Chapter 14

A/N: Happy Halloween! Thank you to those of you who have continued your support of this fic. Due to some health issues, it hasn't been updated as often as I would have liked. Hopefully this will soon change.
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Methos felt nervous. If it hadn’t been absolutely necessary to obtain this assistance, he wouldn’t have even considered a meeting. He knew he was being cowardly, but cowardice had helped him keep his head various times throughout the millennia. Yet, here he was willingly agreeing to meet the one person he didn’t want to see. At least, the meet was on holy ground, even though it was late at night.

Methos approached Highgate Cemetery. After ‘Love’s Bitch’ had touched down at Heathrow, he’d taken his leave from the others, saying he needed to retrieve some supplies that weren’t available at Watcher’s HQ. It was a feeble excuse, and he could tell that Spike knew it. Still, the vampire hadn’t said anything about it; the others all following Xander’s lead. Fortunately Xander had called ahead from the plane and had arranged a van and a car to be waiting for their arrival. He had watched the motley crew board the van and depart, before he made his way to his car. He hadn’t wanted any followers.

******
For a bloke who’d survived millennia, Methos sure didn’t have enough sense to know he was being followed, thought Spike, as he surreptiously stalked the ancient Immortal. Something was up; didn’t take a brain trust to see that. Fortunately night provided his badly needed cover, so his could follow the git. After Methos had asked Xander to get him his own car, Spike had whispered to Xander to get him one too. Had to give the Whelp credit, Xander had only given him a strange look for a moment before nodding his head in agreement.

After he had gotten into the car with the others, Spike had nudged Blue and asked her to watch over the others while he took care of something. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike had noticed that Connor had heard him too, because his nephew had bristled slightly. Connor had impressed him by not asking to accompany him and keeping his own emotions in check.

As soon as the van had driven around the corner of the building that housed the plane, Spike ordered the driver to stop. Dana had been confused with the sudden stop, but Connor had placed his firm, gentle hand on her shoulder, promising that she would see Spike again soon enough. With a nod of thanks, Spike hurried to his car to pick up Methos’ trail.

From what he had gathered about Methos, a cemetery was not the sort of place Spike would have imagined ol’ Death visiting, well then again. Perhaps, he planned on saying his respects to a friend or a little prayer to help the group in their endeavor, but some reason Spike didn’t think Methos had that in mind. Especially, since Methos was clearly distracted as to his surroundings. Angelus had taught him to always protect his flank, a tactic that Methos should have been heeding given their current situation. Considering that Methos boasted fighting as a Roman and in other numerous wars, Spike felt the old guy’s guard had slipped. The air was ripe with the anxiety pouring off of the Immortal. Spike felt he could bathe in it.

What was the bloke doing?

******

No other person. No other way. Even as he entered the grounds of the cemetery and walked its hallowed path to its cemetery, Methos kept trying to think of any other solution he could have found, instead of this. He’d felt dread like this only a few times in his life. And the last time, he’d felt it had been for the same reason. Cassandra.

Methos began feeling that familiar tingling which announced the presence of another Immortal. As he rounded the corner of a mausoleum, he saw her. Even though her back was too him, Methos could see that she knew he was there, watching her. Their last encounter found him on the ground recovering after killing Silus and her holding an axe above his head. If it hadn’t been for MacLeod, he’d be dead now. With absolute clarity, he knew that was true. His guilt over their past condemned him to accept her contempt, even though he’d sought to bury all traces of the man he’d once been.

*****

Well, I’d be buggered. A woman. Wonder why he’d been so secretive? Is she with Wolfram & Hart? Is he betraying us? From his vantage point, Spike could see Methos waiting for the woman to turn around. From her profile, she appeared to be a beauty. Long, brown hair. High cheekbones. Full lips.

What? Spike spied the tip of a metal blade at the corner of the woman’s long coat. Was Methos armed? Spike readied himself for a fight if he was needed. He didn’t want to alert them to his presence just yet.

******

Methos stood completely still, completely silent. He purposely kept his hands out of his coat pockets, even though his right hand itched for the comforting feel of his sword. He didn’t think she would be foolish enough to attack on holy ground; surely she remembered what happened in Pompeii.

