by Lisa Y. Drexel

Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three  Chapter Four  

Double Destiny
Chapter One

An Old Man's Musings

"So, do you have a plan?" Buffy asked me, her eyes pleading with me to somehow pull a miracle out of my hat and rescue her from the Council. A part of me wanted to scream at her—that she should have a plan—that was part of the requirements of surviving as an Immortal. But every protest I wanted to make stopped once I looked into her eyes and saw the hope and her belief in me.

It has been so long since someone has looked at me like she was. And as soon I thought that, I wanted to kick myself for letting her have this much power over me. Not even my last wife could invoke the devotion that Buffy Summers did.

It was moments like those that I have to really question my sanity.

What in the hell was I thinking taking this young woman-child under my wing? She was impetuous, headstrong, determined, emotional, exasperating, irritating, and much too modern for my comfort. I swear, there were times when I thought I was going to explode when I heard her utter some atrocious twentieth-century-ism, such as, 'duh' or even better, 'pathetic much?'

That last one especially grated on my nerves.

Gods, she has been driving me crazy since the first time we met. And yet, I can't help but feel drawn to her...her indomitable spirit that seems to brighten everything that she touches.

Bloody hell, she even has vampires panting after her.

Spike isn't the first one to express an interest in her.

She just doesn't know about the others.

For all we know, it wasn't the Immortal Watchers that let it be known that there was an Immortal Slayer wandering the Earth. It could've very well been the very same creatures that she has fought all these years.

I've heard them talk—now more than ever.

The first time I realized that she had become almost a legend among the vampires was about eight years ago—not too soon after I had found out about her identity myself. She had been on my mind a lot since the night I had held her in my arms as she haltingly told me her story. Her watery hazel eyes haunted me nearly every time I closed my eyes.

In response, I had taken to wandering the streets at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she stood in the shadows fighting the darkness. I had found myself floundering under the realization that she had managed to not only slip under those defenses that I had spent over a milieu building, but also how important she had become to me personally. In such a short time—mere weeks—she had become as important to me as MacLeod had been prior to our meeting the first time.

And I had spent years prior to meeting the Scot reading his chronicles as well as talking in length with Darius about the Highlander whom both of us believed would be the One...

It also did help matters much that I had desired her as well—just as I had MacLeod.

It had been the first time since Alexa's death that I found myself attracted to another woman. And just like with Alexa, I had fallen hard for Buffy Summers even though she herself had shied away from any emotional entanglements that included intimacy. The helplessness of the situation, coupled with the fact that she could very well win the Game, brought me to Alexa's grave that night that I had finally ran into a handful of the very creatures Buffy had had spent most of her life fighting.

I had just kneeled in front her headstone; ready to pour out my heart to my dead wife, when a half-dozen vampires had decided that I just may be what they needed for an appetizer that evening.

I, of course, responded in kind—pulling out my sword and beheading the closest vampire before they even had a chance to pounce on me. Almost immediately, one of them barked out an order to back off and faced me, his face sliding into its human mask right before he spoke.

"You're one of them—an Immortal" he stated, his head tipped to the side in question.

"Who the hell cares what he is—he's human, got a heartbeat—I say dinner!" Another growled hungrily.

The first vampire whipped around, fist out and slammed his hand into the other vampire's chest—yanking out his heart.

The creature disappeared into a cloud of dust. "Like I said," the first vampire said as he tossed the heart to the side and had faced me—ignoring the fearful glances of his comrades. "You're Immortal—like the Slayer."

The remaining vampires, which had been standing around the speaker, had growled appreciatively.

"I've heard she's a tasty morsel," one of them had called out. "Her blood is like ambrosia..."

Flummoxed, I arched an eyebrow in question, but had chosen not to answer—knowing that anything I would have said would have just made matters worse. Besides, at that time—I had been more than just a bit curious as to what these beings had to say about the woman who had been plaguing my thoughts for all those weeks.

They hadn't disappointed me. Suddenly, all but the first one, the one I had penned as a leader, began adding in their own two-bits of the legend of Buffy Summers.

