Things That Go Bump in the Night

Things That Go Bump in the Night
continued

**********
Chapter Twelve
**********

Spike carefully wiped the blood off his face. This was all *way* too much. Angel had hit him before, that basically went without saying. His Sire had done far more to him over the years than ram a fist through his jaw. This time, however, one hit had broken his jaw. He hadn't felt, no *been* this bloody vulnerable in 120 years. It scared him, and that pissed him off. He didn't like being scared. He was supposed to be the one causing fear, not the one feeling it.

He heard footsteps in the hall outside the bathroom, and it was all Spike could do not to spin around and drop into a fighting stance. He felt out of control, weak, defenseless.

He slowly turned his head just as Adam entered the bathroom. The man leaned against the door frame, stuffing his hands inside his jeans pockets. He wondered if it would be even possible for Adam to look any less threatening. He didn't think it was. He snorted when it hit him. That was exactly the point of Adam's posture.

Spike straightened and turned, leaning back against the counter. For the first time since being turned, he just needed to talk. His problem was, he didn't know, exactly, what it was he wanted to say. This whole situation had turned his world upside down. Nothing he'd held true for over a century made sense anymore. Of course, after the eye opening discussion downstairs, he knew *why* it didn't, but that didn't stop him from feeling lost just the same.

He'd had only one example to use to judge how these things went for vampires who suddenly got reintroduced to their souls, and he wasn't reacting that way. Truth be told, well, thought anyway, he was seriously freaked. The problem with that was, he didn't want anyone to know, not even the man who was, essentially, in the same fix he was.

"I don't think I'd ever get used to this," Adam said quietly.

**That's *my* voice, Damn it!** Spike tilted his head questioningly. "What?"

"Not having a reflection," Adam replied waving toward the mirror. "But even more, seeing my reflection, only not in front of me."

Spike let out a short bark of laughter, turning back around to face the mirror. "I'm having about the same reaction seeing any reflection in front of me. I keep thinking I need to turn around and face the person standing behind me. But as to the first, there's more than one reason vampires don't have mirrors in their homes." Reaching up, Spike traced his fingers across the twin faded white scars on his neck.

"I saw these heal right after I bit you. They faded to scars inside a couple of seconds. But I have to say, being on the receiving end of the healing is completely different."

"Yeah," Adam acknowledged. "Seeing it and living it are two very different things."

Spike turned, smirking. "That sounds like the voice of experience," he drawled. "Don't tell me you've undergone some odd transformation recently?"

"There's one thing we haven't talked about yet," Adam said, completely ignoring Spike's raging sarcasm.

"One thing!" Spike exclaimed, feeling his face heat when his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "One thing?" he asked drily.

"Yeah, well, one important thing," Adam ammended with a chuckle.

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You know what's dangerous to you, but I have no idea what's dangerous to me? Or did Hollywood actually get something right for a change?"

"Oh! Don't even go there. Especially don't get Peaches started on *that* subject." Spike grinned. "You ready for the rundown?"

Adam grimaced, but nodded.

"One, we don't have to sleep in coffins. We can be up and around during the day. We just have to avoid direct sunlight. That'll send us up in flames. Which brings us to fire. Fire is also deadly."

"Painful too," Adam noted drily. "I think I'd avoid that as a matter of course."

"Yeah, well, vampires are especially flammable."

"Got it. Avoid sunlight and fire."

"The other things you need to worry about are: wood through the heart, doesn't matter how big a piece...well, unless you're a *really* old vampire."

"How old is 'really old'?"

"Older than the body you're wearing."

"In other words, hopefully it won't ever matter to me."

Spike nodded. "I've heard tell that once you reach a thousand, you start gaining extra protections, but you also start changing physically before then." Spike grimaced "I met one vampire old enough, and no, I don't know how old he was exactly, to have cloven hooves for hands and feet."

"Holy water and crosses will burn, not like fire burning, more like acid burning. Usually those two things don't kill, but suffer enough damage from them and you'll be just as much a pile of dust as by sunlight."

Methos frowned. "Seems like you got the better end of this switch."

Spike blinked at him in surprise. "You'd think so," he replied, unconsciously echoing Methos' earlier comment.

"Anything else?"

"Well, garlic isn't any fun. It won't kill you, but it stings like a bitch if you eat any of it."

"Well, at least it has a distinctive scent."

Spike shook his head. "Not to vampires. You'd think with our increased senses we could smell it a mile away, but for us it's practically odorless."

"So, any natural enemies -- or personal ones, for that matter, that I need to worry about?"

"Other than the slayer? Nope on the first. As to the second," Spike smirked, "lots."

Adam groaned and rolled his eyes. "Great."

Spike shrugged. "A master vampire always has enemies created along the way. There's no way round that. And since the chip, and me teaming up with the slayer, I've made enemies of demons I haven't even met. Of course, the fact that the only way I can get a good spot of violence is to beat up on other demons certainly hasn't helped make me any friends."

"No, I imagine not," Adam replied. "Sounds lonely."

Spike frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "It is," he found himself saying, the words out before he even thought to stop them. "So," he continued suddenly, speaking quickly. "What about you? Any personal enemies?"

Adam sighed. "You live long enough you're bound to make a couple."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"It was a yes," Adam admitted, "however, all but one of my 'personal enemies' believe I'm permanently dead."

"That's helpful," Spike laughed, suddenly throwing an arm around Adam's shoulders. "Cheer up, mate. Let's go get us something to eat, because quite frankly, I'm starving! Then, I can go out and find myself a witch."

"No."

Spike frowned, pulling back. "No?" he asked, glaring.

"You can't go out by yourself, not--"

"Oh, that! For a minute I thought you were refusing to eat."

"Eat?" Adam asked confused. "Oh, no not that . . . Oh!"

Spike watched as Adam's face drew into a scowl. "You *will* eat, mate. It's not your body to starve." Rolling his eyes when Adam started looking a little green, Spike threw lay his arm back across the reluctant vampire's shoulders. "Don't worry about it so much, Adam. Just close your eyes and forget about what it actually is, and your taste buds will do the rest."

Adam glanced at him skeptically.

"Your brain may be protesting, but I'd bet just about anything that your mouth is watering, and just thinking about eating you're having to fight the change."

Adam remained silent, not refuting his challenge.

"Thought so. Come on."

They were halfway down the stairs before Adam spoke again.

"I suppose I've eaten worse," he offered weakly, not stopping his slow pace. "But I was awfully hungry at the time."

**Worse?**

Spike thought about asking what Adam thought was worse, but decided even he may not like the answer. If a non-demon said they'd eaten worse than blood, *he* didn't want to know what worse was. Things with six or more legs came instantly to mind, along with all sorts of possibilities that were covered with slime.

"Okay," he responded with too bright cheer, and an attempt at a smirk. "I don't think we need to expand on *that* topic. Besides," he continued, "I want to get out of here. I want to take advantage of the one *good* thing that's come out of this exchange."

"What good thing is that?"

"I get to go out during the day, and *not* turn into a big pile of dust."

"No, that's what I was saying earlier. You can't go out without me around."

Spike pulled away again. "Listen, mate, I know this is your body and what all, but I've been taking care of myself for a bloody long time. We can stick together at night, when I have to worry about vampires and the like, but during the day, I figure--"

"Taking care of yourself for a long time, huh? I suppose you can protect yourself from a sword wielding Immortal with millenia of experience, who's trying to separate your head from your body!"

Spike froze, glaring at Adam. "Bloody hell! How old are you to make enemies that old? Or were you just stupid and pissed off someone older than you?"

Adam shifted uncomfortably as they reached the kitchen, and Spike carefully remained silent as the man obviously wrestled with a decision. Reaching into the fridge, he wondered just what had suddenly turned Adam introspective.

"The older an Immortal is," Methos began quietly, pausing until Spike faced him, "the more he or she gains a reputation."

Spike tilted his head thoughtfully. "In other words, the longer you survive, the more skilled you obviously are."

"That's part of it," Adam admitted as Spike returned to preparing the blood. "A larger part of it is the number of quickenings taken. When Immortals fight, the winner receives the losers quickening, and with it his power."

"So it makes you stronger, then?" Spike asked as he punched buttons on the microwave.

"Sort of," Adam shrugged. "We add everything that they were, all of the slain Immortal's experiences and memories, as well as those of all the Immortals they've killed, so on and so on, to our own quickening. It doesn't really make us physically stronger, but it does make our quickening more powerful, more . . . attractive to head hunters."

"Bloody hell! Must make it a mite crowded in that mind of yours."

Adam laughed. "Actually, after the quickening 'settles', it's more of a subconscious knowledge that comes out at unexpected times."

Spike watched the microwave turntable spin slowly, lost in thought for several moments before turning back to face Adam. "Does it change you?"

Adam's eyes widened in surprise. "It . . . can," he replied finally. "Mostly it's just little personality quirks, and those usually subside after a while. It happens more so when the Immortal winner is young, with less of a sense of self to carry them through the experience."

Spike nodded as the microwave dinged. "Makes sense," he replied, setting the warmed mug of blood on the counter between them.

Adam eyed it warily.

"It's pig's blood," Spike said, "in case you were wondering. *Angel* doesn't stock human."

"That helps," Adam answered, slowly reaching out for the mug, "a little."

Spike watched, fighting both laughter and unease as Adam downed the blood as quickly as possible.

Looking faintly surprised, Adam set the mug back onto the counter. "It wasn't as bad as I expected it to be."

Spike grinned. "Told ya your tastebuds would take care of any problems you might have. Although, I *do* have to say that pig's blood tastes absolutely *horrid*!"

"Now he tells me this," Adam muttered disgustedly, glaring at Spike. "However, I have to disagree. While it is something I'm not eager to make a part of my regular diet, I wouldn't describe it as 'horrid'."

Spike grinned. "That's because you haven't tasted human."

"Don't plan on it, either," Adam responded with finality.

Spike let it slide. It didn't look like they'd be switched back immediately, so he had time to work on Adam. Since the body he was in couldn't die permanently from blood loss, he wanted to experience that end of it again. He wanted to find out if knowing you weren't going to die would change the experience any.

"So, this enemy of yours, the one that doesn't think you're toast. How old is he, and what did you do to him? I'm assuming that the earlier age discussion that interrupted the conversation has something to do with it? Are you like prime real estate or something?"

Adam burst out laughing. "Thank you *so* much for not saying that until I had *finished* drinking."

Spike smirked.

"But strange similes aside, you're essentially correct. So I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about the rest of this conversation."

"Vampires are notoriously unreliable in the trust department," Spike readily admitted. "However, as I say it, I mean it. I have no plans whatsoever to mention your age, or the age of your enemy . . . in relation to you, to anyone."

"Cassandra's 'beef' with me, as you put it, is that when she was still mortal, I made her my slave. More detail is not necessary."

"Your worst enemy is a *woman*?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Don't underestimate her, simply because she's a woman," he began.

"Underestimate her?" Spike exclaimed. "I'm seriously considering hiding in the sewers until I get my body back!"

Adam blinked. "Oh."

"Women 'wronged' are the most vindictive creatures alive -- no matter the species!"

"Nice to see *someone* has the proper appreciation for the dangers of Immortal women."

Spike smirked. "I lived with one for 119 bloody years, I should. Well, she was a vampire, but for the purposes of qualifying for the 'dangers of Immortal women', I'd say she qualifies. She could be a right cold-blooded bitch when she wanted to be."

"And you stayed with her that long?"

Spike shrugged. "Love's a funny thing."

"It is at that," Adam acknowledged.

"So this woman you made a slave of has millenia, plural, of experience? I'd say that makes her someone for me to avoid . . . religiously."

Adam snerked.

**And if she's at least 2,000 years old, how old does that make *you* my friend?** Not asking aloud, Spike wondered if he'd ever know, unable to truly appreciate what it must be like to *be* that old. But what he really wanted to know, was how old that was comparatively speaking. For a vampire, 2,000 would be considered ancient, in the extreme, but would it be for Immortals as well?

"Not to change the subject, but to change the subject.... You know this group better than I do, how quickly are they likely to find a way to reverse what was done?"

"Well, on the surface these people seem like a bumbling bunch of idiots, but I'll admit, denying it until the day I'm dusted if you tell them I said it, they somehow combine to make an amazingly affective team. They've averted world apocalypse several times in just the few short years I've known them. If there's a reversal to be found, they'll find it. If there isn't, they'll make one." Spike shrugged. "How long will it take? That's more difficult. It depends on whether or not they have to reinvent the wheel."

"And do you have any idea how accurate Rupert was being about our contribution?"

Spike shook his head. "Well, let's put it this way. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, our fucked up timing rates about a 15."

Adam winced. "In that case, do you know anyone who's good with a sword? I want to get some practice in, wearing this body."

"Peaches is good -- better than I am at any rate. The slayer's not as good as Angel, but also better than me. Back when I might have actually used a sword, I wasn't exactly the sword using type."

After the two of them scrounged something up for Spike to eat, the two of them headed back up the stairs, Spike smirking at him suggestively as they reached the second floor.

"So," he asked, "you wanna shag?"

Adam coughed. "I'm not quite that narcissistic," he replied.

"Your loss," Spike shrugged. "But I suspect I've got time to change your mind," he quipped, grinning as he sauntered off.

**********
Chapter Thirteen
**********

Richie woke with a start, the events of the previous night rushing back to him. He groaned, not entirely sure he believed all that Buffy had told him. He did have to admit, rubbing his jaw speculatively, she *was* awfully strong . . . but vampires? Demons?

Richie curled in on himself as he sat up, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms firmly around his legs. The last time he'd heard about a 'demon', his teacher had almost lost his mind, and Richie had almost lost his head -- *to* his teacher. Maybe he'd been a little rash in saying that he'd stick around until this strange situation got sorted out. Dealing with so-called demons didn't seem the best path toward long term survival.

Forcing himself up and out of bed, Richie glanced at the clock as he headed toward the bathroom. One thirty? Damn! He hadn't slept *that* late in ages. Shaking his head, he grabbed clean clothes and headed for the nirvana that was called a shower. Serious thoughts could wait until he'd woken up completely. His thoughts, however, didn't seem to agree. They stubbornly followed him in. Even the pounding water he'd turned as hot as he could stand couldn't quiet them.

They *had* defeated Ahriman though, Richie thought. Well, with their help, Mac had. And supposedly he had been some sort of 'big bad', *the* evil that showed up every thousand years. That *had* to mean he was . . . out of the ordinary . . . for a demon. What was an every day demon compared to the 'millennial demon'? Couldn't be much . . . could it?

By the time the water cooled enough to force Richie out from under the spray, he'd managed to talk himself out of his fears . . . most of them anyway. Chuckling as he dressed, however, he had to admit that Buffy Summers was a big part of the reason he'd decided to stay -- her and Methos. It certainly hadn't been from any noble desire to face the forces of darkness -- or his own fears.

A knock on the motel room door brought his head up with a snap. **Who?** He jumped up. Maybe Methos had decided to stop by to fill him in on what happened from the Immortal perspective. Jerking open the door, he started in surprise when he found not the temporarily -- he hoped -- blond Methos, but rather a different blonde. "Buffy!"

"Hi," she greeted him brightly. "I thought maybe you might like a tour of Sunnydale, starting with the best breakfast diner."

Right on que Richie's stomach made its presence known, eliciting laughter from them both.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"That's a yes," Richie nodded with a laugh, delaying only long enough to grab his jacket before stepping outside. "First, though, I want to get my bike. Last night, my kidnapper didn't give me time to go get it before imprisoning me in the twilight zone."

Stifling a snicker, Buffy nodded gravely. "That was definitely rude. Maybe you should report her to the kidnapping union."

Grinning broadly, Richie glanced at his companion. "I can see it now," he retorted. "Yes, Sir, my kidnapper didn't allow me to retrieve my get-away vehicle before hauling me off to the land of chaos."

"And you really expected her to?" Buffy asked, her voice pitched an octave lower than normal.

"Well, no, I suppose not, Sir. But, it's a bike. You can't leave those sitting around."

Buffy widened her eyes in patently false shock. "She made you leave a *bike* where *anyone* could take it?"

Richie nodded earnestly, jutting out his lower lip. "She did, Sir."

Buffy giggled, then cleared her throat. "Well, then, *that's* different. She will be severely punished."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Richie mock bowed. "And if I may, Sir, I'd like to suggest her punishment be to spend all her spare time in my company."

The corner of Buffy's mouth twitched as she oh-so-casually let her eyes trail slowly down the length of Richie's body, then back up to meet his gaze. "That's not exactly what I'd call punishment," Buffy replied, her voice still a false baritone. "But, if that is your wish, so be it."

Richie beamed. Away from the concerns of the unexpected, Buffy was fun, and he began to think his stay in Sunnydale might not be so bad after all.

**

Buffy cast several quick glances toward Richard. He was fun, different than anyone she'd met before. He seemed sure of himself, but at the same time relaxed enough to let go and act silly. It was an attractive combination. She grinned, biting her lower lip. **And he certainly isn't hard on the eyes, either,** she thought.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Richie looked at her in surprise. "We bare our souls and our secrets to each other last night, and suddenly you ask that?"

Buffy shrugged.

"Go for it," he offered. "I can always refuse to answer."

"I hope this isn't, like, rude, or anything, but how old are you?"

Richie laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not much older than I look. I'm 25."

"That's cool. So, your first time? Dying I mean. How old were you then?"

"19."

"I thought that's about the age you looked. I was thinking between 18 and 20." Then she frowned a little. "I don't know if I'd like being 19 forever."

"It has its ups and downs," Richie replied, shrugging.

Buffy smirked suggestively. "I bet it does."

"That's *not* what I meant," Richie exclaimed, then added, "but, yeah, that too."

Walking slowly, they filled the time with idle conversation, Buffy reminding herself several times that Richard wouldn't be staying. She sighed. Too bad, that.

"Yes!" Richard cried out, darting forward.

Buffy's eyes widened as she hurried after him. "I didn't realize you meant a *motorbike*!"

"You thought I was this worried about a bicycle?"

"Well..."

Richie just shook his head, squatting down beside the bike, carefully checking it over.

"Did it survive its first night alone?" Buffy asked after he stood back up.

He nodded, swinging a leg over. "Hop on. We're riding to breakfast in style."

Bounding forward, Buffy hopped on behind him, accepting the helmet he handed her. "I could get used to this," she said.

"Ever ridden before?"

She shook her head.

"You don't have to do anything except move with the bike. Relax and don't make sudden movements, or move the opposite direction of the bike."

"Sounds easy enough," she replied, nodding.

"It is."

In front of her, Richie stood, kick starting the engine. "Oh, and you need to hold on."

"To what?"

Richie looked over his shoulder at her, grinning. "Me."

"I can do that," Buffy replied laughingly, winding her arms around his chest.

As far as Buffy was concerned, it took them far too short a time to reach the diner, and reluctantly climbing off, she handed the helmet back to Richard. "Now, I understand what Riley meant," she said, heading into the building.

Richard caught up to her as she slid into a booth. "Who's Riley? And now you understand what?"

"Ex-boyfriend. He used to rave about driving. Not to be going anywhere, but just to drive. I didn't get it. Now I do."

"Bikes are great! I used to race," Richard said, his enthusiasm obvious. "I spent time on tracks all over the U.S. and a few in France."

A waitress interrupted their conversation, supplying menus and asking what they wanted to drink. As soon as she bustled away, they returned their attention to the previous topic.

"So, why don't you race anymore? It sounds like you still love it."

"I died, publicly," Richard shrugged. "Messy racing accident. So Richard Ryan is officially dead in France, and to the racing circuit in general. I stayed in France a while, under a different name, but changed it back when I came home."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was stupid. My teacher warned me against doing anything that draws that much public attention, and he was right."

"Doing what you want to do is never stupid, Richard."

He reached out a hand, laying it across hers. "Call me Richie, all my friends do . . . well most of them. I use Richard for challenges and formal occasions."

Buffy nodded. "Okay, Richie it is, but I meant what I said. Even if you are Immortal, you need to grab hold of the things you love. Never take them for granted. They'll be gone before you know it." Cursing herself, she took a quick drink of her water, trying to hide the fact that memories had brought tears to her eyes. She hadn't meant to cry. Today was supposed to be fun day -- at least until she had to go back to work.

"Sounds like the voice of experience," Richie offered sympathetically.

"You could say that," she replied softly. "Once, there was nothing I could have done differently to change it." She grinned a little sadly. "At least, not without being able to see into the future. "The second time, well, I guess you could say I didn't appreciate what I had, until it was gone."

"You two ready to order, or would you like me to come back?"

"Oh, I'm ready," Richie replied, ordering his breakfast quickly. "You?" he asked Buffy.

Buffy ordered, and when the waitress left, Richie smirked at her.

"A sweet roll and soda?" he asked. "I'm turning into an adult as I say this, but that's not exactly healthy."

"But it's got all three of the necessary food groups," Buffy protested.

"Really?"

"Yeah: starch, sugar, and caffeine."

"God, I've got to remember that one," Richie laughed, "the next time someone challenges *my* food choices."

"Or a variation on the theme."

Richie stiffened, and quickly glanced toward the door.

"What's wrong?"

"Company."

"What? ... Oh!"

Both stared expectantly at the door. When it opened and Doyle and Cordelia strode through, Buffy relaxed.

"Must be Spike," she offered.

