, then the Bleached Wonder, and now here’s the Miracle Son who must have that ‘I’m misunderstood and complicated scamp hair,’” cracked Xander. Just like old times, Xander had come to the rescue by delivering the perfect remark to break the tension in the room. Slowly the Slayerettes began to giggle, the laugh that Charlie boy had tried to suppress bubbled forth, Methos was smiling even though he hadn’t known Peaches, and even Wood cracked a smile in his stoic façade.

“Mr. Eye Patch, you’re so funny,” said Pinky as she held her stomach laughing way too hard. Poor bint didn’t know good humor; he’d have to fix that. Bugger, when did he start liking the psycho?

“Pinky luv, Captain Ahab has sheltered you. You poor girl, having to listen to his feeble attempts at humor.” Spike joked.

“Bite me.”

“Ummm. As tempting as that may be, you’re not my type, monkey boy.”

Methos cleared his throat, “Yes, well this banter, witty such as it is, does not get us closer to Rome now does it. Now, I’m sure that Spike and Xander can go round and round with this, but really now, wouldn’t our time be better suited to planning the rescue of the Senior Slayer and her sister?”

Spike suppressed the urge to sarcastically retort, and apparently Xander silently agreed to do the same. Xander immediately sobered his expression and continued, “We believe that the layout of all the Wolfram & Hart offices are the same. Spike, when you and Angelboy went to Rome, was that the case?”

“Yeah, Whelp it is. How did you know Peaches and I traveled to the Eternal City?”

“After the G-man sent for Dana, he kept tabs on Angel’s whereabouts. You know he never really trusted Angel after Ms. Calendar. Learning that Soul Boy was heading up Wolfram & Hart didn’t exactly give any of us warm fuzzies. However, his info wasn’t great, cause he didn’t know about you. Well then again, if he did, he didn’t tell us. But I think that the Big G was as much in the dark as the rest of us. He just reported that Angel and some associate traveled to Rome. I think whatever guy he had on Dead Boy had no clue about who you were.” Xander explained. “It wasn’t until later that I figured out just who the mysterious blonde associate was. Which I’ll go into later.”

“I think ol’ Rupes knew about me, especially after Fred.” Spike huffed. Yes, when all this finished, he would have his moment with the ‘Big G.’ Now though he had to focus on his Goldilocks and Nibblet. “Layout should be the same. Gunn, do you still have any knowledge left that the Senior Partners crammed into that skull of yours?”

To his credit, Gunn looked startled and embarrassed at the question. “Yeah. I don’t believe they can take it away after what that doc did to me. Rome branch might have resourced their bottom floor different than Los Angeles. But the Senior Partners demand conformity, that’s why all branches look the same. If we were to enter Hong Kong, Berlin, Moscow, or any other branch… the set up would all be the same.”

Spike tried to recall all that he could remember about the law firm’s lowest level. “Wasn’t the basement where Peaches locked up that tosser Pavayne?”

“Yes. Angel made a special storage unit for him. You know I believe other rooms were down there, but that place creeped me out. Even living on the sewers of LA is better than that. Oh sorry man. I’m sure they are okay. Ilona wouldn’t harm them. They’re assets in what she probably deems are ‘negotiations.’” Gunn offered.

Adam interjected, “My friend has seen first hand that Buffy and Dawn Summers are in perfect health. He’s managed to charm ‘Miss Hell in High Heels’ as my friend calls her. He making sure that nothing happens to them while they are there.”

Faith piped up, “Good. Nothing better happen to B or the pipsqueak.”

“Faith, calm down. Xander and Adam haven’t finished. Buffy is strong. Dawn’s feisty. Everything will work out,” soothed the Principal running his hands over Rogue’s arms. Spike watched their display with revulsion. Rogue could do so much better than that wanker. For now though Rogue had calmed.

“So Monkey boy, not that this little get together hasn’t been delightful, but I could have been well on my way to Rome right now had we not had to stop to listen to you blithering on.” Spike felt his irritation grow. He needed to be moving, doing something. He wanted to rescue his girls, and then yell at Buffy for being so bleeding stupid. Not that he hadn’t learned some helpful morsels about the Immortal, but he still wasn’t closer to his Slayer or his Nibblet.

For just a moment Spike noticed a shift in the ponce’s attitude. The hairs on the back of Spike’s neck started to tingle. Whenever Xander had that look, trouble only followed, at least that had been his experience in Sunnyhell. What he knew for certain was, he detested that gleam in the whelp’s eye.

“Oh, Captain Peroxide, I’m so sorry that returning the slayers here inconvenienced you on your way to probably storming into Rome’s office and getting everyone killed. Your plans always worked out so well in the past, didn’t they?” The whelp rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered, “Ahn give me patience.”

What Ahab said next shocked Spike to his very core. “Look Spike, you’re really going to hate what I’m about to tell you now. I believe I know how you are back from the ashes.”

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