"I met a guy who lived on the Hellmouth when she was there—she defeated the Master—"

"—And Lothos—"

"—And Acathla—"

"—And prevented an Ascension—"

"—She was Angelus' consort and not even Spike, the Slayer's Slayer, could kill her—"

"—She killed Luke, the Master's vessel—"

"—Darla, childe of the Master, died by her childe's hand. The Slayer ordered him to do it—"

"—Not even Drusilla, childe of Angelus, could defeat her with her magical abilities—"

"—She had friends and family—"

"—A witch—"

"—A werewolf—"

"—I heard Anyanka, demon of Scorned Women, gave up her powers to fight with the Slayer—"

"—I heard she seduced Spike, childe of Angelus, and forced him to change sides—"

"—She has hair as light as the sun—"

"—The Watchers hate her—"

"—They wanted her dead—"

"—She's beautiful—"

"—I'd fuck her—"

As I heard them list accomplishment after accomplishment, the implications of her life before her Immortality, had finally sunk in. Before she had even fought a challenge, she had become something more than she really was...bigger than life...respected by her enemies, feared by those who supposedly had been on her side.

No wonder she had hated the Council. Between what she had told me and what I had learned that night from those vampires, her freedom had been precarious at the least.

"So, do you know her?" The leader asked me.

"I'm not sure I want to," I had replied carefully. "If she is Immortal and did all those things even before she died her First Death—"

"You could kiss your life good-bye," one of the minions had commented conversationally.

"Well, if you do meet her—before she kills you—tell her to watch for Michael, childe of Henrick," the leader said right before he had turned around and walked away.

I can remember standing there—stunned—at Alexa's grave as I watched the group of vampires disappear into the night—while my mind kept turning over what they had told me.

For years I had believed that Duncan MacLeod, or even maybe his kinsman, Connor, would be the perfect candidate to win the prize. Both of them were clansmen—fighters who protected what they perceived as their 'family' or clan. Before Ariham, Mac had a large group of people, mortal and Immortal, which he had included in his circle of protection. With Connor, it was much more nebulous. He didn't have the emotional connections that his younger kinsman did, but Connor seemed to possess a much more defined sense of duty in regards to the world in general than the average Immortal. If a headhunter crossed Connor's path, he was much more likely to even hunt that Immortal in order to protect the world then anyone else.

Both of these traits were necessary for 'The Good' to win the prize.

And Buffy, as the Slayer—she innately possessed both of these traits. As a designated warrior of the Light, she believed that fighting evil was what she had been born to do. Whether it be demons or evil Immortals, she considered it her duty to fight them—in order to protect the innocent—be it mortal, Immortal or demon.

Although I'm not sure why, I never told her what I had learned that night. Maybe it was because I had been still trying to get her to walk away from the slaying part of her life. I had been so afraid, even before I had learned of the lore surrounding her and her life, that her slaying would somehow take her out of the Game, that I discouraged her at every point.

Looking back, I know that was my biggest mistake. Instead of accepting who she was, I wanted to force her to accept who she had become, not even realizing that by doing that, I had sabotaged almost any chance of having an intimate relationship with her.

Now, eight years later, I still wanted her.

And to find that she had spent the night in the arms of a vampire—the same creature that those vampires talked of—hurt me more than I ever thought was possible. At least by her. After all these years of accepting that we would never be more than friends, to see her with him, reminded me all over again, how badly I had screwed up with her in the beginning.

I could tell, just by their body language, they have yet to consummate their relationship. But regardless, he still hovered over her—as if he were a possessive lover in charge of protecting her. I know vampires are territorial creatures. They make claims and expect all creatures to abide by those claims. Even their bites possess enough magic in them that Immortal healing doesn't always take care of the scars. All I have to do is look at her neck and see the raised marks on her neck to know that that is true.

And the vampire who gave her that reminder isn't even the one who's standing there, with us now. Spike was his childe...

Shaking my head at my wandering thoughts, I smiled down at her as I slipped an arm companionably around her shoulders. "I thought you'd never ask..."