"Probably," Richie replied, not looking away from the door, until Spike strode through. He frowned, however, when Adam wasn't with them. Standing quickly he strode toward the trio. "Where's Adam? Why isn't he with you?"

"He's with Angel," Cordelia replied. "Safe as can be."

Spike glared at Buffy. "I thought you were supposed to fill the pup in?"

Richie looked at her questioningly. "Oops. I forgot that part."

"Forgot what part?" he asked of Buffy, immediately turning back toward Spike. "I can't believe he let you out without him."

"Oh yeah," Cordelia retorted. "Control issues, much?"

"He made me bloody promise to stay with these two," Spike replied drily, rolling his eyes and completely ignoring Cordelia, "before he'd let me out of his sight."

The group made its way back to the table just as Richie and Buffy's breakfasts were delivered.

"Do you need more menus?"

Everyone shook their head in answer, ordering only drinks.

"Not a very nutritious breakfast there, Buffy."

Richie and Buffy darted a quick glance at each other, both wearing wide grins.

"Starch, sugar, and caffeine, the three necessities of life," they say together.

Spike rolled his eyes as Doyle laughed.

"So what all have you left out of telling the boy toy here?"

"Spike!" Buffy exclaimed, backhanding his shoulder, at the same moment as Richie exclaimed, "Hey!"

"Oh, excuse me," Spike replied sarcastically. "Where *are* my manners?"

"Oh, they went on vacation decades ago," Cordelia retorted.

Spike grinned, and grabbed his chest dramatically. "ooo! That stung, ducks. Are you sure you're not running low on venom?"

Doyle snorted, earning a glare from Cordelia.

"Spike, leave Cordelia alone." Buffy shook her head. "I don't think I'll ever get used to calling you Spike, not while you look like that. You don't *look* like a Spike now. I know," Buffy said brightly, "I think I'll start calling you William."

"Do and regret it, Slayer,"

Richie quickly held up a hand. "What did he mean by 'didn't you tell him'?"

Buffy ducked, then leaned forward. "He was referring to the fact that I forgot to mention that he was a vampire . . . before the switch."

Richie's eyes widened comically. "Adam's a *vampire*?" he whispered fiercely.

"Fraid so," Buffy nodded.

"Oh, no wonder he was tense when I saw him yesterday. I bet he's *not* taking that well."

"Oh, he's taking it remarkably well. Better than I'm dealing with not being one." Spike smirked then. "He wasn't too keen on dinner last night, though."

Buffy grimaced.

Cordelia shuddered. "Ewww! That was just TMI, Spike."

"Oh, yeah. I have to agree with *that*."

"Not to interrupt this whine fest, but when are we stopping by the Watcher's place?"

"Watcher?" Richie asked in surprise.

"Giles," Buffy replied. "We're supposed to stop by at four. Willow and Tara have been there since they got up this morning. Neither of them had class today."

"Well, why don't we head that way," Spike replied, and standing, he headed for the door. "I want to have a word or two with a certain witch."

Doyle rose, throwing a couple of bills on the table and quickly followed him. "I promised Adam," he explained with a shrug.

Buffy quickly downed the last of her soda, jumping up to follow, also. "Damage control," she muttered cryptically as Richie looked at her questioningly. She reached for her purse, but he shook his head. "I've got it."

**********
Chapter Fourteen
**********

Methos paced restlessly across the length of main room, crossing in front of Angel repeatedly. Each time the reluctant vampire did so, it pulled him from his attempts to read and finally he stood with an irritated sigh.

"How about we have that spar you suggested?" Angel asked.

"Great!" Methos responded, stopping his pacing instantly. A wry smile turned up one corner of his mouth. "I don't like feeling confined."

Angel smiled in sympathy. "I understand the feeling," he said, heading into an alcove. "What kind of sword do you normally use?"

"An Ivanhoe," Adam called out to him, and Angel heard the sound of a sword being drawn.

**He has it with him?** he thought, then rolled his eyes. **Of course he does.** Slipping through a door expertly hidden in the structure of the wall itself, Angel hurried toward a room he seldom entered. Scanning his collection of weapons, Angel grabbed a broadsword he thought should be comparable. He didn't actually have an Ivanhoe. Then quickly leaving and shutting the room back up, he returned to the waiting Immortal.

Adam had moved to the far side of the open area and was gracefully moving in what looked to Angel to be some form of sword kata. Watching closely, Angel noted each time he lost his center of balance by either over reaching, or not applying quite enough force. Even so, Angel had to admit the man was good, certainly better than he was, and he suddenly wondered how well Adam moved when his movements could be done on instinct alone.

Moving forward as Adam came to a standstill, Angel carefully worked his own muscles loose. "That was pretty good," he commented lightly.

Adam shook his head, frowning. "It was utterly awkward. I was completely off balance."

"You expected that, though, didn't you?" Angel asked as he set himself to ready position.

"Of course," Adam replied, matching Angel's stance. "I'm used to being taller."

Grinning, Angel feinted right, swinging left. "You compensated for having a completely different center of gravity, fairly well," he observed.

Adam darted around the swing, not bothering to meet the half-hearted blow with his sword. "Not good enough," Adam rebutted, bringing his own sword to bear, making Angel block, and as metal met metal, he continued. "All 'fairly well' will get me, is dead."

Angel nodded in acknowledgement. The man had a point. He had to deal with facing centuries old Immortals, many of whom had been born to use a sword. Angel supposed the slightest weakness, the smallest chink in his defences, *might* be enough to end his existence.

Angel suddenly set aside the running commentary and put everything he had into the sword fight, finally realizing there had been more to Adam's request to spar than the need to exorcise excessive energy. The man needed to do something to feel less vulnerable, despite his increase in strength and speed. He needed to learn how to move in this body as well as he did in his own, or as close to it as was possible.

Finally, after the fourth time Angel pulled a blow that would have connected, Adam stepped back angrily glaring at him. "You aren't helping me by holding back!" Adam snapped.

"This isn't a true fight to the death, Adam!" Angel snapped back. "I'm *not* going to actually wound you if I can prevent it."

"It'll heal. A sword cut won't kill a vampire, any more than it will permanently kill an Immortal."

"Maybe not, but it *will* take time to heal."

Adam frowned, lowering the point of his sword a fraction. "How long?"

"It depends on the cut, anywhere from a few minutes for a small scratch to a full day or more, if the wound is deep enough. Include multiple wounds and it could take even longer, especially if any were caused by wood or blessed objects."

"Damn!" Adam muttered. "I didn't realize vampires healed that slowly."

"Slowly?" Angel exclaimed in surprise.

Adam nodded. "I figured vampire healing was pretty much at the same level as Immortal healing."

"How quickly do Immortals heal?"

"Quickly," Adam shrugged. "A small cut heals in seconds, and unless there's really massive trauma, or repeated intensive wounding--"

"Such as occurs with torture."

"Such as occurs with torture," Adam confirmed, then continued. "--not much can't be healed inside a couple of hours."

"That will definitely put you at a disadvantage if an Immortal shows up."

Adam nodded pensively.

"Of course, you could simply stay out of their way. They aren't even going to know you used to be Immortal."

"I'm well aware of that," Adam replied tartly. "The problem is Spike. He's in my body, and certainly *not* prepared for Immortal combat."

"True." Angel hesitated to broach the next subject. Knowing it was a sore point of his own, he imagined it would be even more of one for Adam. "There's another factor to consider," he finally said.

"What's that?" Adam asked, turning away to clean and put up his sword.

"I haven't seen Spike in a while, over a year in fact, but he's lost a lot of weight. Add to that the fact that you're eating as little as you can get away with, you're going to slow any healing you may need to do."

"Bloody hell! Fine, I suppose I'll have to put up with the ribbing I'm absolutely sure to get, and ask Richie to play body guard."

"I take it he'll find that funny."

"Oh, he'll find it *hilarious*," Adam replied drily. "I will *never* hear the end of it. Unfortunately, it's something that won't stay just between us, either."

"Sounds like what would happen if I had to ask Spike for this sort of help."

"Just what is it between the two of you?" Adam asked, then hastily continued. "If you don't mind my asking."

Angel drew in a deep breath. "Now *that* is a long story, but the very condensed version is this; I'm his Sire--"

"Sire? As in, you're the one who made him a vampire?"

Angel nodded. "And since I made him more than a simple minion, that makes him my Childe, complete with a whole list of familial connotations. When I was cursed with my soul, I abandoned him -- all my Childer actually -- and that didn't sit well with him. Before then, he was my favorite."

"I take it being 'favorite' made the abandonment even worse."

"Yes, I'm sure it did. Being the favorite Childe of a master vampire is . . . more than being the favored or favorite child of a human. It's difficult to explain. There's so much involved in the relationship."

"Not necessary. What you've told me explains a great deal, not all perhaps, but enough. It's not all one sided, however."

"No, you're right, it's not. I have my own share of anger and resentment. But it's my fault that it started."

"So work on getting it fixed."

Angel's reply was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone.

"I hate these things," he muttered as he dashed for his coat, and the phone secreted in one of its pockets. "Angel."

//Hey, I can't believe it. You actually have it turned on.//

"Cordelia," Angel acknowledged, earning a worried look from Adam and a laugh from the woman on the other end of the line.

//Before I say anything else, tell worry-wort Adam that Spike is fine,// Cordelia ordered him.

It was with a wry smirk that he obeyed. "Adam, Cordelia says, and I quote; Tell worry-wort Adam that Spike is fine."

The tension drained out of Adam, but he cast Angel a dirty look.

"Adam appreciates your comment," Angel lied.

//Angel!// Cordelia exclaimed. //You weren't supposed to quote me!//

"You called for a reason?" he asked, chuckling at her outrage.

//Yes, of course. We ran into Buffy and Richie. We're supposed to meet at Giles' at four.//

Adam stepped forward suddenly, mouthing to speak to her.

Angel quickly ended his conversation with her, handing the phone over to his housemate.

"Cordelia, I need to speak with Rich. Could you put him on the phone?"

//Sorry, can't. He ran ahead with Buffy, chasing after Spike,// Cordelia apologized. //I'm pretty sure he'll be at Giles'. He and Buffy seem like they're fast becoming joined at the hip,// she continued drily.

"Sounds like Rich, alright," Adam replied with a light laugh, handing the phone back to Angel after he disconnected.

"We've got just enough time to get us both something to eat, and the head on over," Angel offered as Adam went silently back to caring for his sword.

With a grimace Adam reluctantly nodded.

**

"I do have one more question," Adam asked as they headed toward the car.

Angel motioned for him to go ahead and ask as they both climbed in.

Once they were both seat belted in and Angel had the car out onto the road, Adam continued. " *Why* does he call you Peaches?"

Angel groaned. "I *hate* that name!"

Adam snorted in amusement. "Another long story?" he asked.

**********
Chapter Fifteen
**********

Willow glanced up from the spell book she was studying. Giles and Tara were still absorbed in their own studies, but as far as Willow could tell, all of it was headed nowhere fast.

Everything was all so messed up. The last time things had gone badly, all she'd had to do to correct it, well beyond making it up to everyone, had been to cast a quick reversal spell. She sighed. If only it would be that easy this time.

"Willow?" Giles asked with a worried look.

"I'm frustrated," she exclaimed, suddenly jumping up from her seat. "There's nothing in these books that's going to help? Is there?"

Giles let go a sigh of his own, and with a quick glance to the page number, closed his own book. "No, Willow, I don't think there is."

"So we start from scratch," Tara offered, looking down when both of them turned their attention to her. "I m-mean you altered the spell on your own. It makes sense that we're going to need to do that for the reversal."

"Unfortunately, I believe she's correct, Willow."

A knock at the door had Giles calling out, "It's unlocked."

Willow smiled at his oblique invitation. While it implied an invite to come in, if anyone on the other side of the door still *really* needed one, they'd be stuck.

The door opened, however, admitting Angel and Adam. Willow shrunk in on herself. She hated how she'd messed up his life most of all. **Okay, Rosenburg,** she thought firmly at herself, **time to bite the bullet.**

As the two vampires crossed the room, Willow reached out and lay a hand on Adam's arm. "Can I please speak with you for a moment?" she asked hesitantly.

Adam nodded once and the two of them stepped into the kitchen for what privacy it offered.

**

Methos turned, and leaning back against the counter, folded his arms across his chest. Watching the hesitant young woman fidget restlessly, he suddenly realized he wasn't truly angry with her any longer. Which considering the anger he was constantly feeling, surprised him considerably. No, what he saw was a barely adult woman coming into her power and learning how to exploit that power. She was learning as she went, and from what he had seen so far, it was without true guidance. Giles might be practiced in the arts, but from the interactions he'd witnessed the man wasn't altogether pleased that Willow was following the path of the mystical arts and wasn't really doing much guiding.

"Willow, before you begin, there's something I want to tell you."

"Go ahead," Willow nodded.

"I'm not angry with you anymore," he began, but held up a hand when she smiled brightly. "But, I do want to say one thing. You obviously have a lot of power. That kind of power is . . . seductive. Before you know it, you'll be able to find a way to justify whatever it is you want to do with it. You have to be careful."

"An you harm none, do what ye will," Willow recited, then ducked her head. "It's part of the Wiccan rede. I really didn't intend anyone to be harmed by this. It *shouldn't* have hurt anyone."

Methos frowned. "And you think casting a spell on someone that will fundamentally change their life -- permanently, without their permission, *isn't* causing harm?"

"But," Willow protested, shaking her head vigorously, "the chip had already done that. I was just trying to make it an easier thing to live with . . . well, and I wanted to help Angel, too."

**Help Angel? How?** Methos set that aside for the moment concentrating on the rest of what she'd said. She honestly believed that Spike would be better off after her interference. "How would adding guilt and remorse into his life make not being able to feed 'properly' easier to live with?" He was honestly confused.

Willow's eyes widened. "I never thought of that part," she admitted, guilt coming off of her in waves. "I just knew that he *hated* the chip, and that eventually it'd wear off. After that, he'd just be . . . crazy."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Angel."

"Angel? He said that?"

"No!" Willow exclaimed. "When the gypsies gave Angelus his soul, they didn't think that was enough. They included a clause in it. If he ever experience a single moment of true happiness, he'd lose it again."

**Talk about vindictive!** "I always thought it wasn't good to piss off the gypsies."

"Oh yeah!" Willow nodded emphatically. "He and Buffy fell in love. It was the kind of love you only read about. You know the kind that never really happens?" Willow blushed. "Well, eventually she . . . uh . . . made him happy."

The implications of the gypsy curse sunk in and Methos paled. "Ouch. Um, why isn't she dead?"

"Angel managed to leave her before his soul left. They both think that's why he didn't kill her."

"Why do I think you don't agree?"

"Because he had chances later," Willow replied. "But he was too busy wanting to destroy her world and everything she cared about first. When Angelus returned, he was," she shrugged, "insane. I guess the demon didn't like being caged, so to speak. There wasn't anything rational left in him. Just the need for destruction. Even Spike said Angelus was over the top bad then. Before Buffy had to kill him, he almost succeeded in sucking the world into hell . . . literally."

"Literally?"

"Yeah, he'd discovered a spell to awaken the demon Acoufla, and open a portal to the demon dimension. It would have merged the two worlds. Not a good thing, in case you're wondering."

"I kind of gathered that," Methos replied drily. "But you just implied she had to kill him to stop him. He's here. . . ."

Willow laughed humorlessly. "Portal opened, she stabbed him with a magical sword, he got sucked into hell, spent centuries there, got brought back. Long story."

"There seem to be a lot of those."

"With this group? Yeah."

"Anyway, Spike -- he wasn't chipped yet -- knew that what Angelus was doing would destroy everything. He teamed up with Buffy, admittedly it was so he could get Dru away from Angelus as much as wanting to save the world, but he did it."

"Dru?"

"Spike's girlfriend. Long story. I don't suggest talking to him about it though. I think he's still a bit bitter about their break up. It's what led to him to coming back here and ending up chipped."

**Was *anything* with these people simple?** "So, I can see how you get from there, to wanting to help Angel and make his soul permanent. I just don't see how you got to trying it out on Spike."

"That's just it. When I first thought of it, I didn't think I'd ever be able to help Angel, because the whole thing would simply be too dangerous to try . . . especially if I got it wrong. Then, one day, I realized something. I *like* Spike. I've never told anyone this part, not even Tara. I mean it's crazy. As soon as that chip is out, he's going to go back to being the 'big bad', and back to being something we have to kill.

"I realized I didn't want that. Which meant giving him a soul. Which also meant, he was the perfect one to try the spell on."

"See what I mean about justifying what you want to do?"

"You don't understand," Willow said sighing in frustration. "I *did* think about it first."

"Did you think that maybe, and I don't claim to speak for him, he might prefer being dead to getting his soul back?"

"Actually yes."

"And you still did it?!"

"I knew what he'd say if I mentioned it. But I also knew what Angelus thought of his soul. He despised it, and everything it stood for. But, as soon as it was back, Angel was glad of it."

Methos sighed. He didn't know why he'd tried. This kind of thing never worked, which was why he'd made it a firm policy never to 'dispense' wisdom. Well, with the exception of one very headstrong Highlander. It was just as frustrating then, but it was also fun.

"Just promise me two things," he said finally, kicking himself for continuing.

Willow nodded instantly.

"Wait until you find out what they are, before you agree," Adam admonished.

"Go on," Willow encouraged, smiling sheepishly.

"One; when researching this spell, honestly try and find a way that ends with Spike *not* having his soul."

"But--"

"I know it may not be possible at this point, I just want you to try."

"Okay," Willow agreed reluctantly. "And the second promise?" she asked warily.

"The next time you get excited about a spell idea--"

Willow winced.

"--set aside that excitement long enough to *really* think about both the effects it will have, *and* the possible effects."

A relieved smile spread across her face and Willow nodded again. "I promise."

"Fine," Adam replied firmly. "You keep those two promises, and we're square. And other than getting me back where I belong, you don't owe me anything -- including another apology."

"But--"

"No, Willow, I know you're sorry for what happened. That's enough. I'm a firm believer that once it's all out in the open apologies don't change anything and they don't help. In fact, I believe they just string out the pain and awkwardness."

As Methos turned to leave, Willow lay a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"What?"

"Thank-you."

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For not judging me, for really trying to understand."

Methos shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not in a position to judge anyone, Willow. I'm just a guy trying to get by in the world."

Willow smiled. "That doesn't stop most people from judging, so, thank you."

*****

Methos glanced around the living room as he and Willow returned. Angel and Giles were in quiet discussion with Tara.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"They'll be here, don't worry," Giles replied looking up. "You two were a little early."

"Unfortunately," Angel said, "they haven't been able to make much progress. There's nothing in the books."

The door opened again, this time without a knock, and Spike strode in followed by all the others.

"Nothing in the books?" Spike demanded immediately. "So what's the what?"

"That is what we were just discussing, *Spike*," Giles admonished. "Do take a seat and listen."

Everyone filed in and found seats, some electing to sit on the floor. Once everyone had, Giles continued.

"We've reached the conclusion that we're going to have to begin basically from scratch . . . write our own spell so to speak. The problem--"

"Told ya," Spike crowed, grinning at Methos."

He nodded, conceding the point, immediately returning his attention to Giles.

"The problem," Willow continued where Giles left off, "is that there is no spell to banish a soul from a living body."

"And since Spike's soul is in *my* living body, that would create a problem."

"Quite," Giles said firmly as he and Willow nodded. "That however, was not the problem I was going to mention, at least not until we had *something* we might be able to do about it. I was--"

"It's too bad Adam isn't Immortal like Richie," Cordelia interrupted, and through his shock at the statement, he almost laughed at the look of irritation that passed across Giles' face.

"Why?" Methos asked.

Cordelia shrugged. "Well, duh," she said, "then we could just kill Spike, in Adam's body, long enough to release his soul."

Everyone stared at her open mouthed.

"What?!" she exclaimed looking baffled. "It's not like he wouldn't come back . . . if he was Immortal, I mean."

Clearing his throat, Methos asked, "That's the only stumbling block?"

"No, not hardly," Giles replied. "It is only the largest one to point."

Methos nodded, if it came to it, he was prepared to reveal his Immortality to the rest of the group. For now, however, he would wait.

"The *other* problem, well, other than the need to create the whole bloody spell of course, is going to be the need to recreate the conditions, as closely as possible, that existed in the first place."

Methos stiffened. "Why?"

"Because none of us capable of casting the spells we're talking about, have enough controlled power to offset, the effects of the blood and sex magic that were involved the first time."

"Sex is magic?" Richie asked, shock cracking his voice.

Several people around him laughed.

"Not, directly, no," Giles explained in a hushed tone. "But when it's included in spell casting it increases the available power.

"Oh," Richie began, and Methos rushed to cut off whatever else the young Immortal was going to ask. Now was not the time to get sidetracked.

"What about the innate power of Holy Ground? Would it have had an affect on the spell?"

"Holy ground has power?" Willow asked in astonishment.

Richie nodded. "Yes, it does. Immortals can sense it."

"Really?" Giles asked surprise coloring his voice. "I didn't know that." Then he frowned. "If it does, I suppose, as ambient power, it would affect it."

"So we'll go to the crypt when we cast the spell," Spike replied, grinning smugly.

Methos frowned. "And just what are *you* so smug about all of a sudden?"