Cassandra slowly turned around, her emerald eyes sharp. “Methos. You dared to have Duncan summon me. You presumed I would come like a dog when you beckoned?”

Methos struggled to keep his tone unthreatening, but his mouth had other ideas. “And yet, you came.”

Cassandra’s eyes flamed in anger. “I’ve not forgotten what a bastard you are, Methos.”

Sighing, Methos shrugged. “Yes, I believe we covered that the last time we saw each other. Yes, my sins against you are great, but millennia have passed, or haven’t you noticed? I’ve tried to tell you before; I am not the same, as I was then… Cassandra.”

******

Cassandra. The name rang a bell…where had he heard that? Just recently. Then Spike remembered. Cassandra was the name of the immortal woman who Methos had wronged so many thousands of years ago. So, this was Cassandra.

******

“You allowed Kronos to cage me, like an animal.”

“I didn’t know he was going after you. I’d told MacLeod to get you out of town. But what you’re failing to remember is that I also helped you regain your freedom.” Methos countered quickly.

“Only because you thought McLeod was the stronger ally! I was your slave, your pawn. You willingly gave me to Kronos.” Cassandra ranted, her green eyes seemed lit despite the lack of moonlight.

“I had no choice! Has the millennia not granted you just a sliver of understanding about the position I was in? Has your heart become so blackened with hatred for me, that you can not even put yourself in my shoes?” Methos could not help himself. This confrontation had been brewing for the many millennia. His guilt still weighed heavily on his conscience. He’d thought he’d let it go, and he had for the most part. His association with McLeod had forced him to do lots of self-reflection, and sometimes he didn’t like what he saw.

“Your shoes!! Your shoes!! You and your (spit) Horseman rode into my camp, slaughtering my family, my friends, my entire tribe. You had no feelings… only wants. You felt nothing for me. I was but a toy for your amusement,” exclaimed the beautiful immortal, pouring all her venom, all her hatred into every word. With that turn, the fight about their last meeting dissolved like the sands of time, carrying both Immortals back to their beginnings.

Methos screamed, “You were NOT MY TOY!” He shook with frustration; he’d never planned to admit that to her. It gave her too much power.

Cassandra seemed momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered. Her right hand kept clenching and unclenching. “If we weren’t on holy ground; you coward!”

“Cassandra.” Methos’ voice cracked with strain, his control barely restrained. “You meant more to me than that. Kronos would have had both our heads that night, that instant had I not …” He took a breath. “If for one moment Kronos had thought that I had genuine feelings for you, torture would have been too kind. You escaped him. I was happy that you did. Did you know I saw you flee the camp that night? I could have easily caught you and brought you back, but I didn’t. Don’t you understand?”

Cassandra shakily countered, “I understand that you were and still are a coward, Methos. Survival is your only mistress, the only thing you care about.”

He couldn’t help himself; he smiled. “As you say, Cassandra. On that point, I cannot argue with you. Still, my request to see you is not for my benefit, but for the good of the world.”

Cassandra snorted in disbelief, “Good of the world? You, Methos?”

“Yes,” he stated simply, his serious tone causing her smirk to falter. “What I’m now involved in may be greater than ‘the Game’ itself. Take it from the one who used to ride the pale horse and call himself Death. The Four Horseman would be squashed like a bug under the evil that now threatens the world.”

Cassandra visibly paled, “The Wolf… the Ram… the Hart! The girl!” She seemed to stumble for a second before regaining her composure.

“Are you well?” Methos asked, concern pooling in his brown eyes.

“As if you care.”

“I do…”

Interrupting Cassandra explained, “For the past few months, I’d been receiving recurring dreams… visions. Of a wolf, a ram, a hart. Of a blonde girl battling with a powerful weapon. Of a battle of a small group in an alley with hordes of demons. (Pause) Sometimes I see other confusing images.”

“This vision… it’s similar to the one you had about Duncan?” Duncan had told him one drunken day about how he had first met Cassandra in Donan Woods. Methos had often wondered if she had possessed these visions when they first met. Had she been apprenticed in witchcraft then? Could she have hidden it so well? If Kronos had known of her potential, she surely would have been exploited. Well, even more than she had been. He inwardly cringed with that admission. He knew she had gained the power of the Voice, but that it didn’t work on him or the other, now-dead Horsemen. He wondered what other gifts she possessed.

