Chapter Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wot?”

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

---tbc--