"I told you I'd have time to convince you," he replied, smirking now. "It looks like you're going to find out what human blood tastes like after all."

"How do you figure *that*?" Methos asked.

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm afraid he's correct -- and no I never thought I'd hear myself say that. In order to be sure we don't make things worse than they already are, we need to be as accurate as possible. It was his, well that body's, blood that was spilled, so it has to be that way again."

"So, we use a knife. Spilled blood is spilled blood . . . right?"

"I'm afraid not," Giles replied gently. "I understand your reticence, but it must be accomplished in the same manner as before."

Methos slumped. No, Giles didn't understand. He wasn't at all repulsed by the idea. Combine the blood-lust of the demon within him with the fact that the pig's blood hadn't tasted, as Spike put it, absolutely horrid, made him fear he might enjoy it a little too much.

"Understood," he said without much enthusiasm. Then looked up as a sudden thought occurred to him. How would they keep track of the timing? "Just tell me no one has to be present for the rest of our part in this," his asked, well aware that his voice had taken on a hint of pleading, but couldn't quite keep it out.

"What's the matter, pet?" Spike asked, smirking. "I can't believe you're actually shy. I'm sure you've--"

Methos glared, opening his mouth to cut off whatever Spike might reveal, not wanting to know just what Spike thought he'd done, or why he thought Methos might not be 'shy'. Richie, however, beat him to it, letting out a strangled cough.

"What's wrong?" Methos asked.

"Wrong?" Richie asked, his face turning an interesting shade of red. "Nothing's wrong."

Spike let out a bark of laughter. "I think the boy's just gotten his world view widened a bit," he retorted.

Richie blushed brighter. Then, as Spike groaned, he tensed unexpectedly turning just enough to have a better view of the door.

**An Immortal?** Methos fought down a surge of fear. Nothing could happen here, there were too many people. That was as far as his thoughts reached before chaos erupted.

The door burst open, Richie jumped up, and young Xander stumbled in bloody, bruised, his hand held to his head.

"We have a problem," he exclaimed, wincing.

Methos jumped up from his seat, not stopping until he reached the young Immortal's side. "Richie!"

Keeping a wary eye on the newcomer, Richie half turned toward him.

Methos shook his head minutely, not relaxing until Richie did.

**********
Chapter Sixteen
**********

"I swear," Xander exclaimed, pulling away from Cordelia who was trying to find the wounds beneath all the blood, "for a while there I thought I was dead."

"Xander," Cordelia interrupted. "Is any of this blood actually yours?"

"All of it," he admitted reluctantly. "I don't think I managed to do any real damage to any of them."

"Then where did it come from?" she demanded, almost as if she'd been insulted. "I can't find any wounds."

"Probably got hit in the nose," Richie offered. "It's amazing how much a nose can bleed."

Xander frowned up at her. "When did you learn first aid, anyway?" he asked, baffled by her attentiveness. She'd never been this . . . caring when they'd been going out.

She shrugged. "It's one of the things I've gotten a lot of experience in since I started working with Angel and Doyle."

He started to respond when Giles cut him off.

"We can deal with that later. Xander please tell us exactly what happened."

"I was jumped by a couple of demons. They were big," Xander replied using his hands to show them. "They had horns and their faces were all bumpy."

"Were they slimy?" Cordelia asked.

"No, just big . . . and strong," he frowned. "I don't think they wanted to kill me though," he continued thoughtfully, "at least, not right then. I think they wanted to take me somewhere."

"Why?" Giles asked.

"The first couple of times they hit me," he explained, pointing to his stomach, "I nearly retched from the pain. God! I thought my insides were gonna explode each time they hit. After that though, it was almost like they were pulling their blows. *Not* that it didn't still hurt like hell!"

"How did you get away?" Buffy asked.

Xander shook his head. "That's the really weird part. I shouldn't have. They had me down on the ground and one was pulling out some rope, when two *other*, completely different, demons showed up. I just *knew* I was dead then. But the freakiest stuff started happening. One of the first demons stalked over to the new ones and started yelling."

"Yelling what?"

"I have no idea, Giles. It's not like I speak demon."

"Right, forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

Xander smirked. "That's okay, G-Man. They say memory's the second thing to go."

Xander grinned at Giles' eye roll, and at the chuckles that spread around the room. He didn't usually get laughs for his nervous jokes. But then he shook his head. What had happened tonight was just too strange for him to ignore for long. "It really looked like they were arguing over me."

"Oh, come on Xander!" Cordelia protested.

"No, I'm serious. The two groups got into a fight, and they kept gesturing toward me. I passed out just as the actual fighting started. By the time I came to, two of them were dead, well at least down, and the last two were still fighting. I got away then, while they were distracted."

"You were saved from demons *by* demons?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"Weird, huh?" Xander nodded, then shook his head. "I don't think they were actually trying to save me though. I think they wanted me for themselves."

"But why?" Cordelia asked, "I mean, no offense, but there's nothing special about you."

"None taken . . . I think, but only because I agree. I don't understand it either."

"Angel," Adam asked, interrupting the byplay, "do all demons have as good a sense of smell as vampires?"

"No," Angel replied, "not all, but many do have senses far better than humans. Why?"

Xander wanted the answer to that, too. What did a demons sense of smell have to do with anything? "Hey!" he exclaimed as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Are you saying I smell bad . . . or something?"

"Or something," Adam replied. "I'm new to this extra senses thing, obviously, so bear with me a moment. Before tonight, Angel, did you sense anything different about Xander?"

"There's something different about me?"

Looking startled, Angel nodded. "I couldn't figure out what it was, but then, I didn't hang around him much. We don't exactly get along."

"That's an understatement!" Xander laughed bitterly. "But, again, I ask. There's something different about me?" His voice rose slightly. "Something that vampires can sense?"

Angel gave him a distracted nod before turning immediately back to Adam. "Honestly, I put it off as a demon heritage from several generations back. You know, far enough that there's just enough left to make him seem . . . a little off."

"Me? A demon?!"

"I've sensed it before, in others, but was never interested enough to explore it very far."

"I'm not evil! I fight evil!"

"Not all demons are evil, Xander," Cordelia stated, frowning. "I haven't met one yet that had any kind of fashion sense, but they're not all evil."

"They're not?" Buffy and Xander exclaimed together, staring at Cordelia. "Since when?"

"No, of course not," Angel answered. "Buffy, you do remember Whistler, don't you?"

"Whistler? Who, or what, is Whistler?" Xander asked, confused.

"A demon," Angel said shortly.

"Well, yeah, but--"

"He wasn't just an exception to the rule, Buffy."

"He's right," Giles intervened. "Each species of demon has its own society and rules, and not all of them are evil, in fact, even many of the violent ones aren't, strictly speaking, evil."

"Then why are all the ones I've met evil?"

"Who says you're even aware of all the demons you've met," Spike asked. "Unlike vampires, they don't exactly set off any internal alarms in a slayer."

"Demons, in general, stay away from the slayer," Doyle said quietly, cutting off what appeared to be the coming heated protest from Buffy, "more especially the ones who aren't evil. Slayers are notorious for a 'slay first, ask questions later' mentality."

"Hey, I hate to be the one to say it," Xander said, wondering how the hell this conversation had gotten so far afield, "but I'm with the Buffster on this one. Until I meet a demon that *doesn't* try to eat, maim, or just out and out kill me, I don't think I'm gonna be buying the whole 'good demon' theory."

"Xander," Cordelia began again, "it isn't just a--"

Holding up a hand, Xander cut off her attempt. He just wasn't buying it. "No, Cordy. Show me a good demon, then maybe I'll believe."

Cordelia frowned at him oddly, and he wondered why she was so adamant. He wanted to ask, but now wasn't the time. "For now, however, how about this; I think we've had enough demonology 101. I know I've had enough, and we kinda need to get back on track here."

"Quite," Giles agreed. "Since we're dealing with demons who have actually attacked."

Xander smiled. It wasn't often Giles sided with him, but frowned when he was suddenly the focus of Angel's undivided attention. "What?!"

"He's different now. It's more," Angel said to Adam after several unnerving moments. "More like--"

"Richie," Adam cut in.

Angel's eyes widened. "Yes," he replied. "That's it exactly."

"I'm in the room, guys!" Xander protested, his words falling on deaf ears.

"Annoying, isn't it," the redhead he still didn't know asked sympathetically.

He nodded emphatically. "It most certainly is!" he replied loudly.

Everyone else stopped speaking to stare at the two of them.

"You're Immortal."

"Am not!" Xander denied, pulling away from the stranger.

Adam chuckled, and Xander glared resentfully at him. He didn't like being laughed at.

"Yes, you are," Adam said.

"Oh dear!" Giles muttered hurrying away.

The room fell silent as everyone blinked at Giles' sudden exclamation and hasty departure.

"Why don't I like the sound of that?" Xander asked mournfully.

"Maybe because every time he says it, it means gut wrenching horror, misery and pain?" Cordelia quipped, her fear evident despite the levity of her words.

The entire room sat expectantly as Giles returned, book in hand, paging quickly through it.

"Ah, here it is," he said then began reading.

"Magics cast and gone awry,
and while the many seek to unwind its twisted stain,
another's death rides nigh.

"And in the lonely hour,
when demons hunt the one to source their gain,
one of the chosen's inner circle will become quick with power.

"Steal from those who seek to feed in chaos.
Keep safe the mist of light and rain,
or all still living will feel the loss."

Giles' voice trailed off as he glanced up from the prophesy he was reading. "There's more here," he said, waving vaguely toward the book he held, "dealing with magic, timing, and the actual ritual that applies to this prophecy, but--" Giles sighed, his eyes narrowing in speculation as he stared at Xander.

Xander shifted uncomfortably. He *really* didn't like being the focus of the attention of everyone in the room. It was even worse than having just Angel stare at him. "Can't say as I'm lovin' the sounds of that," Xander quipped, sporting a sickly smile. "But since I can't see how that applies, can we get this Immortal business straightened out please?"

"It's all tied together . . . evidently," Adam said gently.

"How?" Xander threw back at him. "None of that sounded like me. And Immortal? I *so* think not."

"You died tonight," Adam insisted.

"Did not!" Xander exclaimed hotly, jumping up from his seat. "Am standing here very much alive, thank you very much!"

"And hence the term Immortal," Adam retorted drily.

"I'm afraid it's true," Richie said at the same time, glaring at Adam.

Growing more and more uncomfortable with their insistence, Xander rounded on the person closest to him. "And just who are you?" he demanded defensively. "I don't know you. Why should I believe you?" He turned toward Adam. "And I just met you last night. Why should I believe you, either?"

"Richie Ryan. I'm Immortal. That's how I know you are, too."

Xander shook his head. **No way!** Backing away from Richie, Xander wildly glanced around at his friends, looking for proof these two were putting him on. He found shocked, wide-eyed expressions, but no one telling him it was all right. That he really was 'just Xander'.

Panic building inside he scrambled toward the door -- and freedom. As he neared it, however, an image of the demons from earlier popped into his mind and he froze. Shoulders slumping, he reluctantly headed back toward the others. He took one look at the couch, and instantly vetoed sitting back down.

Looking toward Richie, the more sympathetic of his two 'accusers', he shrugged helplessly. "I'm just an ordinary human. I'm nothing special. How can I be Immortal?"

Cordelia and Willow's strangled, "Xander?" went uncommented on as Spike stood suddenly.

Xander yelped, then glared at him.

"I can't believe the garbage you're spewing," he said hotly. "Ordinary human, sure. *That* I'll buy. Nothing special? That doesn't wash, pet."

Xander just stared at him. He couldn't believe Spike, of *all* people was saying these things.

Rolling his eyes, Spike strode toward him anger lacing every movement. "How many 'normal, average' people would jump into fighting evil?"

"Not many," Cordelia scoffed, snorting. "Believe me."

Spike nodded. "Exactly, most would run and cower under their beds. But not you and the bimbo here--"

"Hey!"

"You two have had nothing extra going for you, yet for the last several years you've been hanging around Miss Supernatural Strength and Little Miss Witch, and jumping right into the middle of the fights. And actually saving lives, if I'm not mistaken. If that's not 'special', I don't know what is!"

Xander blinked in shock as Spike sat back down, having said his piece. Everyone around him seemed just as surprised at Spike's outburst.

"Yes, quite well put, Spike," Giles finally said, "but--"

"Yes, BUT," Xander cut in, "Immortals? Immortal *people*. Come on, what do you take me for?"

Adam rolled his eyes, but Xander ignored the man as Richie took off out of the room.

"Where are you going?"

"The kitchen."

"Why?"

"Xander," Adam said, calling his attention away from Richie, "You're telling me you can believe in demons and vampires, but not Immortals?"

"Come on! No one lives forever."

"Vampire's do," Angel commented.

Xander spun around angrily. "Well I'm *not* a vampire."

"No," Richie said, stepping back out of the hall, "you're not. You're *an* Immortal. Most of us *don't* start out life as anything out of the ordinary." He held up a knife and Xander jumped backward, eyes narrowing warily.

Xander could hear several protests rise from his friends, but an equal number of his so-called friends shushing them. **Oh, thanks loads, guys!**

"What is that for?"

"I'm going to prove something to you. Don't worry it's not for you."

Xander nodded, relieved to hear it, but still eyeing the man cautiously. He watched in horrified fascination as Richie held out his own arm, slashing the knife across it.

As time seemed to slow and Xander's focus narrowed dangerously, he noted Cordelia jump up, but Adam grab her arm, stopping her. Some part of him watched as Doyle stepped between them.

Then he noticed nothing but the cut on Richie's arm. Blue, electrical sparks danced across it, and as he watched the cut slowly grew smaller. Feeling like he was moving in slow motion, Xander stepped forward and reached out a hand. Richie didn't flinch as he ran his hand along the out-held arm, clearing the blood away to reveal completely unmarked skin.

Xander looked up suddenly. "Giles?" he asked. Giles would know. He could trust Giles. He held that as the one bedrock of his foundations.

"While I cannot attest to their claims of *your* Immortality, Xander, I can assure you they do exist. What you just saw was an example of Immortal healing. I've only seen it one other time."

Xander jerked his head back to look at Richie. "You don't expect *me* to do that, do you?"

"No," Richie replied, setting the knife on the bar, "that won't be necessary. Think back to when you came in, did you feel funny at first?"

"You mean other than the fact that I'd been beaten to a pulp and felt like hell?"

"Yes, other than that."

Xander hesitantly nodded, thinking back to when he'd stumbled into Giles' apartment. "Yeah, I remember thinking maybe I'd gotten a concussion or something. My head felt weird."

"That was you, sensing the presence of another Immortal."

Xander sank down to sit on the floor, his legs not wanting to support him any longer. "It's real?" The nods that greeted his question sealed it for him. There was only so much denial he could muster. Too much of his life had been spent facing truths that would send sane people running to stop now.

"How?" he asked finally, gesturing vaguely. "I mean, why didn't I know . . . before?"

"Before Immortals experience first death we are completely indistinguishable from other mortals. In fact we *are* ordinary mortals. Violent death is what brings the Immortality into play. No one knows how or why. It just is," Adam explained patiently.

Xander nodded slowly. That made sense . . . kind of. He noticed, however, that Giles threw a surprised look Adam's way and mentally reran what the man had said. Frowning, it took him a moment to kick his brain in gear.

"We?" he asked.

"Oh!" Cordelia exclaimed. "You're Immortal too!"

"How many Immortals are there?"

"I don't know," Richie replied with a shrug, then glanced around at everyone before suggesting to Xander, "maybe we should speak privately?"

"Yes, perhaps that is a wise idea," Giles concurred. "The rest of us can begin research on the demons that attacked you. If you would describe them in more detail before you go?"

Xander nodded, standing quickly. He was all for anything that got him out of research -- not that he didn't like helping, he just didn't think he'd be much help tonight. Too much had happened.

With Richie waiting patiently, he quickly described the demons as best he could, fielding questions from the gang when he wasn't sure. When they finally seemed satisfied, he turned to the Immortal. "So, I guess I'm ready to hear the downside of this."

**********
Chapter Seventeen
**********

Xander sighed. It was a lot to take in all at once -- so much to remember. "I've just got one more question. Why wouldn't my parents have known this?" His eyes widened. "Does this mean *they're* Immortal?!" He shuddered. If they were, what a waste of eternity.

Richie shook his head sadly. "No, not necessarily. Sometimes Immortals adopt pre-Immortal children, but generally it's ordinary mortals that do."

"Adopt? What are you talking about?"

"All Immortals are foundlings," Adam said. "We don't have parents."

"But I'm not adopted!" Xander protested. If he was sure of nothing else, he was sure of that.

With a glare directed toward Adam, Richie dashed his hopes. "Nope, I'm sorry, but you *are* adopted. Immortals don't have parents, and they can't have kids, either," he said gently. "And that wasn't easy for me to swallow."

"Being adopted was?"

"I spent most of my youth in one foster home or another," Richie said. "Until I found about Immortality, I had thought I remembered my mother, but it turned out she was just the best foster mom I'd had." Richie snorted. "She wasn't the first, though."

"I can't imagine," Xander said, "it's bad enough..."

"It's bad enough..?" Richie encouraged.

"Nothing," Xander denied. "It's not important."

When it looked like Richie was going to just let it go, Xander sighed in relief. He didn't talk about his home life -- period.

"So," Adam asked, "you think you're ready to take on your first student, Rich?"

Richie turned to Adam in surprise. "I thought you'd teach him."

"Me?" Adam asked, returning Richie's surprise. "I haven't taken on a student in a long time. Besides," he continued, looking down at himself, "do you really think I'm in a position *to* take one on?"

"Good point," Richie acknowledged, turning back to face Xander. "Truthfully, Xander, I know two people, besides Adam here, who would make better teachers than me, but I don't know how to get a hold of either them at the moment. So, it looks like you're stuck with me."

"Richie, don't sell yourself short. You'll do fine. You were taught by one of the best. That helps."

Xander, caught between watching the two Immortals dicker, suddenly raised a hand, "Student?" he asked. "Teacher? I graduated already. What do I need with a teacher?"

"Do you know how to use a sword?" Richie asked bluntly.

"No, of course not."

"Then you need someone to teach you how to use one, someone to teach you to protect yourself from Immortals who want to take your head."

"Oh, great," he muttered sarcastically, depression settling around him, weighing him down, "just what I needed. Something else to worry about."

The door swung open admitting Buffy and Angel, back from patrol, distracting the three Immortals. But before anyone could so much as greet them, Cordelia squealed.

"Found 'em!" she said, "Well, found one type, anyway."

Everyone converged on the research team, Xander trailing behind, not even hearing most of the discussion. **I'm Immortal -- with a capital I," he thought, his mind still not really grasping the concept. **I have to learn to use a sword, to kill people with it. People, Immortals, I don't even know are going to want to kill me.**

Alone with his confusion, panic began to set in. God! He couldn't do this. There was no way he could learn this stuff. He'd been fighting along with Buffy for over 3 years now, and *still* hadn't learned to hold his own. How was he going to survive?

He felt his breathing quicken, but he couldn't stop it. He was beginning to pant, looking around with wild eyes, not really seeing anything. He just knew he had to get out, get away. He didn't even get as far as rising when he realized he couldn't go out, not out *there*. There were Immortals out there. Immortals who had personal reasons for wanting him dead. This wasn't like demons. Demons he could handle. It hadn't been personal.

Suddenly Xander gasped as strong fingers grabbed his chin and he found himself staring into Spike's blue eyes. **No,** Xander thought, **not Spike, that's Adam.**

"Adam?" he squeaked, feeling *very* unmanly at hearing it.

"Focus," Adam whispered. "Look at me. You're safe. You're in Rupert Giles' apartment."

Xander focused on Adam's words with difficulty, blocking out the thoughts that threatened to drown him.

"Good," Adam praised. "Now, take in a deep, slow breath and hold it."

Xander complied.

"Good, now let it out just as slowly."

Doing so, Xander felt most of his panic slide away. He was still scared, but now, at least, he didn't feel like everything was spinning out of control.

"Better?" Adam asked, releasing his chin.

Xander nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Adam shrugged, moving away. "It happens. Don't worry about it."

And as everyone went back to the demon discussion Richie leaned in a whispered. "It's scary in the beginning. I remember."

"Yeah?" Xander retorted, sarcastic venom coating his voice. "I'll just bet the sword you were born using came in *real* handy dealing with that fear."

Richie shook his head, and Xander got even angrier that he refused to take insult, but the Immortal's next words took the wind out of his sails.

"I'm only 25," he said quietly. "I've only been Immortal for 6 of those years."

"Really?" Xander asked hopefully.

"Really," Richie confirmed.

"Good!"

"Good?"

"Yeah, I don't think I could relate to someone lots older than me."

Richie laughed. "I hear that! My teacher had me beat in age measured in the centuries."

Xander's eyes widened. He felt like he'd been doing that a lot lately, but couldn't seem to stop the automatic reaction. "What about Adam? How old is he?"

Richie shook his head. "That's for him to tell, or not tell. Lets just say he's older than me and leave it at that."

"Hey guys," Willow exclaimed interrupting both conversations. "I've found the ritual mentioned in the prophesy. According to this, it needs to take place two nights from now, the ritual itself ending at exactly midnight."

"So," Spike offered, "we just need to hide Xapper away for the next couple of days, until the 'day' has passed and everything'll be peachy . . . right?"