“No, not the same. Yet, in few respects, yes.”

“It is the side of the girl and the band of warriors in the alley with whom I side,” supplied Methos. Cassandra looked disbelieving at him. That was to be expected, though. “A further incentive … mixed in with the great evil is someone who you hate more than you do me.”

“Kristophe!” Cassandra actually took three steps forward toward Methos in her shock. She unsheathed her sword in anger. Methos backed away quickly.

A sudden blur of white and black flew from the bushes knocking the sword out of the Immortal witch’s hand. “Sorry luv. Can’t let you harm the git.”

******

Spike had been listening, taking advantage of the greenery on the edge of the cemetery. The bint’s green eyes made him miss his Slayer. He held in his laughter when she lashed out at Methos. Perhaps she had been destined to be a Slayer before she became an immortal. She sure sounded like Buffy when his love would unload her anger.

For a moment, Methos and Cassandra reminded him of some of the arguments he’d shared with his love. Her righteous anger rivaled Buffy’s. To be fair though, this bird had cause. Of course, he could identify with Methos’ struggle to overcome the sins of the past.

When Cassandra had blurted out the scenes in her dreams or visions or whatever, Spike almost revealed himself then. His muscles were taut from the control he was exerting over them. Yet he maintained his position. However, when she unsheathed her sword after stepping so close to Methos, he sprung. Tender Roni wouldn’t like it if he allowed her Watcher getting himself beheaded.

******

“Spike!” Methos blurted out in surprise. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” With realization, “You followed me!”

“And a good thing I did too, you thankless tit. Rona would be unhappy with me if you got yourself beheaded, yeah. Making that particular Slayer unhappy wouldn’t be too healthy for me.”

“Who is this?” Accusatory eyes flicked back and forth between Methos and Spike. “One against one. That is the rules. No one interferes.”

“Oh come on, Cassandra. S’not like I knew he was there. Besides we weren’t in a challenge. We’re on holy ground.” Methos argued.

Cassandra studied the stranger wearing a black leather duster, his pale skin shining in the moonlight. “You’re a vampire!”

“You figured that out all on your own? What gave me away?” Spike snarked. Turning to Methos, he purred, “So Adam, this your Eve?” Seductively sizing the immortal witch up as if she were a tasty morsel.

Cassandra’s eyes widened, her nostrils flared. “How dare you! I’m not his … Eve!”

“Yeah, right. Seen that movie, lived it, burned up like a bloody pyre, went ghostie, got my body back. It’s been played, pet.”

“Wait… you!” Cassandra now looked shocked. Turning to Methos, she said, “This one was in the alley! Vampire with a soul.”

Methos nodded his head, as Spike shared, “Yeah, now that’s been settled. Come on, you old fart, best we be getting back. Sooner we get what we need here, the sooner we can get to my girl.”

“Spike… Cassandra is who I came to England for. If she agrees, she would be able to help us.”

Spike looked questionably at the witch. “Don’t need another witch, if we get Red.”

“Ms. Rosenberg would not give us an advantage, Spike. She is a known quantity. They would have her picture and dossier compiled about her abilities. Cassandra is an unknown. No offense dear.” Cassandra huffed. “Plus, she has abilities that Ms. Rosenberg would not fathom to possess.”

Cassandra appeared stunned by Methos’ words of praise. Well, stunned and confused. But the two men were arguing, ignoring her presence for the moment.

“Red almost ended the bloody world a few years back. She’s tapped into the soddin’ Goddess. You saying this bint has more mojo? That, I seriously doubt.”

“The bint, as you so eloquently put it, you bloodsucker…” Cassandra began.

“That’s bloody original,” Spike interjected.

“Is standing right here. What are you both talking about? What’s going on? And did you call Methos a tit earlier?”

Methos and Spike shared a look and a smile, and then with a nod from Spike, Methos related the whole story to Cassandra.

*******
(Much later at Watcher’s HQ)

“Spike!”