Miranda, Joe's waitress, was the one who picked up Spike and Buffy, and took them to a safehouse that Joe and I bought years before just for occasions such as this.

After that fiasco years before with the Hunters, neither of us totally trusted the organization that both of us had devoted a substantial part of lives to: Joe, since he was injured in Vietnam more than thirty years ago, and me, since I was a spry Immortal just shy of my 1500th birthday, when I got the wild idea while still traipsing around the countryside with three other Immortals, that wouldn't it be great if we could somehow use mortals to hunt our own kind? Granted, my purpose originally was far from noble, but it has been ages since I've abused the Watchers to the extent that I did back then. Besides, it long ago grew away from me into an entity all into itself. How else could I have missed the merger of the two Watcher organizations, if I'd still been in the loop?

After Miranda, Buffy and Spike left (Spike with a blanket covering his body as he ran to the car) I waited another ten minutes and then left myself. Once in my car, lost my own Watcher who had been tailing me since I left my apartment earlier that morning and drove to the airport to pick up Spike's things that he had stashed in a locker the night before. After that, I met them at the safe house.

In the meantime, Joe arranged transport for us, using two brand-spanking new identities that both Buffy and I had acquired together for a rainy day—newlyweds, Susanne and Peter Blake, seeking to charter a private jet to take us to the States via Bermuda and Vancouver.

Our only problem was Spike.

That is until he dug through his duffel bag that I had picked up and tossed a passport to Joe. "That should work, mate," he told the Watcher, sporting a lazy grin.

"You have a passport?" Buffy asked, her voice sounding both amused and shocked at the same time as she held out her hand to Joe. "Let me see it!"

"Why?" I asked, wondering why it was such a big deal for the vampire to have a passport. Didn't they have to get around just like us?

"Picture," she said as if that made any sense whatsoever to me.

"It's a pretty good one too, pet. Willow took it with her digital camera."

Buffy snapped her fingers as she nodded her head in understanding. "Of course, why didn't I think about that?" She asked herself as she opened the booklet and stared at the picture with her mouth hanging open. "You're right, it is a pretty good one. Way to go, Wills," she whispered, her voice trembling.

For ten years, she has been mourning her former life. And if we go back to Sunnydale, all those barely healed wounds will open right up.

"Now, none of that love," Spike said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders affectionately. He looked over at Joe, who was leaning back in his chair, sighing softly. "So, will this do?"

Joe held out his hand and Buffy leaned over and gave it to him. After he studied the picture and the dates, he nodded yes. "But one question, just out of curiosity. Why would a vampire need a passport?"

"Why wouldn't he, Joe? He has to get around just like the rest of us," I said after I had asked for the booklet so I could see what the big deal was myself.

I watched the vampire chuckle before taking a sip of his beer. "I'm what you call a troubleshooter. Whistler, the demon who gives me my jobs, sends me to hot spots—mostly in North and South America, and I put them out. Sometimes I end up helping the second Slayer—wherever she's at. Other times, it's the Hellmouth or LA. But, you'd be surprised how much traveling I end up doing. It’s a wonder why I even bother with renting an apartment. I'm never fucking."

"Have you ever been to Europe?" Buffy asked.

He shook his head no. "They've got their own little network here already in place. And to be honest, I think they counted on you to keep the population of vampires down over here."

"That little shit," Buffy whispered, shaking her head. This Whistler guy sounded interesting to me. I could feel the tendrils of curiosity fill me. A demon that worked for the powers of good. What an oxymoron, and yet it sounded as if he was as manipulative as I could be. Oh well, I thought to myself. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to meet him during this mess. Suddenly I realized I she was looking at me and shook my head to clear my thoughts. "So, how are we—the newlyweds—going to explain Mr. Jonathan Myers presence?" she asked me.

"I already thought about that," Joe said. "He can be an old friend that's tagging along."

I shrugged in agreement as I watched the light in her eyes slowly return. It'd been gone since Spike's phone call and for a while I wondered if I'd ever see it again. Or at least until this little crisis had ended. "A little weak, but it'll work," I said softly.