"Yes, it seems so," Giles said, "But, though the prophesy does seem to describe a new Immortal, it isn't necessarily Xander it speaks of. It *could* be mere coincidence.

"Told you once, Giles," Buffy retorted, "I don't believe in coincidence." She looked thoughtful for a second. "I think I was right that time, too."

Giles hrumphed.

"Besides, it also mentions 'the chosen's' inner circle. Isn't that one of the ways used to refer to the slayer?" Buffy continued.

"Yes, it is."

"Well then, wouldn't it be stretching coincidence just a *wee* bit to think it *isn't* referring to Xander, who happens to be friends with a slayer, who happened to die and become Immortal, while we all just happened to be researching a spell to correct a spell "gone awry"," she questioned, using her fingers to air quotes.

"Yes," Giles admitted, "when you put it that way. It does some rather far fetched that it could be anyone else. The odds of having two pre-Immortals in your circle of friends would be ridiculously astronomical."

"Well," Xander protested, "couldn't they be referring to someone else's chosen? I mean, I'm sure there are lots of groups who call someone 'the chosen'."

No one answered.

Xander, however, noticed an odd look pass from Richie to Adam, who nodded.

"Maybe it would be a good idea if we all stuck together, as a group, until this is over," Adam suggested.

Xander's eyes widened as Giles started, then hurriedly nodded, a scary look of understanding passing over his face. **Who?**

"Yes, yes," he said, "I think that would be a prime idea."

"Where?" Doyle asked practically. "This is a pretty big group."

"The mansion," Angel offered. "It's big enough. Some people will have to bed down on the floor, because there just aren't enough beds, but other than that..."

"No."

"Why not, Xander?"

"Let me count the ways, Cordelia," Xander muttered. "Giles, back me up here."

"Get over it, Xander," Cordelia retorted.

Giles shook his head. "As much as I would rather spend the next couple of days *anywhere* other than the mansion," he said, continuing after the briefest of hesitations, "I do think it the best place for all of us to gather."

"Well, then, since no one else seems to be disagreeing," Cordelia said, standing, "I guess that's it for tonight . . . at least for those of us who *can't* create magic out of words?"

Giles nodded. "Yes. Willow, Tara, and I can join you later. It's still early, relatively. We might still be able to get something accomplished tonight."

Adam rose and headed for the door, "Yes, something that doesn't include the death of my body, if possible," he muttered as he left.

Xander uttered a confused, "huh?" as he followed behind.

"I'll tell you later," Cordelia responded, snickering, thoroughly enjoying Xander's confusion.

"Why do I feel like I've been left out of part of the conversation?"

"Because you did miss part of it," Richie answered conspiratorially. "I believe you were busy being attacked by demons at the time."

"Oh."

**********
Chapter Eighteen
**********

"Richie?" Methos asked quietly, pulling the younger Immortal into the kitchen.

Tilting his head questioningly, Richie followed, leaning up against the counter. "What's up, Old Man?"

Taking a deep breath, Methos faced Richie squarely. "I have a favor to ask."

Grinning broadly, Richie straightened. "Fire away," he said brightly. "What's the favor?"

Richie was going to crow about this, he just *knew* it. Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice in the matter. It could be worse he supposed as he had a sudden flash of MacLeod being the one here with him. He shuddered and focused back on what had to be done. "I need you to stay with Spike whenever he goes out. I need you to protect him for me."

Richie's eyes widened, and broke out laughing, bending nearly in half before he stopped. "No, seriously, what's the favor?"

Gritting his teeth, Methos sighed. "That really *is* the favor. He doesn't know how to use a sword, at least not well enough, and I can't risk getting into Immortal combat right now protecting him."

Richie blinked several times before he responded. "You *are* serious," he exclaimed, then continued quickly. "Of course I'll do it," he said, grinning again.

"Treat him as you would a student." Methos smirked then, continuing. "I'm sure you remember how Mac treated you."

"Yeah," Richie laughed, "I remember it was frustrating as hell, *but* it also felt good when I suddenly found myself out of my depth."

"I suppose it's too much to ask for you to keep this to yourself?" Methos asked, warily watching Richie's expression.

Snickering, Richie nodded. "Oh yeah, it is *way* too much to ask. Besides," he added, "Joe will get a kick out of it. Well, he will after everything is back to the way it should be, anyway."

Richie frowned suddenly, worrying Methos. "What?"

"I just remembered something," he replied. "Maybe we could get him to stay inside for the next two days. I don't think you're gonna want me doing this."

Methos snorted. "No, I *don't* think that's going to be possible. Spike isn't one to sit still. Why?"

"Damn! He's gonna be trouble, isn't he?"

"Probably," he acknowledged, then continued suspiciously. "Richie. You're good with a sword. You're already going to have your time taken up with Xander. You're not stupid enough to dive into a challenge, if you can get you and them out of it. So, why do you think I wouldn't want you to do this?"

"My Watcher followed me here, and Spike doesn't strike me as the 'fade into the wordwork' type."

"Bloody hell!" Methos exclaimed. "My cover is going to shot to hell because of this." Muttering angrily to himself, he paced across the kitchen. "I managed to keep Adam Pierson's Immortality a secret from the Watchers for damn near 20 years."

He looked up, his expression brightening. "I know!" he grinned. "I'll tie him up."

Richie choked. "He may not like that."

"Oh no, he'll like it alright. He'll like it a little to much, if you ask me. What he won't like is the fact that -- oh," he exclaimed, interrupting himself as he watched Richie's face redden, "sorry, never mind."

"N-no, that's all right," Richie replied. "I mean, I know what Spike implied, I just wasn't sure . . . I mean. Ah hell, never mind."

"Does it really bother you that much, Rich?" Methos asked, more bothered by the thought than he expected to be.

Richie shook his head slowly. "No, not really. It's just . . . well . . . unexpected, I guess," he replied, shifting uncomfortably.

Methos nodded. "Yeah, I guess it would be," he offered, not really meaning it.

Spike bounded into the room, startling both of them, and preventing a finish to their conversation. "So, you two get everything straightened out?" he asked, not bothering to actually look at either of them before burying himself in the fridge. "You know, I don't remember food tasting this good a hundred years ago."

Richie laughed.

Methos smirked. "It wasn't this good a hundred years ago."

Spike looked up, over the top of the fridge door. "Really? You mean it's just not the fact that I haven't been able to really taste food for . . . well, forever?"

Methos shook his head.

"Well, I bet that doesn't hurt your perceptions any," Richie offered. "I mean, living on one type of food and only one type, I bet that gets boring after a while." He shook his head before he continued. "I can't imagine any one food *I'd* be happy with eating for the rest of my life."

"Cor, no!" Spike exclaimed, grinning. "It's not like it all tastes the same."

"It doesn't?" Richie asked, stepping forward in astonishment.

"Hell no! It comes in all sorts of flavors."

"You mean like, the blood types actually taste different?"

"No, not really, although I've met vamps that think so."

Richie rolled his eyes skeptically. "You're *not* trying to tell me the different races taste differently," he scoffed, then frowned uncertainly, "are you?"

Methos watched the byplay with something akin to fascination. Spike smirked at Richie's uncertain change of mind, and speculation crossed his face before he shook his head minutely. "Nah, not that I've been able to tell," Spike frowned, a moments confusion passing behind his eyes. "You really interested?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah," he replied sounding surprised, "I really am."

"Okay, then," Spike replied, foregoing his hunt for food to jump up onto the counter.

Swinging his legs absently, Spike smiled, looking to Methos as nothing so much as a professor about to give a lecture. Methos smirked.

"There are several things that affect the flavor of blood," Spike said seriously. "And I'd be willing to bet you could figure out some of them . . . ." his voice trailing off expectantly, he watched Richie and waited.

Richie's eyes narrowed in thought for several minutes. "Well, starting with the ordinary," he began hesitantly, "I'd say the kind of shape someone was in. I mean, if for example, someone had really high or low cholesterol, or--or diabetes."

Spike nodded. "Good! And yes, disease of any kind sours the blood. Makes it damn near inedible, unless you're *awfully* hungry. Even animal blood is better than blood afflicted with some diseases."

"Animal blood's not good, huh?"

Spike shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely *not*," he answered with a shudder. "Anything else you can think of?"

"Yes, actually," Richie nodded, his grin growing. "This first one is kinda related to the last one. The amount of fat in the blood."

Spike nodded.

"Age of the person, and what they eat. 'You are what you eat,' as the saying goes."

Spike chuckled. "Yes, exactly!" he exclaimed, as if proud of a particularly bright student. "Can you think of the one thing that affects it the most?"

Richie frowned in deep thought, but after several moments had to shake his head in defeat. "No, I can't think of anything that would, not more than the ones we've talked about."

"Emotions."

"Really?" Richie and Methos asked, nearly in unison.

"Oh, yes!" Spike replied fervently. "Blood without emotion is like. . . ." he trailed off trying to think of an appropriate expression. "Well, I can't think of anything at the moment, but it's really bland. It's one of the reasons animal blood is so bloody inedible."

"I don't understand that," Methos said suddenly. "I haven't found pig's blood to be so bad as you make it out to be."

"You've had--" Richie exclaimed his voice an octave higher than normal. "Oh, right, of course you have."

Methos took a turn at questioning Spike. "You're serious about emotions affecting the taste of blood?"

"Oh yeah!" Spike nodded, then shrugged. "I can't tell you *why* it does, although, I'm sure modern scientists could."

"So," Richie asked slyly, "what's your personal favorite."

Spike sucked in a deep, quick breath, and dropped his gaze before he spoke. "You sure you want to know the answer to that?"

Richie opened his mouth to answer instantly, but closed it soon after. Methos watched as Richie seriously thought about his answer before responding. The seriousness the young Immortal put into his consideration surprised him, and Methos wondered what his final answer would be.

"Yes, I do," he replied, but not stopping there, he continued, explaining himself and his reasoning. "I've heard Buffy's side of the 'vampire story'. I'd like to hear yours."

"Oh, I'm sure everything Buffy told you was the absolute truth," Spike replied candidly. "Vampires are vicious and cruel. As a general rule they don't care about anyone more than themselves. They love violence, blood, sex, and torture . . . not necessarily in that order. Most vampires don't give a rat's ass about humanity beyond that of food."

A new voice startled all three occupants of Angel's kitchen. Though Methos had heard her approach, he hadn't expected her to join the conversation.

"Spike once told me he loved the world just as it was," Buffy announced. "He called humans, and I quote, 'happy meals on legs'."

Richie burst out laughing, but winced as he did so. "God, that's morbid," he complained. "Funny, but morbid."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, pet," Spike quipped jumping up.

Buffy rolled her eyes, glancing toward Richie in amusement. "You've gotten the Spike 'seal of approval'. I'm not sure whether to congratulate you -- or console you."

Richie and Spike snickered.

Methos winced, wondering just how much trouble the two of them were going to get into while they were out without him during the day. As far he was concerned, it didn't bear thinking about. It was much too scary a mental picture. Maybe Richie was right, and it would be better not to entrust Spike, aka - his body, into Richie's care. He might not have a life by the time the two of them got through.

Buffy shook her head, quickly grabbing a diet coke from the fridge and left the three males alone, muttering something about 'all men' and 'it doesn't matter what species'.

Silence reigned for several moments after she left. Spike was the first to break it.

"To bad she's the slayer," he commented lightly, licking his lips. "That is one *fine* ass."

"I have got to agree with you there," Richie replied absently, his attention still on the open doorway Buffy had exited through. Then, as though suddenly coming back to reality, he blinked and returned his attention to Spike and Methos. "Well, except for the slayer part. I don't have a problem with that."

"You wouldn't," Spike and Methos replied simultaneously.

At Richie's surprised glance, Methos added, "it's instinctive at the moment."

He nodded in understanding. "Makes sense," he said. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he turned toward Spike. "You know, if you don't want to answer my questions," he said sincerely, "all you have to do is say so."

Spike blinked in surprise. "Why would I care?" he demanded hotly.

Richie raised his hands in immediate surrender. "I didn't really think you did," he replied instantly, gaining Methos' surprised respect. "I just wanted to make sure."

Spike nodded grudgingly. "Good."

"So," Richie continued, as if the interruption had never occurred, "what *is* your favorite emotion?"

"Fear," Spike replied, defiance written in every line of his posture.

"Why?" Richie shot back instantly.

Methos held his breath. This had to be the second most dangerous conversation he'd been witness to in centuries. His gut told him they were treading dangerous ground, with either of the men in the room with him able to go ballistic at any moment.

Spike blinked, his shock obvious. "You're strange," he accused.

"So I'm strange," Richie reposted, grinning. "I already knew that, now answer the question."

"Because it's sweet!" Spike shouted, then instantly calmed, an odd, almost euphoric expression coming to his face. "It's the single most gratifying, intoxicating scent in the universe. "The instant you smell and taste it, you *know* you're the one, you're the king of their existence. *You* are in control."

Methos nodded knowingly. "It's addictive," he stated.

Spike nodded. "Yes."

"I can see that," Richie added. "Okay, next question. What does it feel like to be fed from? Does it hurt?"

"It's incredible," Methos answered, snapping his mouth shut as Richie turned to stare at him incredulously.

Richie inhaled sharply. "What wa--"

"No," Spike responded unexpectedly, striding toward Richie. "It's my turn."

**Oh shit!** Methos thought, watching the two interact, wondering if he should interfere.

"Okay," Richie replied. "Shoot."

Methos almost laughed at Richie's youth enhanced assurance that he had absolutely nothing to fear from simple questions.

"Are you afraid of me?" Spike asked, circling behind the youth.

"No," Richie replied, twisting his head to keep an eye on Spike.

Methos smirked, he may not be afraid of the ex-vampire wearing a friend's body, but the youth didn't trust him either. **Good for him,** Methos thought.

"You're not afraid of what I represent, not as I am now, but as I was?" Spike stopped directly behind Richie, leaning in and whispering tauntingly in his ear. "You don't fear vampires?"

Richie shook his head, returning his gaze forward. "No, I don't," he replied firmly.

"You should," Spike replied.

Methos shuddered as the tension in the room jumped suddenly. He swallowed convulsively, his breath, though his brain told him it wasn't needed, sped up, coming in short, quick pants. He couldn't tell what was more hypnotizing, the fact that Spike was seducing Richie right in front of him, wearing *his* body, or that it looked like Richie was allowing it. He would have given a lot to know what was going through the young Immortal's mind while this was going on. Did he really know what Spike was doing? Did he realize just what it was the ex-vampire wanted? Methos flipped off track for just a moment. Did *he* even know exactly what was going on here? Methos almost chuckled as he realized he wasn't entirely certain, although there *did* seem to be a theme building.

Spike moved around behind Richie, still speaking in calm, quiet words. "Prove it," he taunted into Richie's other ear. "Show me you're not afraid of what I am, what I *will* be," he said.

"How?' Richie asked uncertainly, his sudden nervousness coming at Methos in wave after mind numbing wave.

"Spike," Methos objected, wanting to stop the ex-vampire before it was too late, before they'd all been caught up in something that couldn't be reversed -- or forgotten.

"What do you mean?" Richie asked, his voice also dropping to a whisper and catching.

Methos watched as the young Immortal's tongue darted out to lick his lips. His eyes caught on that innocent gesture and he knew he wasn't going to move. He was going to stay right where he was. He was as caught in the seductive web that Spike had unexpectedly woven as young Richie was.

"I mean," Spike continued, raising a hand and tracing a single finger down the line of Richie's neck, crossing the pulse point. Methos watched its beat suddenly speed beneath his finger. "If you're not afraid of vampires, one feeding from you, drawing your life's blood from your neck, shouldn't bother you at all."

Richie gasped, his chin tilting up just slightly. "I'm not afraid," he insisted, but his airy voice, and the palpable fear coming off of him, gave Methos the lie to his words. It was only then he truly understood Spike's earlier words about fear. This was an entirely new perspective.

Methos wanted to call a halt to it all. He wanted to leave the room, dragging Spike with him. He couldn't. He was frozen in place, his mind too busy visualising Richie's vulnerable neck bared to him to allow his limbs to function. He wanted to be repulsed by it. He wanted to be able to simply walk out. And he tried; he really, really tried.

Spike turned the younger Immortal just slightly, until he and Methos were facing each other. "Look at him," Spike cooed seductively as the two Immortals locked gazes. "You know him, the man inside," Spike chanted. "He's your friend . . . yes?"

Eyes frozen wide, lips parted, Richie nodded. "Yes," he breathed, the word little more than a wind across the fall leaves.

"You trust him?"

Richie nodded again, unable to do anything else.

**Gods,** Methos thought. **Say something, Rich. Please put a stop to this. I'm not strong enough.**

Methos' currently un-beating heart clenched as Spike whispered his next words.

"Can he taste you?" Spike asked.

**Say no, Richie. Come to your senses.**

Richie gasped, his eyes widening more than Methos thought possible.

Spike brought his head up, eyes locking with Methos', his lips just barely turned upward in a triumphant smirk. "Come here," he mouthed, and Methos found himself stepping forward even before his brain processed the request.

He watched, swallowing convulsively, as Spike reached up a gentle, almost loving hand to Richie's neck and tilted his head to the side.

"Can he?" Spike taunted into Richie's ear. "Say yesss, Richie Ryan. Say yes to the friend you trust."

Methos watched silently, his muscles held in tense expectation, his mind screaming as Richie stared at him. He felt as though every single thought and feeling that was singing through his mind and body was plainly visible to the younger man. He felt exposed in a way he'd never imagined was possible. Torn in two, he waited and watched for the slightest sign of consent or denial from the man presented before him. Half of him pleaded silently for Richie to say yes. Half of him pleaded for the answer to be no.

Finally, seeming to move in slow motion, Richie's eyes ducked and raised, his head moving not even an inch.

Methos slowly closed the remaining distance between them, his eyes hooded, unexpected and unwanted desire dropping his eyelids half-mast. Did Richie really understand what was happening here? Methos didn't know; he still hadn't figured that out, but he was beyond being capable of asking, and he suspected Richie was beyond answering anyway.

Eyes locked on Richie's, his hand reaching toward the young Immortal, Methos was only peripherally aware of Spike moving from behind Richie to circle around behind *him*. "You can't kill him," Spike urged. "He's Immortal."

Spike slipped to the side, whispering in his other ear. "Remember," he encouraged. "Remember how it felt to be fed from. Allow the demon to come out, Adam. Let him play."

Methos felt his face morph without his conscious effort. In front of him, Richie gasped, tensing once again. Methos wondered frantically if Richie's first look at a vampire's face would fracture the spell they both seemed to be under, but the younger Immortal didn't pull away.

"Gently," Spike whispered, "That's the key. Gentle won't hurt him. Gentle will make his body sing."

Remembered pain slid through Methos' mind as the demon howled for bloody violence. It made it very easy to resist the urge to rip into the exposed throat stretched bare in front of him.

"Do it," Richie breathed, and Methos could resist no longer. He reached over, wrapping his hand around the back of Richie's neck, tilting his head further to the side and holding him immobile.

"Right here," Spike encouraged softly, once again trailing a finger over the pulse point in Richie's carotid artery.

Methos' eyes locked on that rapidly thumping spot, and as his other arm slid around Richie's waist, he slowly lowered his mouth to cover it.

Richie gasped and stiffened as Methos' fangs sliced into his flesh, the boy's fear spiking. As the first spurts of hot Immortal blood poured into his mouth, Methos swallowed. He swallowed a second time, and the taste changed, sliding tantalizingly across his tongue as Richie melted against him, moaning softly, the younger Immortal's fear buried under a sudden rush of arousal.

**Yes! More!** Pulling Richie more tightly against him, the fingers of one hand tangling themselves in the younger Immortal's hair.

"God, yes," Richie groaned.

Shock and arousal shot through him as Richie's hand came up to the back of his head, pressing his mouth closer to the wounds on the youth's neck. The rapid staccato beats of Richie's heart screaming at him, Methos complied, sinking his fangs in deeper. He growled low in his chest, and with that sound, some tiny little part of him was startled to realize he was purring.

Richie's heart beat faltered, growing slower, and the divine taste that was pumping itself into Methos' mouth changed again. It grew sweeter, hotter, becoming almost electrified, spiced as it was with the young man's renewed fear. Struggling weakly in his grasp, Richie suddenly gasped, his body arching as he moaned softly.

Methos' knees buckled out from under him as new tastes and a new scent assailed him. He wanted to bury himself in it forever, never coming back out, but Richie's relaxing grip, his limp body, and slowing heart beat suddenly forced it's way into his mind. **Richie's dying!**

He pulled back. Withdrawing as gently as he could, and ignoring the tiny electrical sparks darting across the two puncture holes, Methos instinctively licked at the wounds. "Richie?" he whispered, worry just beginning to speed through him. He didn't want Richie to die from this, even only temporarily. Relief flooded him as the younger Immortal's eyes fluttered open.

"Wow!" he whispered hoarsely, clearing his throat. "You purr."

Methos laughed lightly, relieved.

Spike pressed a glass to his mouth, and Richie automatically tried to grab hold of it. Gently batting his hands away, Spike shushed him. "You've lost a lot of blood. You'll be weak until your body recovers. Just drink. I don't know if your . . . ."

Their words faded as Methos lost himself in his thoughts. **Drink.** Without conscious thought, he raised his own wrist toward his mouth, only to have it stop halfway, caught in an iron grip. His head snapped up, and he glared angrily at his captor as he tried to jerk his arm free.

