Chapter Seven
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.
A/N: Inner thoughts are noted in italics. Also, French is denoted in italics.
***********
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 Spike's trademark gesture,
which everyone noticed.
Spike felt everyone’s eyes on him. However, he was lost in thoughts of times
past.
***Flashback****
(Paris, France May 20, 1927)
The bloke before him little resembled 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'd overheard a radio broadcast while he'd killed
some poor bugger 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, 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?” Spike prattled, 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. 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 had 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. Have you ever been? No? Someday, if you 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?” Spike asked, 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 shock, Spike sputtered, “£6! Why that’s outrageous!” Even though he
was secretly 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. Do forgive me, sir.”
Looking through his lush lashes while he sipped on his beer, giving the appearance
of composing himself, Spike watched as this Ben assessed the moderately well-to-do
suburb of London that he had just mentioned. The bloke was falling for his play.
Ben had nodded to his two French companions, neither of whom Spike had 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 the man's 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, unaware 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.
Spike 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 among 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, he lowered his
head in a coy-like manner as he shuffled through the crowd. He wanted to appear
to run into Ben sort of unexpected-like. With a bump into the chap’s shoulder,
and a muffled “Oomph,” he knew he'd 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 very 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, the 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 Spike 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 plumed from Luca's gun barrel as Spike
jerked him backwards. Too late, he saw that Ben had been shot in the heart by
Luca’s gun. Vamping, he drained Luca, who had a decidedly bad taste.
Afterwards, he'd 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, 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,” he said, 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, and 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 didn't 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 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 I
depart 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
Hershey 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 sticking 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, Spike noticed that Illyria 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 shifting 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 was 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 into 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 an exact replica of 1630 Revello Drive, right 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 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.
Chapter Eight
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 on 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, 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 gather, 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 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 to 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 I bought into
all that color mojo, then I would suspect someone had switched the playbook
without telling me, sneering internally. For here he was, wearing all black
– a good guy, as if that wasn’t worth a chuckle; and then there was Adam over
by the desk, 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 'Stargate'
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, just 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.
“All right, 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
back at Adam.
“An Immortal must kill another Immortal.” Adam 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!” Spike was ready to put a sword
through this guy’s heart right now … just for the pain of it, knowing it wouldn’t
kill him, but it would make Spike 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, and 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 you 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 Adam 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'd
ridden 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; 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.”
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 of having had me under their bloody noses 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
colleagues 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 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
Spike's estimation of him slightly. What surprised him was that the Council
had this supposed separate division he never knew about, dedicated only to immortals.
Who knew? And here, the tosser, Kristophe - what a poncy name - was
holding himself out to be the only one. Right bastard!
Methos continued, “I had severed my official dealings with the Watchers, 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 that 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 – and 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 at the time of the explosion, 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 into,
Spike sat down 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 hear from him within the next few
hours.”
Chapter Nine
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... 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 brought her Summers temper royally on, in full force. Her eyes flashed
with a hurt that looked so much like Spike’s, it tore at Buffy's heart even
more.
Neither of them had liked the Immortal 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'd tried to put on a brave front, like she always did. Only Dawn really knew
how she cried at night; how the nightmares - 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 next move would be. Here stood the man - yep, no longer just a vampire
to her - a man who had pieced her back together the other night, and helped
her regain her confidence when she so desperately needed it; he was always there.
He'd 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, breathing, “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 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 spot.
“Spike,” she moaned. Leaning down, she nibbled his earlobe, which always drove
him to distraction.
“Slay-er,” 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 the 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 so that 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 faster, 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'd 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 just 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'd always had the most
beautiful vamp face, even when she'd 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, hoping he'd pick
up on it, “I always want you. In point of fact…”
“Good enough.”
Buffy felt his fangs enter her 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 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 now? 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 reconnaissance
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, 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 how she'd like being sued for taping an underage girl without her consent,
and basically in the realm of child pornography? She had listened to Willow
rant about child internet pornography so many times that she guessed it had
soaked into her brain, because enough legal jargon spewed out of her mouth that
Miss Voice 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 kept 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 cane for assistance; 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 he
said, “Wait for me at the door; I need to correct Miss Summers' manners.”
Buffy at first couldn’t believe that he'd 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 of 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 there.
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'd said in the
lowered voice, she’d been played too many times in her recent history to just
listen to someone who told her to. 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, your 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 possibly ruin the ink, 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 each other.
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 in 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 the length of the 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 for Dawn 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 Dawn 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.
Chapter
Ten
A/N: 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 author to more than 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 to 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. All right.” Clicking off the
phone, Methos shared a tiny smile that Spike supposed he’d used to woo 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
the way, just 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, Spike said, “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 that 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 not 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, she addressed Methos: “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.
“Easy, 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 adopt a scolding look, but he couldn’t quite pull it
off. Hell, who the fuck did he think he was kidding? He’d gone into 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 more 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 Spike 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 slowly 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 Spike's 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
a 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 was. 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 was 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 in the sewers of
LA is better than that. Oh, sorry man. I’m sure they're okay. Ilona wouldn’t
harm them. They’re assets in what she probably deems ‘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's 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
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.”
Chapter Eleven
Chapter 13