"Well, all we have to do is avoid the Watchers. You guys are using ID's that they have no idea about, right? And, whether they know Spike's ID, is questionable and even they do, they won't necessarily put two and two together."

"What about last night?" Buffy asked. "Was anyone watching me last night when Spike came in? Were there any off-duty Watchers hanging about at the bar?"

Joe shook his head. "First of all, I'm high up enough in the organization that I have my own division. A lot of the people underneath me have been with me since before the trial—and stuck by me through that whole mess. The others that have come to me since then, I made sure they held the same beliefs as I do. So, all the Watchers at the bar last night are ones that I trust and have trusted for over ten years. And Methos' primary Watcher is my daughter, Amy. It was just shame that she was off today or we could've avoided a lot of this mess."

"Is she going to follow us?" Spike asked.

Joe shook his head. "No, she's going to do a few of her own dodge and run tactics and make her way to Sunnydale. She knows the score. I talked to her today. Although she tends to watch more than get involved—"

"If push comes to shove, she'll jump in," I added, interrupting Joe as I watched Buffy's face scrunch up in concentration.

"And besides, Buffy, she really likes you. And when she found out about the Crucitorium and the other things that the Slayer Watchers have done, there's no way in hell she'll let them find out where you are."

"Good, 'cause I like her too," Buffy said sadly. "What about my Watcher? That wasn't him that broke into my apartment today. Where is he and who was that Methos knocked out?"

"Harold Leopard is the guy that broke into your apartment. He's mostly a fill-in Watcher. If someone needs a day off or is sick, he'll take their spot. He's a bit of fanatic from what I've heard. Thinks that everything begins and ends with the Watchers. Probably wouldn't know a creative thought if it bit him in the ass." Joe looked up from his clasped hands to Methos. "Those were Amy's words, not mine."

"Well, he got the shit scared out of him this morning. I had pinned against the wall in the dark, with my demon face on—eyes glowing and fangs showing," Spike said. "Damn, it felt good," he added with a smirk.

"Cheap thrills, Spike."

"I know, pet. Gotta get 'em where I can."

"Leopard was filling in for your Watcher, Samuel Finch. Finch was taken off your case this morning, Buffy. Apparently he was pretty vocal about his feelings when he read the decree. Poor fool should've just kept his mouth shut and stopped by the bar." Joe sighed, rubbing his face in exhaustion. "Anyway, I have to talk to him. I might be able to convince him to take a vacation and help out with your problem. It's iffy, though. He's one of those firm believers of the non-interference rule. That's why he was so angry about the decree. He said just by issuing something like this, the whole head council should've been taken to task."

Joe sighed. "And lastly, Finch had no clue as to who Spike was last night. I read his report this morning and the only thing he said about Spike was he was an unknown blond male that you seemed to know. So, as long as I can keep Harold under wraps, I think we'll be okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't until the following morning that Joe had finally found me alone. Although I'm usually not a morning person—let's be honest—none of us are—the morning of our trip, I found myself wide awake at the god-awful time of 7am, sipping coffee.

For a half an hour, I sat at the kitchen table, mentally going over the plan—making sure we hadn't forgotten something—silently wondering if MacLeod would be okay with me gone—when I heard the familiar sound of a cane hitting the hardwood floor.

Getting up, I walked over to the coffee machine and poured my friend a cup of hot coffee and returned back to the table to wait for Joe.

I should've known that Joe wouldn't let me go without sticking in his two words of wisdom into the mix. It just wasn't in his make-up. After over 20 years of friendship, if there was one thing I was sure of when it came to him was Joe Dawson was like a dog with bone when it came to worrying about his friends. Whether they were in emotional turmoil or physical danger—he stood resolutely by them, regardless of the ramifications.

He had done just that for MacLeod since they had become friends.

And he had done so with me—even through those rough years that my past kept coming up and haunting us...