"No," Angel said quietly, soothingly as he let go, "you don't want to do that?"

Methos frowned momentarily as he tried to figure out exactly what it was he'd been going to do. His eyes widened in shock as he glanced between his wrist and Richie, curled up and quiescent in Spike's hold. "Why did I want to do that?" he asked Spike, who was staring at him in shock.

"It shouldn't have been instinctive," Spike protested, shifting his gaze to Angel, before glancing back down at Richie. "But the *Want* to do what you started would have been sparked by your caring of Richie, and the fact that, despite his Immortality, he was technically close to death."

Methos felt, more than saw, Angel nod in response to Spike's words, but felt absolutely no closer to understanding. "What did I try to do?" he snapped.

"You were going to try and turn him."

"What?!" came the twin shouts of surprise from both Methos and Richie.

"I don't *think* it's actually possible, but I don't know that for sure -- which is why I stopped you."

The shock fading away, Methos quietly processed what the two had told him. It shook him. "I drank more from him than you did from me," he asked Spike, "didn't I?"

"Yes," Spike nodded. "When I drank from you, I still thought you were mortal. I had to be careful of how much I took. I was about to pull you away, when you surprised me by doing it yourself."

Methos turned to ask Angel a question, but was surprised to discover that he'd left.

"You did what he denies himself," Spike explained with a roll of his eyes. "The bloody poof feels so guilty about what he did when he didn't have a soul, he won't even let himself enjoy what can be enjoyed without killing. He's an idiot."

"Well there is that happiness clause," Methos defended Angel, though he wasn't quite sure why he bothered.

"Happiness clause?" Richie asked.

"Long story," Spike and Methos replied together.

Richie suddenly grimaced, and rolled carefully to his feet, facing away from them both. "I've got to go . . . uh . . . I'll be right back," he stammered, and Methos was surprised by the sudden embarrassment coming from him.

Spike smirked, gracefully rising to his feet. "That's normal," he said.

"It is?" Richie asked, looking over his shoulder at them. "That was supposed to happen?" he continued, his cheeks flushing.

Methos bit his lip in an effort not to smile as he realized now, why Richie was embarrassed. "It didn't when you fed from me," he said, then cast a quick look toward Richie and shrugged. "Sorry."

"Well that could very well be because you'd already had--"

Richie groaned, hurrying from the room, "Too much information, guys!"

**********
Chapter Nineteen
**********

Richie raced up to the second floor, not stopping until he'd reached the relative safety of the one upstairs working bathroom. Only just keeping himself from slamming the door behind him, he hurriedly stripped, and with his embarrassment returning full fold, he cleaned himself up. He hadn't done anything like this . . . ever!

Sure, Spike had told him it was 'normal'. It was *supposed* to happen. Unfortunately, to Richie's way of thinking, that didn't make it any less embarrassing. The fact that they both *knew*-- He groaned quietly. Couldn't they have at least warned him?

Shaking his head, he resolutely returned his attention back to his clean up. Sighing as he realized his boxers were a total loss, he shucked them. Then, wishing he'd taken time to stop off in his makeshift room, he quickly scrambled back into his jeans -- choosing the commando option over trying to figure out a way to get to his room without further embarrassment.

Finally, after there was nothing left with which to occupy himself -- and his mind -- Richie looked up, at last meeting his own gaze. "So," he asked himself, "how long are you going to avoid the obvious?"

He chuckled weakly as he got the answer he expected -- silence.

He groaned again, this time bending low and resting his forehead on the cool counter top. Unable to focus his mind on anything else after the odd, okay, he admitted it -- erotic -- interlude downstairs, he was forced to let the thoughts he'd been fighting since Spike had spouted off at Rupert's apartment out to play.

He rose up to once again face the mirror. He'd never really given it much thought before now, but all day today he'd been seeing Methos in a whole new light. And God help him, but he found the older Immortal attractive.

//But what about Buffy?//

"Well, her too," Richie admitted to his reflection. "I've gone crazy, not blind."

A knock on the door startled him, and he spun around, gasping. "Who is it?" a chuckle answered his question before the person even spoke.

"It's me, Adam."

"Um, just a second, Adam," Richie stalled, barely preventing yet another groan of dismay.

"You okay in there?"

Richie cringed at the concern in Methos' voice. **Damn it!** he thought. **I'm not ready to talk to him.**

"Yeah, Adam, I'm fine," he called out over cheerfully. "I'll be out in a sec."

While Richie took a couple of deep breaths, it seemed Methos would wait patiently, then. . . .

"I'm sorry, Richie."

Richie blinked. **Huh?** It took only one step to reach the door. He jerked it open before giving himself time to consider his response, even managing to startle Methos in the process. "Sorry about what?" he demanded in confusion.

Methos shrugged uncomfortably as he handed him a glass of orange juice. "Sorry I made you uncomfortable. Sorry I embarrassed you. I don't know," he continued, shrugging again, "I'm just sorry."

Richie got angry then -- though that was just as confusing as the rest of what he was feeling. "You're sorry?" he asked. "You're sorry for having given me one of the most startling, incredible, and intensely erotic moments of my life? God! I've never felt anything like that in my whole life!"

Methos' head shot up and he eyed Richie in surprise. "Oh," he responded, "so, you're not bothered by what happened then?"

"Sure I'm 'bothered' -- confused actually," Richie replied honestly, and taking refuge behind the juice glass he drank half of it down at once. He was surprised when it almost instantly helped with his remaining dizziness.

"If it helps any," Methos offered, "Spike told me, after you left, that it has nothing to do with gender. In fact--"

"No," Richie interrupted, shaking his head, "it doesn't." When Methos' shoulders slumped slightly Richie drew a deep breath and plunged ahead. "It doesn't, because the questions it could have raised have been spinning around in my head since much earlier today."

"Oh!" Methos responded, sucking in a quick breath.

"Yeah, 'oh'." Richie retorted, stepping out into the hallway. They'd made it half-way back to Richie's room before he broke the silence that had fallen between them. "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, okay?" he asked. "But I'm gonna need some time to think about things. You know, put everything in order -- up here," he continued, pointing to his temple.

Methos nodded with only the smallest of sighs. "Sure, Rich. I understand."

"Good. I really hope so," Richie grinned, turning to face Methos as they reached his door. "Because you know damn well, I'm gonna need your help with those two."

Methos snorted. "They'll definitely be a handful."

Rolling his eyes, Richie nodded. "If Xander's anything like I was, yes. But, honestly, it's Spike I'm worried about. I'm *very* glad that's only gonna be for a couple of days because I think he's gonna be a *real* pain in the ass!"

"Agreed," Methos replied, frowning, "but there's no telling exactly how long it'll be. We have to wait until the three magic users can bloody come up with a spell to fix us."

"Yeah, I'd forgotten that part. I was concentrating on whatever that thing is that's suppposed to happen in two days." Richie paused, watching Methos thoughtfully. "You really buying all this . . . stuff?"

With an indelicate snort, Methos glanced down at himself. "I kind of have to, Rich. I've got an insider's viewpoint here," he replied drily, but sounded far more relaxed than when he'd first appeared.

"I guess you've kinda got a point there," Richie said, glad that Methos seemed to be okay. He didn't want his confusion to upset the older Immortal. Although, besides the obvious -- that he was becoming a friend -- he wasn't entirely sure why. He turned to go into his room, but suddenly thought of something else. Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned. "Oh, I arranged for the first training session with Xander for tomorrow. You'll be there, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Methos replied, smirking.

Richie returned the look, chuckling as he opened his door. "Yeah, if nothing else, just so you can criticize my teaching methods."

"Of course," Methos retorted as he headed off down the hallway. "What else are friends for?"

Richie shook his head, sighing as he made his way toward his bed. Today had certainly been a day for revelations. Unfortunately, at least for the next few days, he knew he was going to have to put most of it aside to think about later. He, Richie Ryan, age 25, had a new Immortal student. Oh *God* he wasn't ready for this. Of course, that couldn't possibly be all. For the next 48 hours, give or take -- hopefully not give too much -- he had to play bodyguard to the oldest Immortal's body, because said Immortal, Methos, 5,000 year old pain in the ass, had taken a vacation from it.

Again he shook his head. How many people in the world could say they'd actually, physically, 'taken a vacation' from their own body? Not counting near death experiences, he ordered his mind. Of course, there was also astral projection to be considered -- Did that actually exist too? He snorted. It didn't matter; it wouldn't count, anyway. He suspected the answer to his question was a very low number. **Yeah,** he thought, **so low I can count the total on one finger.** Trust Methos to get involved in a one-of-a-kind experience.

A light, timid-sounding knock on his door pulled Richie out of his thoughts. Quietly crossing to it, he supposed that tonight just wasn't his night to get introspective.

"Xander?" he asked upon opening the door, then frowned, seeing the expression on the new Immortal's face. "Is something wrong?"

Xander nodded, hesitantly. "Can I talk to you for a bit?"

Nodding back, Richie backed up, waving Xander into the room. "Come on in," he said. Richie watched the young man as he looked for a place to sit. The hunched shoulders and the hesitant step told Richie a lot. Xander was not very sure of himself, and Richie suspected it wasn't a new condition. From both experience, and the aborted clues dropped by the boy himself, Richie was fairly certain he knew why. What he didn't understand was why his friends hadn't helped him. From what little he'd seen, this group was pretty close -- bonded through adversity and all that.

"How long have you known Buffy?" he asked as Xander finally chose to simply corner himself some floor space.

"Forever," Xander replied instantly, giving him a lopsided grin. "Seems that way sometimes, anyway. Sometimes I don't think I can remember what it was like not knowing her. It's been almost four years though."

"And the others?" Richie encouraged.

Xander's grin grew full, and as he leaned forward Richie saw the spark of assurance surface briefly. He was glad to see it.

"I *have* known Willow forever. We've been friends, best friends, since the first grade." Xander shook his head reminiscently. "She defended me against the school bully."

Laughing, Richie settled himself on the floor next to Xander, far enough away to be outside his personal pace, but near enough to encourage the younger man to open up. "And she didn't set off that, 'I'm a boy and you can't do that,' huff?"

Xander grimaced, but relaxed against the wall. "No, that didn't happen until Buffy defended me against the *high school* bully."

"Ouch!" Richie exclaimed, wincing in sympathy. "And just how long did it take for the taunts from *that* to stop?"

"Until Larry, the bully she protected me from, the captain of the football team, openly admitted he was gay," Xander confessed wryly.

"That would do it," Richie replied, snickering quietly.

After several long moments Xander dropped his head, speaking softly. "How do you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Survive with all *this* hanging over your head."

"One day at a time," Richie replied honestly. "As cliche as that sounds, it's true. How do *you* survive doing what you do here?"

"Same way," Xander admitted, "but this is different."

"Yeah," Richie nodded, thinking he understood what Xander was trying to say -- hoping he did. "This demon fighting stuff; you know that if it really gets to be to much, and you can't handle it, you can walk away . . . at least that's what you tell yourself."

Xander nodded quickly, looking relieved. "Yes, that's it exactly. This Immortal business, it's gonna be with me no matter where I go. If I feel like I'm drowning, and there's nowhere I can go to get away from it."

"Actually," Richie disagreed, "there are places you can go to 'get away from it' as you say -- at least temporarily."

"How?!"

"Many Immortals retreat to Holy Ground."

Smirking, Xander shook his head. "I don't think I'm cut out to be a priest . . . or a monk."

"I haven't met too many teenage guys who are -- myself included," Richie laughed, "but you don't have to be one of those to go to ground -- so to speak. My teacher has an entire island that's Holy Ground."

"Really?" Xander asked in surprise.

"Yep, really. About a hundred years ago, or so, he got permission from the Indians it belonged to, to build a cabin there. Now, he goes there every so often just to get away from it all."

"Wow."

"I'm strictly a city guy, myself, but I've been there a couple of times, and it's pretty cool. I wouldn't want to *live* there, mind you -- no electricity."

Xander laughed. "I could handle that."

"I think you could, and can, handle just about anything you set your mind to," Richie offered quietly.

"Really?" Xander asked hopefully. "I'm not so sure."

"I am. You're in good shape. You look like you're pretty strong."

"I work construction."

"Well, then, I'd guess appearances probably aren't deceiving," Richie replied, smiling slightly. He just hoped he was saying the right things. Not that everything he'd said wasn't true, he just knew that even the truth had to be said a certain way to be believed.

"Guess not."

"And besides all that, anyone who can face childhood terrors and nightmares turned real on a daily basis can handle anything life throws at him." Richie sighed when Xander still didn't looked convinced. "Listen, I had never even handled a sword before I was 17, and scary as this all is, I can assure you that by the time I'm done with you, you'll know how to defend yourself -- at least."

"Will that be enough?"

"No," Richie answered bluntly. "Even I don't know all I need to know, but you'll have other teachers, other Immortals who can teach you more than I can."

"That doesn't sound too encouraging," Xander said sourly.

Richie blew out a quick breath. "I'll never lie to you, Xander. I know how to use a sword. as far as mortal standards go, I'd probably be considered an expert at it. By Immortal standards--" Richie shrugged. "--I'm good for my age; I had an excellent teacher, but I've got no delusions about being the best -- or even competing in that league. I can promise you only this. I will not quit teaching you until I'm certain I can't teach you anything more, or you find someone better -- that *I* trust."

"That helps," Xander admitted softly, then cocked his head. "Do you know many Immortals?"

"With *my* teacher," Richie rolled his eyes, "it'd be impossible not to."

"Do you trust many of them?"

"No," Richie returned frankly, "in fact, I'd say that I trust only four not to try and kill me just for my quickening. Doesn't mean I'd go anywhere, even with them, without my sword, though. As Adam will tell you -- and tell you -- trusting Immortals is *not* a long term survival trait."

"You hungry?" Xander asked brightly, jumping up suddenly, and Richie recognized the abrupt subject change for what it was. Xander didn't want to think about it any more tonight.

"Yes, actually, I'm pretty much always hungry." While Richie could understand Xander's desire to forget it all for a while, he had one more thing to say before they quit. "Just one thing; until we get you your own sword, don't go *anywhere* without me. Once we do, at least until you learn a few things, don't go anywhere alone, and even then, stick to populated, public places, okay?"

Xander nodded enthusiastically. "Hadn't planned on doing anything differently," he admitted sheepishly.

"Of course, there's still the possibility of running into another Immortal without me around. If you do, and there aren't enough people around, run. Don't try to brave it out. Being brave, especially right now, will just get you dead -- permanently dead. Get to Holy Ground, or me, whichever is quickest." Richie watched Xander nod in agreement, eyes rolling, and he suddenly understood how Mac must have felt when *he* put himself in danger. It sent shivers down his spine to think of Xander facing some Immortal. He'd just met the guy, and already he felt responsible for his safety.

"Let's go see what Angel has to eat." Xander shuddered. "Besides the obvious."

*****

"Oh!," Xander moaned. "I don't think I could eat another bite."

Richie chuckled in agreement. "Me either," he replied, glancing with a grimace around the kitchen. "I suppose we should clean up the mess we made before going to bed, though."

"But, *Da-ad*! I don't wanna," Xander whined, unable to keep the grin completely off his face.

"That sounds about right," Buffy said, appearing suddenly in the doorway, then, wearing a crooked grin, eyed Richie up and down. "But, man, you must have started young."

Snickering, the three of them companionably cleaned the mess the two young men had made in their quest for food. Buffy and Richie falling into chairs as they finished.

"Well," Xander said, "I don't know about anyone else, but *I'm* going to bed. Six AM comes early, and I've got to work in the morning."

"No you don't," Richie retorted firmly.

"Excuse me?" Xander exclaimed incredulously. "And just who are you to tell me I can't go to work?"

Richie rose slowly, stalking toward Xander menacingly. "I'm the teacher that's going to keep you alive long enough to learn how to defend yourself," he admonished. "And I'm turning into Mac as I say this, but I can't protect you at a construction site, especially since I have to look out for Spike as well."

Xander wilted a bit, but rallied quickly. "Oh, I can just see it. 'Hey, Boss, I died last night, so I can't come in to work.' That's going to go over *real* well. Gives a whole new spin on the 'a relative died' excuse."

Richie shook his head, rolling his eyes. "You came down with the flu," he ordered flatly. "And," he continued, "I hope I don't have to remind you how important it is to keep your Immortality a secret."

Xander shook his head, just as Buffy stood suddenly.

"What?" he asked.

"What are you going to tell Anya when she gets back?"

"Oh, God!" Xander groaned. "I haven't even thought of her since I found out!"

"Who's Anya?"

"My girlfriend."

"Is it serious?"

Xander shrugged. "It's getting there," he replied, turning back to face Buffy. "What the hell am I going to tell her?"

Buffy shrugged. "No way! I am *so* not getting in the middle of this one, Xander -- sorry."

"You shouldn't tell her -- unless you're really sure about her." Richie paused "I mean both about how she'll handle the Immortality deal, but also about spending your life with her. You don't tell *every* girl you end up with."

Xander shook his head. "Oh, no, I've got to tell her. My tail would be in so deep if I didn't fess up right away, it would never see the light of day," he objected, shuddering.

"It *is* your decision," Richie reluctantly admitted, "but just remember to factor in one more thing before you make it."

"What's that?"

"Will she keep the secret?"

"That," Xander and Buffy said together, "won't be a problem."

Richie's eyes widened at the dual emphatic agreement. "You seem sure about that."

"We are," they replied, again together.

"I just don't know *how* to tell her," Xander continued. "I . . . don't think she's gonna like it." Shoulders slumped, Xander headed out of the kitchen.

"You're going to call in, right?" Richie called out to Xander's retreating back. He really wanted to say more, but figured the girlfriend issue really was Xander's call -- that and he didn't want to alienate his new student quite this quickly.

"Yes," Xander snapped, "I'm going to call in."

After Xander left, Buffy turned to Richie. "He's going to be all right," she asked hopefully, "isn't he?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah. It'll take some time, but he'll adapt." He grinned, stepping closer to her. "Can I ask you something?"

Buffy nodded.

"How do *you* think Anya will take this?"

"If he tells her right away, she'll deal. She may not like it, but she'll deal."

He glanced at the empty doorway before continuing. "She'd really freak if he waited, huh?"

"Let's put it this way. Immortals aren't the only ones with secrets. She's an ex-vengeance demon."

"He's dating a *demon*?" Richie yelped.

Buffy laughed. "Ex-demon; it's a long story."

"*Yeah*, I just bet it is!"

"Um," Richie asked after a moment, "just what is a *vengeance* demon -- beyond the obvious, I mean."

**********
Chapter Twenty
**********

As they slowly made their way up the stairs, Buffy laughed at Richie's nearly horrified expression. Admittedly, she hadn't gone into *much* detail, but it had been enough. Anya's past as a demon was enough to horrify any man -- which the woman in question would boast to anyone willing to listen. She did tell him what she'd been told about Cordelia's wish, but she didn't mention the boils put on painful places she'd also heard about.

"So," he asked, curiosity overcoming his horror, "she suddenly found herself human again after 1100 years, and didn't know how to interact any more?"

"That's about it," Buffy admitted. "It's led to some, hmmmm, how do I put this . . . embarrassing -- for Xander -- moments." She snickered. "Of course, it's led to a couple that weren't too normal for Giles, either," she continued, launching into the story of Anya calling Giles' friend Olivia his 'orgasm friend'.

Richie shook his head, chuckling. "You have . . . um . . . very interesting friends."

Buffy laughed out loud. "And you don't? Adam's quite the character."

"Yeah, well, he's one of a kind," Richie shrugged. **In more ways than one,** he thought privately.

"He'd have to be, to be taking switching bodies with a vampire as well as he seems to be. Personally, *I'd* freak." Buffy stopped, frowned, then bit her lip pensively. "*Is* he taking this as well as he seems to be?"

Richie shrugged again, at something of a loss. "I don't know, Buffy. Adam is past-master at hiding what he's really feeling -- presenting an . . . image to the world. He creates it. He lives it. That's just the way he is."

Buffy nodded slowly. "So, we're just going to have to play it by ear and keep an eye on him," she said, half as question, half as statement of fact.

Richie nodded back. "Yeah, I think so. I wouldn't worry too much, though. He's very good at taking care of himself -- you know, good at coming out on top."

"I'll have to take your word for it. It doesn't seem like he's an easy man to get to know." Buffy grinned then, turning to face Richie squarely. He was different than anyone she'd met before. He seemed so young, yet so sure of himself at the same time. She liked that. "So," she asked, not-so-adroitly changing the subject, "is anyone allowed to attend these training sessions between you and Xander?"

"Not, I think, for the first few sessions. For those, it might be better, easier, for Xander if his friends weren't there."

Disappointed, Buffy nodded. "Oh, okay."

"But," Richie continued, smiling, "the actual weapons training won't take all my time. Maybe after we get Xander past this trouble, and Spike and Adam back to normal -- well as normal as either of them get -- you could show me the sights?"

**Yes!** "I'd like that," Buffy replied shyly, only just keeping her smile from spreading ear to ear.

"I was hoping you would," Richie returned softly, leaning slowly forward.

Tilting her head up slightly, Buffy met him half-way, parting her lips beneath the gentle press of his. He pulled her closer, briefly deepening the kiss before pulling away. "Good night, Buffy."

