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

---

Chapter Seven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The waiter or garçon arrived with two frothy beers.

“Cheers!” said Ben.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brilliant. Care to say £6?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah yes, bonsoir.”

Pug nose and bland boy nodded and replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***End of Flashback***

(Private hanger, Cleveland’s Burke Lakefront Airport)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Ahab.”

“Hey, Bleached Wonder?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whispered, “What’s wrong, Blue?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**end chap 7**

---

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