Distracted by the decidedly different location and feel of the new Watcher’s HQ, Spike only at the last second caught the blur of red and brown, which tackled him after he had entered the Victorian house.

His alarm suddenly relaxed as he took in the unmistakable scent of incense and cinnamon. “Red!” He was slightly befuddled at the tight hug the powerful Wicca was giving him. He’d not expected such a reception, at least not from Willow. Casually glancing at who else was present, he noticed a decidedly lack of Rupert. Good. Didn’t want to see that tosser right now anyway.

Returning the hug, Spike savored the feelings of warmth and belonging that threatened to overwhelm him. Suddenly the hug was broken. Spike opened his eyes and saw Willow now on the floor, her eyes flashing black for a few seconds.

“He is not for your arms, witch.” Illyria had ripped Willow off of her pet. Illyria detected the promise of great power held in check for a moment as the witch’s eyes turned cobalt. Perhaps this one deserved study. Earlier, Illyria had acquired the names of the humans of this shelter and had sensed a hint of something from the red headed one named for a tree. As the red witch’s eyes returned to normal, Illyria was reminded of Wesley, for the odor of old books and texts lingered on the witch’s skin. Illyria held her head as an unbidden memory from her shell leaked into her consciousness – Wesley chanting over a cauldron, the glow of candlelight illuminating his face.

“Stop, Blue,” managed to say as he recovered from the loss of the hug. Then he saw her grab her head. “You alright?”

Illyria’s eyes snapped open. The Goddess took in the worried faces of the humans surrounding her. “It is of no concern. An imprint of memory left by this shell. Nothing more.” Illyria then turned her attention to the new human who now accompanied the old one and her pet. With her cold gaze, she assessed that this new female was also an Immortal but other powers emanated from her.

Willow had recovered from her unexpected fall and began introducing herself to Methos and Cassandra. “Hi, I’m Willow Rosenberg, Resident Head Wicca and Assistant to the Head of the Watcher’s Council. Welcome.”

“Ms. Rosenberg, we’ve spoken many times on the phone and through e-mail. I’m Adam Pierson.” While Methos shook Willow’s hand, Spike noticed his pointed look at Cassandra. Apparently from her expression, Cassie didn’t know of Methos’ secret identity or why he would withhold his true identity to his supposed colleagues.

“I’m Cassandra. Very nice to meet another who draws strength from the Earth Goddess.” Spike could sense both Willow and Cassandra size each other up. This should prove interesting.

Xander interrupted the greet-fest by asking Spike if he’d like a tour of the place. Having noticed the lack of their presence, Spike instead asked, “Where’s Pinks and the Destroyer?”

“In the training room. After being cooped up on the plane, both seemed itchy for a good spar. Connor took her off my hands for a bit. Which is good. My ribs still are sore from the other day. The Puffy Xander suit didn’t fare so well.”

Xander kept talking while leading Spike, with Illyria and the others following, through several hallways. Lots of girls of varying ages, a few looking as young as ten, peeked out from their rooms. Spike’s vamp senses registered so many slayers that his skin crawled. Natural preservation dictated for him to remove his easily dusty self from this house as quickly as possible, but Spike fought that instinct. He’d lived with a house full of potential slayerettes before, no difference here, except that these girls didn’t know him and all had their powers. Best be on guard then.

As the group neared a set of double doors, Spike could smell old sweat, talcum powder, dried blood, and other odors that could only be attributed to a gymnasium. The door opened before Xander reached for it, and a vaguely familiar figure stood in the doorway.

“Xander, I can’t believe how much she’s progressed. You have to come see.” The lithe, auburn haired pixie announced. Then taking in Xander’s followers, huge brown eyes got impossibly even bigger. “Spike!!!!” Spike sensed an underlying fear that felt familiar, but that soon disappeared. “I heard you were back. I’m not scared of you anymore, and I dare you to try to twist my arm now.”

Her identity came back to him. “Vi… my, my haven’t you just flowered, little violet. Don’t ever dare a vampire, pet. Hasn’t your Watcher taught you that lesson yet?” Spike teased.

“Spike, I’m glad you alive…er… undead. I didn’t believe Xander when he said that this boy could hold his own against Dana, but …” waving her arm, “come inside and see.”


tbc