"Night," she whispered as Richie walked away.

Richie stopped, and turned, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What?"

"What about Spike?"

Buffy opened her mouth with an immediate comeback, but didn't utter it, closing her mouth a moment before answering with a question of her own. "What about him?"

"How does a vampire end up friends with a slayer?"

"He's *so* not a friend," Buffy shot back without thinking.

Richie frowned. "Could have fooled me."

"It's just. . . ." Buffy shrugged, not sure exactly how to explain the strange situation with Spike. "He's harmless."

Richie just looked skeptical.

Buffy sighed and hesitantly began the story of the initiative, beginning to stammer slightly as Richie's horror grew. She didn't understand why he seemed more horrified of the government project than he'd been of Anyanka even. She hadn't even gotten to their betrayal, and secret agendas, yet. "What's wrong?" she asked, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

"Wrong?!" he asked, his voice edging toward hysterical, his skin shuddering beneath her hand. "Every Immortal's nightmare come to life."

Buffy gasped. "That would be bad," she said softly, understanding making her stomach churn as far too vivid images of what the initiative would have done to any Immortals they may have happened across. "But," she continued brightly, a little too brightly, "they're gone, history, finished."

"What happened?"

She shrugged again. "We destroyed them."

Richie nodded, managed a slight smile and a quiet good night before turning away. He did glance over his shoulder before disappearing into his room. "That doesn't explain Spike."

Buffy frowned. What was there to explain. He was a vampire pain in the ass. She couldn't kill him, cuz he couldn't fight back. Half-way back to her own room, she stopped mid-step. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually threatened to stake Spike -- not that he'd taken the threats seriously anyway. They'd been empty threats born out of frustration and he knew it. **The wanker,** Buffy thought with amusement, wondering what he'd think of being called that -- it being one of his favorite curses.

**Why do I care what he'd think anyway?** She sighed, but couldn't manage to build up the hatred she'd always thought she'd had for the blond menace. When had it become habit instead of reality?

*****

Xander shook his head as he closed the door on Richie and Buffy's kiss. When he'd heard the two of them come up, he'd gone to his door in the hopes of being able to talk with Buffy, but after seeing what he had, he really didn't think that was much of an option tonight. He really didn't think her mind would focus on anything right now -- well, anything short of a full scale apocalypse, anyway. He laughed quietly. He remembered well the early days of Riley Finn. At least, this time, he actually liked the guy. Something else he was glad of, was Richie's denial of Buffy's request to be included in the training -- at least for now, he reasoned to himself.

He was nervous enough about making a complete fool of himself. He really didn't want to do it in front of her. She was so good at everything she put her mind to . . . well, maybe except for driving. He shuddered, remembering the first -- and last time -- he'd ridden with her. It hadn't been fun, and he'd sworn he would never do it again, barring life threatening emergencies.

As he prepared for bed his mind raced, his thoughts chasing themselves in frantic circles. By the time he crawled into bed, he couldn't stop them. His primary worry, well, beyond that of fearing for his life, was where was he going to come by a sword. They weren't exactly cheap, nor could you pick them up at the corner market. And didn't you need, like, a license to carry one? He was pretty sure Richie had one he could practice with, but he needed one he could keep.

Angel had lots of weapons, he was sure, but he was equally sure they were, like, antiques or something. It was a good bet that they were *real* expensive, at the very least. Add to that, he wanted, in absolutely no way, to owe the souled vampire. That would be . . . well, in Xander's opinion, in no way of the good. He wasn't even happy about him knowing what had happened, let alone did Xander what him to contribute anything.

**Damn it!**

This was getting him nowhere! Xander tried to clear his mind, to think of nothing. He almost succeeded, then thoughts of Anya popped back up. He sighed. What *was* he going to tell her, anyway? *How* was he going to tell her? Was this a romantic candle lit dinner kind of announcement? **No,** he thought instantly. Was this a 'We need to talk.' announcement. **NO!** he thought vehemently an instant later. That would just make her panic, thinking he was going to break up with her. That would *definitely* not be the way to start out the conversation. Coming no closer to figuring it out, Xander's mind relentlessly moved to another topic.

How would she handle it when he did tell her? Would she freak? **Oh, God!** Would she leave him? A sudden thought occurred to him. Maybe she already knew about Immortals. She had lived an awfully long time -- a demon with access to all sorts of information *mere* mortals couldn't. It was even possible she'd met Immortals. Panic threatening to overwhelm him again, Xander ponder his new line of thought. Unfortunately, he couldn't decide if the possibility of her having met Immortals helped, or hurt, his case.

She already didn't like the danger they lived under, what with being part of the Scooby gang. Would this final, additional, danger be too much for her? God! He hoped not. He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Richie that their relationship was getting serious. He was . . . occasionally . . . getting flashes of seeing them together for the rest of their lives.

Xander paled, his stomach clenching. *Her* life -- the rest of *her* life. He was Immortal, she wasn't. That meant-- His thoughts ground to a halt, a hard, painful lump forming in his throat. That meant he was going to lose her. Even if she did stay with him now, he'd lose her later. A heartbroken sob escaped him as his mind stubbornly refused to stop sending him images of the many, many ways he could lose her -- and *finally* he suddenly understood her sometimes obsessive fear of death.

She could get sick. She could be in a car accident. She could die in a fight with a demon. She could die of . . . old age, while he stayed young -- forever young. Or, he thought with a gulp, she could leave him. He didn't know what would be worse, losing her to death, or losing her because she simply walked away. Angrily dashing away tears he was glad no one else had seen, he jumped back out of bed.

"What? I don't have *enough* trouble that I have to make up problems that haven't even happened yet?" he berated himself. Swallowing hard, Xander took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, just as Adam had shown him. It helped a little, but didn't make the tense, almost painful, sickly feeling in his gut go away. It was then he realized that it was going to be a very long night.

**What was your first clue?** he asked himself sarcastically, hating what his life had suddenly become.

Jerking his clothing on, Xander stormed out of his room, knowing there was absolutely no way he was going to get to sleep any time soon, no matter *how* tired his body said he was. Shutting the door with exaggerated care, he made sure not to slam it; although, that was exactly what he wanted to do. It would have felt great. It certainly would have relieved some of his tension. There was nothing, quite so satisfying, as the sound of a well-slammed door. Unfortunately, it would have probably woken everyone in the mansion.

No, what he really wanted, Xander realized as he reached the main floor, was to go home. He wanted to go home, climb into his own bed, and simply forget that today ever happened. He couldn't *do* that, of course -- nothing could be that easy. According to prophecy, of all things, the demons would be out to get him for the next couple of nights. Being in danger from demons was nothing new. What with fighting them on a regular basis it was old hat, so to speak. Tonight, however, it was different. It was suddenly personal, and it was one stress too many.

He stared past his reflection in the window, gazing at everything and nothing, his mind still running maniacally from one set of problems to the next.

"Trouble sleeping?"

Xander spun around, hand clenched to his chest as if to hold in his thumping heart. "Damn it, Dead Boy! Make some noise when you do that!"

"Sorry," Angel replied softly, awkwardly coming to stand next to Xander.

"What do you want?" Xander asked, not even bothering to try and be polite. He wasn't in the mood, and it was only the two of them there.

"I've been thinking," Angel responded, not meeting Xander's angry gaze.

"Should I be impressed?" Xander sniped, a little voice deep in the back of his mind asking him if maybe he was being a little unfair. He ignored it.

Angel shook his head, took a deep breath, and continued. "I know you don't like me,--"

"What was your first clue?"

"I know you'd probably rather cut off an arm than accept anything from me,--"

"Easier now. It'd probably grow back." **What is wrong with me tonight? God!**

Angel's mouth tightened for a moment, irritation flitting across the souled vampire's face, but he took another deep breath and continued as if Xander hadn't spoken.

**What does it take to make you go away?** Xander thought acidly.

"But you're going to need a sword, Xander, a good one."

Xander opened his mouth in immediate protest, another zinger all ready, but Angel stopped him with an upraised hand.

"Please, Xander, let me finish. I'm not trying to *give* you anything." He laughed sourly, and shook his head. "If I tried, you'd probably just throw it back in my face."

"Good guess," Xander sneered.

Angel blew out an explosive breath, and turned to leave.

Xander sighed in relief. He wanted to be left alone, not constantly reminded of his new 'status' in life. Unfortunately, it seemed Angel was going to pick tonight, out of all nights in the universe, to suddenly decide he stubbornly wanted to talk. The vampire turned back and faced him squarely, this time locking eyes with him.

"I'm not even doing this for you," Angel snapped angrily, obviously finally losing his temper. "I'm doing it for Buffy, and Willow, and Cordelia, and anyone else who might be upset if you died -- permanently. I want to *loan* you a sword, Xander, until you can get a good one of your own."

"I don't want anything from--"

"From me," Angel interrupted bitterly, " yeah, I know. But guess what? It doesn't look like you have a lot of options."

Xander shook his head, not sure himself, even, if he was agreeing that he had no options, or denying what Angel was saying.

"Damn it all, Xander," Angel shouted, then winced slightly, continuing more quietly. "You won't 'owe' me anything. You won't be 'indebted' to me. I told you, I'm doing it for them. Think of *them*, Xander."

When Xander didn't reply, merely turning back to face the window instead, Angel sighed and turned away, heading toward the door as silently as he'd entered.

**I'm an idiot!** Xander thought in angry frustration. **Ever hear of the phrase 'cutting off your nose to spite your face', Harris?**

"De--Angel?" he said quietly, turning to find that the vampire had stopped in the doorway at his call. He swallowed, more to shove down his stubborn pride than from any true need to clear his mouth or throat -- Angel had even offered in such a way that he *could* keep his pride. "Thank you."

Angel nodded slightly, the smallest of smiles playing across his mouth. "I've still got quite a collection here, if you'd like to look at them," he offered. "I mean," he continued in hurried explanation, shoulders hunched -- as if he was afraid Xander would lash out again, "since it seems you're having trouble sleeping anyway."

**Angel, afraid of me? Now that's a laugh,** Xander thought, but couldn't quite get rid of the thought that perhaps Angel was just as uncertain of his place in the world as Xander was. It was . . . disconcerting to realize he might actually have something in common with the vampire. Forcing himself to move from his position at the window, Xander headed toward the vampire he'd seen as more of a threat to those around him than any other, and that *included* Spike. This one had pulled them apart from within. In front of him, Angel turned away once again, this time, leading him to a part of the mansion he'd never seen before.

"I never knew that door was there," he said, trying, for once, to be polite. He figured it was the least he could do . . . considering.

Angel nodded, turning his head slightly. "Most people don't. It's very well hidden."

Xander stepped into the room, and froze in the doorway. Even Giles' collection of weapons couldn't compete with this. "Wow!" he breathed, finally stepping further into the room, allowing Angel to do the same.

"I've been collecting a long time," Angel replied evenly, shrugging away Xander's awe.

Wandering around the room, checking out one wall at a time, Xander's eyes were glued to the myriad of weapons on display. Most were swords, but there were axes of all descriptions, and staves, -- he hadn't known there were that many different kinds -- as well as several weapons that looked like they belonged in a martial arts museum, though he had no name for most of them. Even he could tell they were worth a small fortune. He laughed quietly. It was more likely they were worth several small fortunes. Coming to a stop back at the beginning, Xander shrugged rather sheepishly, not willing to meet Angel's gaze. "I love swords, but I don't really know anything about them," he said, waving a hand vaguely toward the walls full of weapons. "I don't know which one would be best."

Angel nodded once, and stepping around Xander, he efficiently drew down three slightly different swords. To Xander's inexpert eye, they all appeared very similar in style, each varying mainly in size.

"You're not a small man, Xander," Angel said, returning to his side carrying all three weapons, "and you've put on on quite a bit of muscle in the last year. I figure a broad sword would be a good one for you, but you'll want to start with one of the lighter, slightly smaller styles, and work your way up to the larger, heavy style."

Xander nodded. It certainly made sense to him. "May I?" he asked, pointing to the smallest of the three.

Angel nodded, holding out the scabbarded sword.

Xander grabbed hold of the hilt and carefully withdrew it from Angel's hands. The tip dropped down immediately. It was quite a bit heavier than he'd expected it to be.

Angel grinned. "All three of these are made from good Damascus steel -- they're solid and strong."

"I bet!" Xander replied, an excitement growing inside himself despite everything. Then, he looked from the three swords, which were obviously going to be a far heavier burden than he'd imagined, to the door.

"I'll help you take them to your room . . . if you like."

Xander nodded his acceptance. "Yes, and. . . ." He paused a moment, then continued sincerely. "Thank you."

Angel smiled, and Xander was startled to note that it changed the souled vampire's entire look. "You're welcome, Xander."

**********
Chapter Twenty One
**********

Xander leaned against the wall, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been *this* sore. Not even his first day working construction had left him feeling this unable to move -- and *it* had been a full day's work. He groaned softly as he lifted an arm to wipe the drops off his forehead before the fell into his eyes. Spike was slumped against the same wall not far from him, looking about like he felt. That, at least, gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, but frowned. At least Spike had actually gotten to *use* his borrowed sword.

He almost laughed, Spike had been horrified to learn they'd be using *wooden* practice blades. The fact that he wasn't a vampire at the moment had evidently been temporarily forgotten.

"It'll pass quickly," Richie offered in quiet commiseration. "That's one of the benefits of being Immortal. Sore muscles don't last very long."

"Thank God!" Xander replied in heartfelt sincerity, pulling his attention away from his fellow victim.

"It's been a couple of years, but I still remember my first day working out with Mac. I thought I'd never recover."

Xander nodded. That was exactly how he felt. What bothered him the most, however, was that they hadn't even really fought with the swords. Mostly he'd spent the day working out, and *holding* the damn weapon. It got heavier each time he lifted it. **Block in this position. No, hold your wrist like so. Now, hold it at arms length in front of you, that'll build your arm muscles,** Xander repeated in his mind. And then there was *Adam*. Xander sent a baleful glare in the Immortal turned vampire's direction. God! Nothing was good enough for him. He couldn't see how Richie could consistently accept or laugh off the irritating man's comments. They were enough to make a saint swear.

Xander was no saint; he'd been swearing under his breath for the last half of the three hour session, and wondering how he was going to learn to fight by doing nothing more than holding the sword. Was he supposed to learn it by absorbing it through the metal or what?

"Don't worry, Xander," Richie said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, "you've got to learn the proper holds and develop the right muscles, then you'll be able to move on from there. Give it a week or so, and then we'll do a light spar, give you a taste, so to speak."

Xander grinned. **Good.**

"Come on, Adam, I'll spar with you," Richie said then, suddenly jumping up and heading across the room they'd usurped for their workout.

Xander grinned as Adam automatically protested, groaning theatrically, but also noticed he didn't hesitate in rising and getting his own sword.

Adam and Richie squared off, giving nod to custom with a quick sword salute, before dropping into stance and beginning to circle each other assessively. Xander spared a quick glance over at Spike, noticing his attention was fully on the spar in front of them, before turning his own attention back to the pair. He was just in time to see Adam leap forward almost quicker than he could follow. Evidently Richie had the same trouble, as the Immortal barely blocked the blow, wincing as his sword was pushed down from the power of Adam's vampiric strength.

"Damn!" Richie swore, jumping back. Lofting his sword to his off-hand, Richie shook his right hand in an obvious attempt to ease the sting.

"Sorry," Adam said, not sounding sorry at all, and if he was, it certainly didn't stop him from continuing the spar.

Xander shook his head as he watched the two continue trading blows and feints. Both men took minor hits, Richie more than Adam, but Xander could tell that Adam was getting better and better at judging his new strength -- Richie was switching sword hands less and less often. At first glance, Xander thought that Richie was better than Adam, smoother, but realized as the fight progressed, seeming to continue forever, that Adam was actually the far better swordsman.

It was amazing to watch. Both of them were very good, moving fluidly from one position to the next, gracefully sliding from a block to an attack with an ease that amazed Xander. He'd *never* be that good, he thought mournfully. They danced around each other like professional ballet dancers -- almost.

He gasped as suddenly, in a series of moves that Xander couldn't hope to remember, Adam swung his sword up and around Richie's arm. Richie's arm flew out to the side and Adam's sword bit into Richie's abdomen. Sword clattering to the ground, Richie dropped to his knees, and Adam's sword came down in a fast sweep, stopping a mere heart-stopping inch from his neck.

"Good thing I know you like me," Richie quipped before crumpling over in a dead faint.

Xander launched himself away from the wall and toward Richie; it didn't hurt as much as he thought it should. Adam managed to catch the downed Immortal before he actually hit the stone floor, though, laying him gently down. "Don't believe in pulling punches, do you?" Xander asked snidely as he knelt next to the pair.

"No, I don't," Adam responded, quietly, confidently, turning to look at him squarely. "It doesn't teach *anything* to go easy. When I spar, I don't do it for fun. I do it because it's necessary to keep the reflexes required of Immortals to stay alive in the Game."

Xander nodded silently taking in what Adam had said, for once thinking before he answered instead of throwing back an automatic quip. "I consider myself warned," he said quietly.

Smirking, Adam turned back to Richie. "Good."

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Adam nodded.

Xander swallowed nervously. Except for vampires he wasn't used to the dead coming back. "You're sure he'll be alright, though, right?"

Laughing, Adam nodded again. "Yes, he'll be fine. He'll be up in just a minute or two. My sword thrust, though deadly, didn't actually do that much damage."

No sooner had Adam finished speaking than Richie gasped and curled into a sitting position. "That hurt!" he exclaimed as soon as he was able."

Adam's smirk bloomed. "It was supposed to, Brat. You left yourself open to that basic move. I couldn't let it go by."

"Basic move?" Richie demanded incredulously. "Basic maybe, with vampire speed behind it!"

Adam shrugged and Spike laughed.

Richie gave them both a sour look. "How many Immortals do *you* know who can move that fast?"

Adam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in an exaggerated pose, as if he were really trying to think about it. "One," he finally admitted with a sly grin.

"One's all it takes," Spike commented, cutting off Richie's comeback.

Richie slumped slightly, conceding the point. "Good thing Immortals can't be made into vampires," he said.

"Who says?" Spike asked instantly.

No one answered him right away. They all exchanged surprised looks instead.

"No one," Richie finally said slowly.

"I don't *think* it's possible," Adam added, but he didn't sound nearly as certain.

"You don't sound too sure about that," Xander commented nervously.

Adam turned to look at him. "Until yesterday, I was absolutely certain demons didn't even exist."

"Point," Xander replied. "Kinda hard to even speculate about something you don't believe in."

Any further speculation was cut off by a knock that startled all of them. The door opened slowly and Buffy peeked in. "You guys about done? We're going to get something to eat, and we wondered if anyone in here was hungry."

"Starved," came four replies, nearly in unison.

She grinned and withdrew from the room shaking her head. "I'll let everyone know to wait for you."

All four of them scrambled up off the floor and headed for the door. "I'm calling the upstairs bathroom," Xander shouted as he raced forward and slipped through the door first. "Hey!" Richie exclaimed, taking off after his dark-haired student. "That's the only one with running water."

"I know. Why do you think I claimed it?" Xander asked over his shoulder, not slowing down.

*****

Methos followed behind, not bothering to race like the others. He needed cleaning up less than they did. He supposed not sweating came in handy for that at least. He'd also been more of a . . . spectator slash critic for most of the lesson. He smirked as the three others disappeared up the stairs. He'd gotten such a kick out of Xander's reactions to most of his comments. The kid certainly *didn't* have a poker face. Heading toward the kitchen for his own clean up -- via the sink -- he was pretty sure Richie had caught on to what he was doing early on in the session.

Ordinarily Ryan would have been reacting similarly to the way Xander had, but for some reason, he'd been playing along -- and hadn't *that* baffled the poor kid. All in all, he had to admit that Richie would make young Xander a good teacher. That eased his mind somewhat. Much as he might claim otherwise, he wouldn't have wanted to leave Xander without someone to train him properly. Richie would be good for him. The brat was far more patient than he would have been -- he never had been very patient with his students. Methos suspected the younger Immortal would eventually make an even better teacher than MacLeod -- after he'd gotten some experience under his belt, both as an Immortal *and* as a teacher.

Of course, now that he was no longer distracted by the antics of both himself and the other three, his thoughts automatically returned to the problems currently plaguing him. The likelihood that his Immortality would remain hidden from the Watchers much longer was remote. Even if Richie managed to keep Spike in line, -- **Odds on that one, anyone?** --- the fact that Adam Pierson was seen in the company of Immortals, namely Richard Ryan, again, was bound to attract unwanted attention and equally unwanted suspicion. He may not be in the Watchers any longer, but he was still known by them. He was sure he'd have some fancy footwork to do as soon as this was over, in order to lose that attention. If he didn't, it was only a fine line between them finding out he was Immortal to them finding out who he *really* was.

He sighed deeply. Life had certainly thrown him a doozy this time. Running the water, Methos splashed his face and quickly dried off before heading up to his room. He was sure he'd have time to change into something before Xander and Richie finished fighting over the bathroom. Smirking to himself as he dressed, he realized that the next couple of days were either going to break him, or they'd be the best he had ever had, and damned if he knew which it was going to be. He was getting used to controlling the ugly impulses now, and while they were still a considerable strain, he no longer had to devote as much attention to them.

He arrived in the living room before the others to find the rest of the group gathered there, waiting patiently in mini-groups of one or two. What surprised him was that Doyle was off to the side with Angel instead of with Cordelia as he usually was. "Not here yet, I take it?" he asked.

Buffy grinned and shook her head. "We counted on you guys taking forever to get ready. There's still about six minutes to sundown, and we can't safely leave until then . . . well, some of us can't."

Adam smirked. He'd be willing to bet it was either Giles or Angel who'd thought of the timing. Dropping himself down onto the fireplace hearth, Methos crossed his ankles and leaned back against the marble wall, fully prepared to wait. He'd be willing to bet the other three men wouldn't be down until well after sunset. He was grateful, however, that between Richie and him, they'd managed to keep Spike too occupied to slip out on them while the sun was still up. Almost snickering, he was pretty sure it wouldn't work a second day, but they could always try.

As soon as he settled, Methos sighed. He realized that now, there was nothing to keep him from dwelling on one aspect of this whole situation that still had him bothered. He had trained himself over the years to be discreet, to hide in the shadows, to never call extra attention to himself, and from the way things were still looking, he was going to have to set aside several centuries of self imposed inhibitions, just to get his life back. While a habit of centuries wasn't going to be easy to set aside, he knew he could do it. If he was completely honest with himself, that wasn't what bothered him about the need to recreate the sexual encounter between him and Spike; what bothered him was the fact that at least two of the people who would be there were barely more than teenagers -- barely more than children.

He jumped when Richie plopped down next time him, and he glared balefully at the younger Immortal.

"You're losing your touch, Old Timer," Richie said soto-voice. "There was a time when I could never surprise you."

Trying for a smirk and failing miserably, Methos shrugged. "Got a lot on my mind."

Richie snorted. "Somehow," he said, a hint of laughter underscoring his words, "I think that's about the biggest understatement I've ever heard you make."

Methos laughed. He couldn't help it. Richie was right. Saying he had a lot on his mind right now was kind of like saying grass was green.

"Let me guess, you're worried about the . . . um . . ." Richie glanced away, but not before Methos noticed a growing red tint to the brat's color, "re-creation."

Letting out an explosive breath, Methos nodded slightly. "Yeah, you could say it's not exactly high on my list of pleasant ideas."

Richie turned back to face him, his color deepening, but his eyes turned serious. "I don't see how you'll be able to . . . well . . . with other people there watching and all, how will you be able to. . . ." Richie's voice trailed off, and he frowned in frustration.

It was all Methos could do not to laugh, grateful to the brat for suddenly adding humor to his predicament. Though, he doubted Richie would appreciate that sentiment -- a part of him wanting to exploit the kid's embarrassment. " *That's* not the problem," he replied, then continued, wondering just how far he could push Richie. "It wouldn't be the first time. Besides, it wouldn't matter anyway, considering I'm on the receiving end." He chuckled and shook his head slightly. "And somehow, I don't think Spike minds an audience.

A frown of confusion crossed Richie's face a split second before his blush deepened. "Oh!" he replied, then mumbled, "well that was bit more information than I expected."

Fighting to keep his smirk in check, Methos shrugged again. "You asked."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Richie nodded, then visibly hesitated.

"Go on," Methos encouraged, curiosity as to what Richie really wanted to know getting the better of him.

"What happened in the kitchen," the younger Immortal began, "what did that . . . feel like, for you?"

Methos took a deep breath. Whatever he'd been expecting from Richie, that hadn't been it. "That's hard to explain," he said softly.

Richie cocked his head to the side, watching Methos patiently.

"Spike was right, though. The different emotions *did* make your blood taste different. I felt and *tasted* each one you went through. It was. . ." Methos paused, not really sure how to explain it, ". . . exhilarating, and at the same time frightening."

Richie pulled back a little, surprise etched across his face. "Frightening?" he asked. "I mean, I can see it from my end. There was this feeling of being completely out of control, like you were the one that controlled whether or not I lived or died. That was scary, even though I knew that what was happening couldn't kill me permanently."

"Yes," Methos nodded. "For me, what was a little scary was how much I liked it. Spike said it was different than animal blood, that it was different feeding from the source. I just didn't realize *how* different. I could get to really *want* it."

Richie waited, and Methos realized he knew there was more to it than that.

"I felt powerful, Richie. I felt your life draining into me, sustaining me, making me stronger. I felt what you felt, as you felt it. It was incredible, Rich." He shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it any better than that."

Richie shook his head. "You don't have to, that explains it pretty well," he said.

Xander and Spike entered, cutting off any reply Methos might have made as the younger Immortal rose to meet them.

"It's about time," Cordelia snapped, but her smile took most of the sting out of her words.

Methos had yet to figure her out. At times she seemed a royal pain in the bum, 'Miss High and Mighty,' but at others, mostly when she thought the people who lived in Sunnydale weren't looking, he caught glimpses of something much deeper about her. There was a definite story there, and he wondered what it was. It had been a long time, he admitted silently to himself, since he'd been this curious about the past histories of people. It seemed, in this case, however, that so much had happened in so short a time, it would be nearly impossible to understand their motivations without knowing what had happened to form the dynamics he now saw.

Dropping to the rear of the group as they headed out, Methos' attention was drawn to Doyle. The man seemed . . . uncomfortable. He made his way back toward Cordelia, not so subtly avoiding the blonde slayer as he did so. Why? Methos wondered, and did it have anything to do with the . . . difference . . . he sensed from the young man.

**********
Chapter Twenty Two
**********

Joseph Dawson waited quietly in the shadows surrounding a mansion that had seen better days, wondering what Richie and Adam were doing staying in it. Ricardo Martin's report to him yesterday morning had been disturbing -- disturbing enough that he was now here in this small suburban town hiding in shadows as he had not had to do since his own subject, Duncan MacLeod had discovered the existence of Watchers. As Richie's Watcher, Ricardo was usually kind enough to forward reports of an unusual nature to him at the same time he turned them in to the head office.

Joe hadn't been surprised to hear that Richie had gotten caught up with a beautiful young girl, but the fact that she'd interfered with a challenge, apparently without batting so much as an eyelash, had been puzzling, as well as a little worrying. Then had come the real shocker. Ricardo had reported seeing Adam with all of them as well. That had concerned him even more. Adam was usually pretty good at keeping himself out of Watcher's eyes. Having been a Watcher, it made it easy for the ancient Immortal to know exactly how to escape the organizations notice. Hanging around with Richie simply didn't make any sense -- at least not doing so where the kid's Watcher could notice.

Ricardo hadn't been willing to confront Adam, while the ex-Watcher was around his Immortal assignment, but was dying of curiosity. The air was fairly humming with it. Joe almost chuckled at the youth crouched next to him. He couldn't do it himself, but he'd be happy to watch Joe jump into the fray. Of course, it was well known -- to the dismay of the Watcher's council -- that Joe had actually befriended several Immortals, and was known to talk with even more of them. Joe wasn't sure if he was becoming famous, or infamous, but if Ricardo was anything to judge by, he certainly wasn't anonymous.

His rumination interrupted by the arrival of three different cars pulling up the mansion's drive, Joe stepped further back into the shadows. He didn't want to be discovered until just the right moment. He almost laughed again, however; he could almost feel the excitement coming off the young Watcher beside him. Laying a hand on the youth's shoulder, he smiled gently when Ricardo turned to face him. The man's face fairly glowing.

Waiting until the groups containing Methos and Richie had all piled out of their vehicles, and had nearly reached the front door, Joe whispered instructions to Ricardo, then stepped out of the shadows, leaving Ricardo on his own.

"Joe!" a blond and Richie exclaimed, nearly in unison.

Joe half nodded at Richie, but was more interested in the bleach blond who knew his name. "Do I know you?" he asked in confusion. He wasn't bothered by Methos' lack of greeting. He was sure the old Immortal had a reason for it -- one he would discover sooner or later. Probably later.

The stranger sighed, his lips curling into an awfully familiar smirk. "Yeah, you could say that," he said, but the rest of his reply was cut off when Richie jumped back into the conversation.

"You could say he's not himself right now," the young Immortal quipped.

Joe frowned at the giggles and stifled laughter that comment produced and began to wonder just what in the world was going on here. He was about to ask, when the oldest looking member of the group stepped forward.

"Perhaps it would be better if this conversation were taken inside," he suggested, extending a hand toward Joe. "Giles, Rupert Giles."

"Joe Dawson," he replied, accepting the handshake. He wasn't altogether certain he should accept the invitation, however, until Methos and Richie both headed toward the door. Apparently, he wasn't going to find anything out unless he did, and he had to admit, his own curiosity was beginning to surge. He followed, hoping Ricardo stayed far enough out of sight until they were all inside. Beyond that, he hoped the younger Watcher followed his orders and went back to the motel to wait. There *really* wasn't any sense in both of them being out here.

*

Joe blinked at the remaining members of the group, Willow, Tara, and Rupert having gone off to complete some research they were in the middle of. "And you *really* expect me to buy this line of malarkey?" he asked. This was something straight out of a science fiction novel. It was insulting to believe they really expected him to fall for it.

"Joe, have you ever known me to lie to you?" the stranger claiming to be 'Adam' asked, then, to Richie's obvious amusement, continued before Joe could respond. "About something important?"

"Well, since I don't know you, that would be difficult to say, wouldn't it."

Methos, or the man claiming not to be Adam, rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of-- Why don't you just ask him something that only he and you know, that he wouldn't have told anyone just to 'pull this off'. *That* ought to settle it."

"Not so fast! Something I wouldn't have revealed on my own, I sure as hell don't want revealed now. I can think of only a couple of things that would fit, and neither of them get said or asked now, period."

"I've got one," Joe said, looking down before actually asking. "What does my daughter hold against me?"

The eyes of the man claiming to be Adam widened in surprise.

"You've got a daughter, Joe?" Richie exclaimed his voice heavy with his own surprise.

"Well, among more personal, semi-legitimate reasons," 'Adam' began delicately, "she doesn't approve of your close association with Immortals. Of course, her one, up-close encounter with two probably left a slightly bitter aftertaste."

Joe slumped against the back of his chair. Both what 'Adam' had said and what he had very carefully hadn't said were very compelling evidence that he really *was* Methos. Neither one of them had ever revealed exactly what had happened when his daughter had been kidnapped by her Immortal assignment, nor the discussion he and Methos'd had following their rescue of her.

He sighed, reluctantly turning to face the man that, until now, he'd stubbornly believed to be Adam. "So, who are you, again?"

"I'm Spike."

"Spike," Joe repeated tonelessly. "Just Spike?"

"Well, I used to go by the name William the--"

"And we *so* do not need to go there," Xander quipped. "Let's just say he earned the nickname Spike because of his creativity with railroad spikes, and leave it at that."

"How do you get creative with railroad spikes?" Joe asked, his Watcher curiosity for the story behind the boy's eagerness to cut off Spike's story running rampant. 'Spike' grinned at him, leaning forward with an eagerness that made him just a touch nervous about hearing what the man had to say.

It was with something akin to horrified shock that Joe listened to Spike recounting how he'd earned his nickname. Certain he was *now* being put on, he turned to look at the people sitting around him. Blond Adam's face was completely neutral, no help there. Richie looked faintly horrified, probably wasn't much different than the expression *he* was wearing, Joe supposed. Whereas, Xander was beginning to look a little green around the gills.

Suddenly exploding, Joe struggled to his feet. "And you are *associating* with this . . . this . . . " Joe's voice trailed off as he couldn't come up with a suitably vile epithet without becoming vulgar. **William the Bloody, indeed!**

"There are extenuating circumstances, Joe," Methos explained, "as well as the fact that relatively speaking, it happened a long time ago."

"He's an Immortal?"

"Of a sort," Methos replied.

All of Joe's anger bled away at Methos' odd reply, and he sank back down, not at all certain he could have remained standing if he'd wanted to. "What do you mean, 'of a sort'?"

"I'm a vampire, pet," Spike answered cheerfully.

"A what?!"

"A vampire," Methos repeated.

"Now I *know* you guys are pulling my leg," Joe snorted." You're telling me he's a real live vampire -- a blood sucking, night dwelling, vampire?"

Everyone nodded, except Spike. He shook his head. "A vampire yes, 'live', no."

"You look alive to me."

"This is Adam's body. That's mine," he replied, pointing to the bleach blond.

Joe rolled his eyes, but obediently looked toward Methos. "Still looks pretty alive to me."

"Give me your hand, Joe," Methos asked, holding his own out.

Warily, Joe did so. He didn't know what they were all up to, but he was certain the punch line was going to hit very soon.

Kneeling in front of him, Methos curled most of Joe's fingers into a fist, leaving only two up. He brought Joe's hand up, firmly placing the fingers against his throat. "What do you feel?"

"Nothing," Joe scoffed.

"No pulse?" Richie inquired.

Joe's eyes widened, and he immediately adjusted his fingers searching for the feel of the pulse he *knew* had to be there. After several attempts, he lowered his hand to the chest directly in front of him and tried to feel the heart pumping beneath the ribs. He couldn't.

Slumping back into his chair, he let his hand fall to his lap. "It's unbelievable."

"You should try it from this end," Methos muttered, a slight smirk curling his lips. "It's even harder to believe from my end."

"I bet!" was all Joe could manage in response. He was too busy trying to decide whether or not what he was seeing and hearing was real, or whether he'd finally lost it. He blinked suddenly. It was *very* reminiscent of the day he'd found out about Immortals. **Well, I'll be damned!** he thought, then his eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at the man he was beginning to believe really was Methos. He'd missed the signs of tension before -- not believing he knew the man. They were subtle, but they were there. He wondered what, exactly was causing them -- beyond the obvious -- because something more than was apparent was stressing the ancient. Unfortunately anything else he wanted to say was cut off by the sound of an exultant cry from the other room.

"Yes!" Willow cried out.

Everyone in the living room jumped up, and raced into the 'research' room. Joe followed behind as quickly as he could.

*****

Doyle slipped silently out onto the balcony. Cordelia stood with her back to him, staring out across the shadowed landscape. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. She relaxed back against him, laying her hands on his arms. "What ya thinkin' bout?" he asked quietly?

"I'm never sure how to act here," she replied equally softly. "They all remember me the way I used to be, and much as I've changed, it's so easy to slip back to that. None of them seem surprised when I do. It's like they expect me to be the same old Cordelia."

Doyle hugged her gently, silently letting her explain what she was feeling.

"It's easier than trying to get them to believe I've changed, that I'm not the same person I was in high school."

"Giles sees it," Doyle encouraged. "I think Xander does too, if you want my opinion."

"You think so?" Cordelia asked hopefully, turning inside the circle of his arms to face him.

He nodded, ducking his head to kiss her mouth softly. "Yes," he said, "I do think so. I wouldn't have said it otherwise.

Cordelia shrugged suddenly as he pulled back, ducking her head. "I mean it's not like I should really care. It doesn't really matter; I don't even live here anymore."

"They're your friends, Princess," he replied, tilting her head back up with one finger tucked under her chin. "Of course, it matters."

Grinning, Cordelia hugged him tightly. "I love you, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," he replied, suddenly grinning almost as brightly as she was. She'd never said it before. "I--"

"Well, come on then. Let's go back and see what they're all up to."

Doyle shook his head, chuckling as he allowed her to drag him back inside the mansion. He didn't think he'd ever really understand her. One minute she was as insecure as anyone could be, the next she was in command and woe be unto those who would thwart her.

They were halfway to the living room before he realized he hadn't opened the subject of him returning to Los Angeles, which had been why he'd gone up to her in the first place. He really wasn't comfortable around the slayer, or Xander for that matter. Both of them hated demons and had no room in their hearts to see the grey.

He tred carefully around both of them, wary of revealing the fact that he was half demon. Every time the slayer's eyes fell on him he felt . . . exposed, as if just by looking at him she could see the part of him he'd inherited from his father. It had been bad enough when he'd been worried about telling Cordelia. This was just so much worse. He didn't want her to have to choose between him and her friends. It wouldn't be fair to her. **And I'm not so sure I'd come out on the winning end of that,** he admitted to himself. It would be better for everyone if he simply left. Angel and Cordy wouldn't be here for *too* much longer, and it wasn't as if he was really needed here, after all, and he could always call Angel if he received a vision.

He sighed, watching Cordelia practically bounce down the stairs ahead of him, her hand still firmly ahold of his. She was in such a good mood now; he wasn't going to bring it up. No need to bring her back down, he thought. He could mention it later tonight. In fact, maybe she'd go back with him. . . .

"Yes!" Willow shouted gleefully from downstairs.

Cordelia whipped her head around, grinning at him again. Oh how he loved that brilliant smile. It lit up her entire face, making her beauty almost magical. "Something's gone right," she said happily as she quickened her step. "It's about time."

**********
Chapter Twenty-Three
**********

Doyle and Cordelia stumbled into the room at the same time as Xander and company, to find Willow, Tara, and Giles all smiling.

"We did it!" Willow announced happily, bouncing on her toes.

"You're sure?" Adam and Spike asked almost in unison, both of them sounding both hopeful and wary.

Cordelia almost laughed. They sounded like two little boys who'd gotten promised there might be ice-cream for dessert, but were afraid to believe the promise.

"Yes, yes," Giles replied, his smile almost as broad as Willow's. "With one minor . . . hitch," he continued, his smile faltering slightly.

"What hitch?" Adam asked suspiciously -- not that Cordelia blamed him. His experiences here with magic hadn't exactly been positive.

Giles cast a quick glance toward Mr. Dawson. She supposed it was supposed to have been surreptitious, but neither she nor the person it was directed at missed it. Neither did Adam.

"Don't worry about him. He knows far more about me than you'll ever know," Adam stated bluntly. "What *hitch*?"

"Quite. Well, the thing is, we couldn't find another way to make your living body release its hold on Spike's soul."

**Oh no,** Cordelia thought. She'd only made that suggestion in jest.

Unaware of Cordelia's thoughts, Giles continued. "We did find one spell that was promising, but it would have worked only if the 'transfer' wasn't complete."

"Yes," Willow piped in. "It was the one we used when Kathy was trying to steal Buffy's soul."

Giles nodded absently, and continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "We took the base of that spell and . . . rewrote it for our purposes. Of course we could continue looking, but our sources here are tapped out. It would take--"

"Another way?" Dawson asked.

Holding up a hand toward his friend, Adam finished Giles' interrupted statement. "Take time, and, if I guess right, a lot of it," he said. "I think I can safely say that considering the circumstances neither Spike nor I wish to wait," he continued, but did tilt his head questioningly toward Spike.

It was *still* weird thinking of Spike when looking at the dark-haired man. Of course, it was just as strange to look at Spike and realize that Spike wasn't home -- so to speak.

"Nope, doing it the quick way doesn't bother me in the slightest. In fact, I'm actually looking forward to it," Spike replied smugly.

Adam rolled his eyes. "I--"

"*What* are you all talking about?"

Adam sighed. "I, or rather my body, has to die in order to release Spike's soul, so that we can both switch back."

Dawson's eyes widened, and he appeared to be horrified.

Cordelia frowned. Adam had intimated that this man knew about his Immortality, why was he so worried?

"Not the permanent kind, Joe," Adam hastily assured, half glaring at the man. "Do you *really* think I'd be encouraging this if it was?"

Snorting in relieved laughter, Dawson shook his head. "No, of course not. I don't know what I was thinking."

Cordelia grinned. "You were thinking you had found yourself with a group of nuts and that nothing was beyond the realm of possibility," she said.

Dawson grinned back at her, then burst out laughing. She liked his laugh, she decided. It was a hearty, gravelly kind of laugh. It made her think of her grandfather.

"I wouldn't go quite that far," he replied when he managed to control his mirth.

"Yes, you would, Joseph Dawson," Adam retorted. "You just wouldn't say so out loud."

Now it was Richie's turn. He bent nearly double with laughter. "He's got you pegged, Joe," he replied wagging a pointed finger at the older man.

Dawson blustered, but didn't deny the accusation. He suddenly frowned, however, and Cordelia wondered what it was he'd thought of.

He turned toward Willow and Giles, his expression uncertain, as if he couldn't believe he was really here having this conversation -- which his next words confirmed.

"I'm not at all certain I buy everything that's been thrown at me tonight, but on the off chance I'm not completely off my rocker, I have to ask; have you factored in the Immortal factor?"

Giles and Adam frowned in confusion. Cordelia had to admit she was little confused as well. If they hadn't, why had them been talking about death versus permanent death?

"Yes. . . ." Giles replied slowly.

Cordelia almost giggled, shooting a covert glance at Doyle. It looked to her like he was hiding amusement too. Giles had sounded as though he was speaking to a particularly slow student.

". . . .we have. If Adam wasn't Immortal we'd *have* to take the time to find another way to release Spike's soul. It's Adam's Immortality that will allow the 'temporary death' that will affect the release."

Dawson shook his head, his expression showing irritation. "I'm well *aware* of that," he replied, his tone carefully controlled, "and it wasn't what I was referring to."

"What did you mean, then?" Doyle asked, taking a step forward.

"Well, it's something that has been debated among those of us who have known about Immortals for any length of time. An Immortal's soul -- for lack of any better term -- doesn't leave when an Immortal dies temporarily. Near as we've been able to guess, the power of the quickening holds it in, or at least near, the body." Joe's eyes traveled the room, briefly meeting the gaze of everyone involved in the spell, participants and casters alike. "What's to keep Adam's quickening from holding onto Spike's soul, as if it were the soul that belonged to it?"

A stunned silence followed Dawson's unexpected question.

"Bloody hell!" both Adam and Spike exclaimed.

"Unfortunately, I see only one way to find out," Doyle remarked quietly into the silence that followed.

Giles nodded slowly, and with obvious reluctance.

Cordelia remained silent, instead taking the time to watch the people around her. She was surprised to see a flash of fear cross the dark-haired Spike's eyes -- and that was just plain creepy -- before the emotion was quickly hidden. And judging by the, also quickly hidden, expression on the blond Adam, Cordelia was certain she really didn't want to know what was going on in his head. To her way of thinking, it looked to be . . . unpleasant.

"You mean, go through with all this without even being sure it'll work?" Richie asked incredulously.

"That's exactly what they meant," Adam replied tartly.

"It worked the first time," Tara offered quietly, "r-releasing Adam's s-soul to S-Spike's body."

Dawson nodded. "True."

Adam brightened considerably. "Well, that certainly makes me feel a little better about the whole thing."

"Why are you so worried about it? Does this 'spell' hurt or something that you wouldn't want to go through it twice?"

Cordelia's mouth twitched upward when Richie suddenly looked away from Joe, in fact refused to look at anyone. Adam, even, looked a tad uncomfortable. No one else answered, though all eyes in the room trained on either Spike or Adam.

Spike just smirked and waited for whatever Adam would say. He looked as though he was thoroughly enjoying this. She had to admit, though she didn't like the idea of agreeing with Spike about anything, that this was the most fun she'd ever had at a 'research' session.

"Why do I get the feeling that something really important has been left out?" Dawson asked suspiciously.

"Because you've got eyes?" Spike inquired facetiously.

Joe just glared at him, quickly returning his attention back to Adam.

Adam sighed and shoved both hands into his jeans pockets. "No, Joe, it doesn't hurt. Well, until the spell actually works. That part hurt."

"It did?" Willow exclaimed, her voice horrified.

Adam nodded her direction curtly, but immediately turned back to Dawson. "It's just . . . I'm not looking forward to the process. Is it really necessary that you know why?"

Dawson stepped backward, his shoulders slumping slightly. To Cordelia it looked like Adam's reticence had hurt. "I guess it isn't," Joe replied stiffly, shrugging.

"Oh, Bloody hell!" Adam exclaimed, his posture sagging a bit too.

"You already said that," Cordelia quipped.

Richie snickered, but everyone else just looked at her.

"What?" she asked, "he did."

Next to her, Doyle shook his head, chuckling quietly. He reached out and took her hand raising it and kissing it lightly. "Never change, Princess," he whispered over her hand.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Adam beginning to reply. Unfortunately, Spike beat him to the punch line.

"We had sex," Spike blurted, waving a hand toward Willow and Tara. "When the witches got busy with their dark mojo, we were busy too."

Adam rolled his eyes, and glared at Spike.

"Well, it's the truth," Spike retorted with an indifferent shrug. "I see no reason to pussy foot around it."

**No,** Cordelia thought, **he's not fooling anyone. He's not indifferent. He's *really* enjoying the shock he just caused.

Dawson opened his mouth a couple of times, and shifted to lean on his cane a little more. "So?" he asked finally. "What does *that* have to do with anything?"

Cordelia watched as Adam and Richie's friend sat silently absorbing Giles' explanation of sex and blood magic. *She* was suffering serious deja vu, however. It hadn't been that long ago that this conversation had already taken place.

When Giles concluded, Dawson nodded slowly, then crossed and sat on one of the straight-backed chairs. "Let me see if I've got this right. All this sex and blood and magic all combined to make some kind of . . . super spell, and it'll take a super spell to reverse it?" he asked skeptically.

Giles nodded.

"But you still don't really believe any of this, do you?" Adam asked.

"Frankly? NO. I've seen some pretty incredible things in my life, but vampires? Magic spells? Body switching? Yes, you," he pointed toward Adam, "act like Adam, and you sure as hell don't. . ." he continued pointing toward the dark-haired Spike, ". . .except for that damned smirk."

Adam and Richie snorted in response to Dawson's exception.

Clearing his throat, Richie spoke first. "I'm the first to admit that there's been a lot of freaky stuff happening since I hit this town, so I've got to say, the body switching stuff is about the easiest of it all to believe."

"You really believe it, don't you, Rich?"

"Yeah," Richie nodded, "I have to. I've seen too much not to believe."

Adam and Richie shared a look that she couldn't quite figure out, both of them shrugging.

"Seeing is believing," Richie said, as if in answer to a question of Adam's.

Adam stood slowly, and suddenly Cordelia knew what he was going to do. With a slight shake of his head, he morphed, allowing the demon's game face to show.

Dawson gasped, instinctively pulling back. "What the--?" he exclaimed, the snapped his mouth shut.

"That's a vampire's 'true face'," Cordelia said quietly.

"I fell asleep on the plane," Dawson muttered. "That's the only explanation."

"Afraid not, Joe. This is all very real," Adam replied softly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Giles said, stepping forward, "but tonight is an opportune time to cast this spell. Unless you would all like to wait until the night after tomorrow?"

"No," Spike said, jumping up. "Tonight's perfect."

"Why not tomorrow night?" Joe asked.

"Long story."

"Tonight would be my preference as well," Adam replied, shifting back to human guise. "I'm really not comfortable trusting the protection of my body to someone other than myself. Putting this off seems too much like tempting fate, if you ask me."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed. **Yeah, tempting which fate?** she thought. She wasn't really sure what it was, but Adam's given reason wasn't his real one. She was sure of it.

Just as everyone began moving, gather the supplies needed, the front door to the mansion opened, admitting Buffy, closely followed by Angel.

Xander stood quickly, heading toward the pair. "Did you find anything out?"

Buffy shook her head. "Not really, Xander, sorry," she replied apologetically, then noticed the stranger. "Who's this?" she asked as she crossed toward Richie.

Angel quietly slipped over to stand by Cordelia. She smiled at him then returned her attention to the ongoing conversation.

"A friend of mine and Adam's," Richie replied, slipping an arm around her waist, "Joe Dawson."

Buffy nodded toward Dawson. "So, you've gotten all caught up then?" she asked cautiously.

Richie chuckled. "Yeah. He's kinda having trouble believing."

"And this surprises you how?" she asked in amusement. "It's not exactly easy stuff to believe."

"And that's the sanest thing I've heard all night," Joe replied, pushing himself up to stand. "Glad to meet you. . . ." he said, letting his voice trail off questioningly.

"Oops, sorry Joe," Richie said hastily. "This is Buffy, and that's Angel," he continued pointing toward the vampire.

"Not to cut the introductions short here, but what's the what?" Buffy asked, waving to indicate the gathering and the packing.

**********
Chapter Twenty-Four
**********

Joe reluctantly watched as Methos -- and no, he couldn't get used to thinking of that *blond* as Methos -- and Richie headed out with the others to perform the spell to switch them back. They'd told him what had happened, but he still wasn't sure he believed it. He could believe the vampire thing far more readily. They'd shown him proof that the blond was not . . . normal -- certainly that he was different -- *very* different. He could see no reason they'd lie to him about something like this; it was simply too unbelievable to be a joke. Unfortunately, it was also too unbelievable to be real.

He would have liked to go and see this supposed spell, but if they really *were* going to do a full 're-enactment' like they'd claimed, it was just as well he wasn't going along. **I could always ask them to show me a spell later -- make 'em prove it all,** Joe mused, turning back to face those who'd stayed.

"So," he drawled, "we just sit here and wait?"

"Basically," Buffy replied, nodding. "I've already run early patrol -- thank goodness. I don't think I could concentrate waiting to find out the results."

"Patrol?" Joe asked.

"Are you sure you didn't discover anything while you were out tonight," Xander interrupted.

Buffy shook her head. "I'm sorry, Xander, but no. The . . . *gangs* are all silent. We didn't even find a single *gang* member to question."

"You're a vigilante group?" Joe exclaimed. **What the hell is Methos doing involved with this group? Has he gone insane?** Richie, Joe could understand. The kid was still young and idealistic -- but Methos? And how the hell did that Spike fella fit into this?

"No!" Xander exclaimed on top of Buffy's "Kind of," and Angel's "It's complicated."

The three youngsters exchanged sheepish looks, setting off all of Joe's suspicions. "And just what is Richie's involvement in this?"

"He's a friend," Buffy replied huffily. She obviously hadn't cared for his tone.

**Well, tough shit, little girl.** "With a vampire and a bunch of vigilantes? How long before you're all arrested?" Joe asked, his outrage growing. "Do you realize how dangerous it is if an Immortal gets jailed?"

"They told you about vampires, too?" Buffy and Angel asked in unison.

"Yeah, they did. They used it as a reason to believe all the other hogwash they were throwing my way."

"But nothing about me or Angel?" Buffy asked, leaning forward intently.

Joe shook his head warily. "No," he replied, "nothing about the two of you. So, how about coming clean?"

The young girl glanced toward Angel. To Joe's experienced eye, and much to his surprise, it looked as though she were seeking permission. Up until this moment, Joe would have bet an awful lot of money that Angel wasn't in charge of anything here.

Some unspoken communication passed between the two, and Buffy turned back to face him. "I'm the vampire slayer," she said.

"You?" Joe asked incredulously, laughing at the image of this petite blonde girl fighting the vampires of legend. It was a ludicrous mental picture. They'd eat her for breakfast . . . literally.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Angel offered quietly. "Someone as acquainted with Immortals as you seem to be should realize that."

Joe returned his attention to the man who had remained silent for most of the evening, wrestling his amusement under control. "You have a point," he admitted. "Please continue."

"Once every generation, a slayer is chosen. She alone. . . ."

*****

Methos fought the urge to roll his eyes, for about the fourth time since leaving the mansion. Spike was acting ridiculously. He was like some teenage boy on a sugar and caffeine high, jumping around and trading barbed insults with anyone who'd rise to the bait. Unfortunately, Richie kept doing so. The noise, the rising emotions, all of it, combined to test his resolve not to give in to the increasingly violent demands of the demon he shared this body with.

"Children!" Methos snapped, at the complete end of his patience. He would be *so* glad when this was finished. He needed a vacation from his so-called vacation. The entire group stared at him in shock -- with the glaring exception of Rupert Giles, who wasn't looking at him at all.

"You okay, Adam?" Richie asked, a worried frown pulling down his mouth.

Methos sighed, then took a slow, deep breath and held it, counting slowly to ten. "Yeah, just . . . could you guys key it down just a little?" he asked hopefully. Maybe then he'd get through this evening without biting someone's head off -- literally, or at least trying to.

"Sure," Richie shrugged. "I know you're a little tense about this whole spell thing, Adam, but I'd have thought you'd be at least a little excited about it," he continued in confusion.

"I am, actually," Methos replied slowly. "It's just that--"

"It's the demon," Spike interrupted, "isn't it?"

Methos nodded. "Yes."

Spike nodded. "Figures. A vampiric demon is excited by only a few things. Your excitement would be setting off the demonic instincts."

Richie frowned and looked questioningly at Spike. "What do you mean?"

Giles, Methos noted, didn't say anything, but suddenly his entire attention was focused on the ex-vampire.

Spike, glorying in being the center of attention, held up his fingers one at a time as he counted off reasons. "Violence, sex, blood -- not necessarily in that order," he replied cockily.

To Methos' amusement, Giles shook his head and turned away. Evidently that wasn't anything he didn't already know.

Richie's eyes widened. "That's it?" he asked in surprise. "Nothing else excites a vampire?"

"Not generally, no. There is the rare exception, of course."

"Dull," Richie replied, disappointment flattening his tone.

Before anyone could reply, however, both Richie and Spike stiffened. Spike winced, raising a hand to his temple.

Methos swore silently. **Not now!**

He grabbed Spike's arm, pulling him toward the center of their group. Spike frowned at him and pulled away.

"Well, well, what an odd looking group we have here," came a voice from out of the darkness.

Methos turned the direction it came from, noting that both Richie and Spike had done the same. Well, everyone had, actually, but it was Richie and Spike he was concerned about at the moment. He frowned, he couldn't see anyone there, though he could hear the Immortal breathing. **That's handy,** he thought irrelevantly.

"Who's there?" Richie called out. "Step out where we can see you."

"I'm not interested in you, Boy. I'm interested in your friend. It's him I'm here to challenge."

**Fuck!** Methos swore silently.

"Well, I guess you're just out of luck," Richie replied, standing his ground. "He's not accepting challenges today."

The shadowed voice chuckled. "And who are you to be speaking for him? His teacher? Aren't you a little young?"

Richie shrugged, letting the man make of the gesture what he would. "Giles, get everyone back home," he said quietly, yet firmly, looking somewhat surprised when Giles simply nodded and began urging Tara and Willow back the way they'd all come.

Giles looked to Adam questioningly, casting a quick glance at Spike. Methos nodded back. Yeah, he'd get Spike to go too.

"Look, you didn't come for me. I don't have a grudge with you . . . as far as I know. But you're not getting to him without going through me first. Why don't we just go our separate ways for now," Richie suggested calmly.

Methos grabbed Spike's arm, again pulling him insistently backward.

Spike glared at him, but reluctantly followed, walking backward so as to keep an eye on the possible fight. "I want to stay," he hissed angrily. "If he's gonna fight the guy--"

"Because, if we get you out of here before the fight starts, he may not have to," Methos snapped back as quietly as his growing irritation would allow. Part of him wanted to go back and tear the interloping Immortal apart limb from limb. That part would be almost as happy to simply stay and watch the blood shed. It was a part of himself that he was steadfastly ignoring -- well, trying to anyway. However, the effort it took made him irritable, and Spike's reluctance wasn't helping.

"Oh, all right!" Spike finally muttered, spinning on one heel and stomping off after Giles and the witches.

"Have it your way," Richie said behind him.

Methos snapped his head over his shoulder -- wishing he'd heard the comment Richie's was in reply to -- just in time to see both Immortals draw steel. Cursing and thrilling at the same time, Methos forced himself to turn away, wishing he'd brought his gun with him. He'd known it was stupid to let the others talk him out of it, but he'd done so. Now he doubted they could get back to the mansion in time for him to collect it and do any good with it.

He just hoped that Richie would survive this challenge. His gut tightened ominously. He sure as hell didn't want to tell Joe that Richie died to protect him. Somehow, Methos just didn't think it was an equitable trade. He didn't think Joe would either.

The sound of steel on steel spurred him forward, and Methos broke into a sprint. He may not have time to get his 9mil, but he sure as hell might have time to get to Angel or Cordelia's cell phone. The police could interrupt this fight just as well as the last one they'd interrupted by his design.

He just hoped that Richie would be a mite less pissed at him for doing it. Not that he *really* cared about that; Richie would get over it, just like MacLeod had, because he'd be alive to do so.

"Giles," he called out, when he'd caught up to them. "You don't happen to have a cell phone do you?"

Giles looked at him oddly. "No, sorry, I don't."

Willow giggled, despite the obvious concern on her face. "He doesn't, but I do," she said, pulling it out.

"Thanks," he said, taking it and quickly dialing.

"911. What's your emergency?"

No one noticed the furtive shadow that slipped further into the hidden recesses of the trees as they walked away. A grin on his face, Ricardo Martin found a good hiding place and settled in to watch the two Immortals fight. For Joe's sake, he hoped the Richard Ryan would win this one. If he was right about the opposing Immortal, he was a mean son-of-a-bitch. He'd also really hate to see the bastard go after a new Immortal like Adam.

Ricardo couldn't keep his grin from growing, despite his worry about his assignment, and for Adam. He'd found a new Immortal. Not every field agent got the chance to report that. Even fewer got the chance to report a former *Watcher* had become an Immortal. He was going to be famous.

He frowned. That was, unless Joe was finding out about it now and beat him to the punch. He really liked the old guy, but *he* wanted this plum, and now he was torn between staying to watch the end of the fight and leaving now to report his find.

With a heartfelt sigh, Ricardo sided with his responsibilities and stayed to Watch the fight. If he left and Richard Ryan died, and he couldn't report what had happened. . . .

*****

Everyone jumped as the front door slammed open, they raced as a group toward the entry way, each, in his own way, preparing for a fight. No one present had forgotten the demons that wanted to get hold of Xander.

They all skidded to a confused halt, staring in surprise as they saw who it was.

"Giles!" Buffy exclaimed, jumping forward at the worried frown she saw on his face. "What happened?" She quickly searched the group, her eyes widening in sudden horror. "Where's Richie?"

"A challenge," Adam replied flatly.

"A challenge?" she repeated faintly, lunging for the door even before the words finished leaving her mouth.

Adam grabbed her arm, wrenching her around. She punched, landing a solid blow across his jaw, and sending him to the ground with the unexpected blow. Unfortunately, he didn't let go of her on his way down and she went with him, landing with an 'oomph' squarely on top of him.

"Let go of me!" she shouted.

"You can't interfere," Adam replied firmly, not letting go. "Besides, I already called the police," he continued a smirk blooming across his face. "They'll be there before you could get there, anyway."

Buffy smiled. "Isn't that *interfering*?" she asked facetiously.

Below her, Adam shrugged, his smirk firmly in place.

"I like you," Buffy declared suddenly, slapping the Immortal turned vampire on the shoulder, then offering him her hand as she stood. "You think like I do."

Pulling him to his feet after he accepted her assistance, Buffy glanced worriedly toward the door. "There's only one problem with your plan," she said, turning back toward him.

"What's that?"

"The police in this town are criminally stupid," she said, once again heading toward the door. "Angel, you coming?"

"Right behind you," he said softly.

Adam muttered behind her too quietly for her to hear what he said, but she grinned when he followed her to the door as well. What surprised her, was both Doyle and Cordelia joined the group. She'd been sure Doyle couldn't stand her, though she couldn't figure out why. Maybe he was putting aside that dislike because he liked Richie.

She shrugged. She could figure it out later; it didn't really matter right now. She strode out the front door, stopping only long enough to grab her weapons bag. It had everything she could possibly need.

She gasped as she stepped out onto the driveway. A lone figure stumbled toward them. Letting go of a short squeak, and dropping her bag onto the ground, she raced forward. It was Richie, and he was hurt -- hurt badly by the look of the way he was walking.

He smiled when he saw her, but groaned when she slipped an arm around his waist and tried to help support him. He tried to pull away, but she kept her arm firmly in place.

"You need help, Richie. Let me, please?"

In her arms, Richie hesitated briefly then nodded once. She smiled and they once again began moving forward.

Adam slipped to his other side, mirroring her, but when Adam moved to support him, Richie groaned again, shaking his head.

"Overload, M-Adam," Richie whispered hoarsely. "Please don't."

Buffy was surprised at the raw tone in Richie's voice, but even more so when Adam simply nodded and moved away. **Overload?** she thought. **What on Earth does that mean?**

"You don't look so good," she said, as she eased Richie down onto the fireplace hearth.

"Yeah, but you should see the other guy," Richie quipped, tossing out the standard response. Groaning and leaning forward, Richie wrapped an arm firmly across his abdomen.

"You're not suppose to let them stab you," Adam said quietly, watching from halfway across the room.

Richie glared at him. "It's not as if I spread my arms out to the side and said 'have at me,' you know. Well, not exactly anyway."

Buffy blinked. **Huh?** "What do you mean 'not exactly'?" she demanded suspiciously.

Across the room Adam took a step forward his frowning expression asking the exact same thing.

Richie sighed and eased himself back against the wall. "I was losing," he said shortly. "I knew I had to do something, and do it fast." He stopped, taking several slow shallow breaths. "I began noticing a certain series of movements he made. If they'd worked the way he wanted them to, they would have succeeded, but would have left him open. I took advantage of that."

"And got yourself nearly gutted in the process," Joe retorted angrily. "How could you have taken that kind of risk?"

Richie raised his head to look directly at his friend, and Buffy couldn't believe the expression she saw reflected in his blue eyes -- relieved disbelief along with a touch of terror. "I was dead if I didn't Joe. It was *that* close to the end. He was *that* good. Much better than me. I got lucky. I think he was better, even, than Mac."

Buffy tore her eyes away from Richie to look at the others. She may not know this Mac, the Immortal who'd been Richie's teacher, but from what he'd already told her, that was one hell of a compliment to his opponent. Both Joe and Adam's looks reflected the horror she felt, and silence descended on the room. It was quickly broken by Cordelia, however, when she hurried forward.

"Let me see that wound, Richard. I should be able to help, until it heals."

"No!" Richie shouted, his voice cracking on the single syllable.

Cordelia jerked backward, hurt plain on her face.

"I'm sorry, Cordelia," he said instantly. "It'll heal fine, I promise and it's just that--"

"I'll explain it, Rich," Adam offered softly. "Why don't you go up and take a shower?"

Richie sighed in relief, and nodded before rising to his feet, then stopped. "But what about the spell?"

Adam winced, then apparently shrugged off his disappointment. "We wait."

Nodding once more, Richie headed toward the stairs.

To Buffy's relief he was already moving better, though it was obvious he was still in pain.

Everyone watched him limp from the room, not moving until he disappeared from sight. Then, nine pairs of eyes turned to face Adam.

"So," Buffy said impatiently, "explain."

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