It was one of the many qualities that had endeared him to me. There had been times in the last twelve years, while watching Duncan sink into this depression that seemed unrelenting in its strength, that Joe Dawson was the only thing that kept me from slipping into bowels of obscurity that I had done with such ease in the thousands of years I have walked this earth.

It was Joe that kept me resolute as I watched over the Highlander all the while inwardly praying that the younger Immortal would break free of the ghostly chains that Ariham had bound him with all those years ago when Duncan MacLeod stood as the Champion against the demon...

And it was Joe that listened to me as I reluctantly voiced my feelings for both the Highlander and Immortal Slayer that I kept me, the oldest Immortal alive, tethered to a life I had so many times wished would just disappear.

Sighing softly, I looked up once I heard Joe enter the room and leaned back in my seat. "I've poured some coffee for you," I told him, watching as he slowly dropped into the chair I had pulled out earlier for him. After he leaned his cane against the table, he picked up the mug and sipped the hot liquid, his eyes closing as he swallowed. Smiling, I held out my mug and wished him a good morning.

Scowling, he shook his head, an eyebrow shooting upwards as he studied my pensive form.
"What the hell are you doing up this early?"

"I could ask you the same thing..."

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered.

"Same here."

Joe sighed loudly, staring at his hands holding the mug, obviously worried. "Should I call Amanda and Connor?" he asked, not looking up, as if he feared the mixed reaction he would get from even contemplating breaking that non-interference oath of the Watchers.

I had already decided to that Connor needed to know—if only because Buffy was his student—and planned on calling the older MacLeod once we were in the air, but I hadn't given the Immortal thief and her lover a thought.

"Why Amanda, Joe?"

Joe shook his head and finally lifted his eyes to meet mine. "I think you may need more than two Immortals to deal with this. Granted, I don't want to start a Watcher-Immortal war, but if we could call in those people we trust, it could only help." He sighed again. "Have you ever been to the Hellmouth, Adam?"

Smiling at his use of my old misnomer, I could only shake my head.

"It's dangerous. I know you've dealt with vampires before. Especially since Buffy has entered our lives, but from what I've gathered the Hellmouth is a whole 'nother ballgame, my friend."

Interest peaked, I leaned forward, wondering what Joe knew that I hadn't. "What do you mean?"

"You know that Watcher's journal I sold to Buffy?" I nodded, remembering the bit about Spike's former live, that I read. "Have you read it?"

"A bit—just yesterday. Spike had found it in her bookcase and he wasn't too happy with it—"

Joe shook his head, chuckling softly. "Well, I can see why. It detailed his turning—among other things," he said, stroking his beard. "I read the whole thing and it was the other stuff that spooked me. Made me realize that we had no clue as to what Buffy's life must've been like to battle these beings nightly. I thought Caspian was bad—as far bloodlust and evil went. Let me tell you, Caspian had nothing on Spike's sire."

I took a deep breath unable to hide the frown that covered my face and shook my head in confusion. "Then why would more Immortals make a difference? Wouldn't it make it worse?"

Joe shrugged and finished off his coffee. "I don't know. I was thinking more in the lines of more is better this time. She's heading right into a powder keg there. Eventually, the Watchers are going to catch up with her. Even if all the Immortals manage to ditch their own Watchers—they'll go to Sunnydale if they can't find her anywhere else. Then you have the demons and vampires. From you've told me, she's become almost a legend in their eyes. What's going to stop them from trying everything within their power to kill her?"

"But that's what her friends are there for," Methos started.

"Yeah, but who's going to say they're gonna greet her with open arms? Methos, she's been gone from their lives for a decade. In human turns, that's a long time. The only reason I think Spike forgave her is because he's immortal like her. Ten years is a drop in the bucket to you guys. But to us, it's forever..."

I groaned softly as Joe's verbal picture took shape in my mind. He was right; she was entering into an already unstable environment. Who's to say her presence wouldn't just ignite it? "Maybe if Spike called ahead—gave everyone some time to deal with her being alive..."

Joe arched his eyebrow, nodding slowly to himself. "It's a thought," he said softly, then turning his eyes to mine. "What about you?"

"What about me?" I snapped, standing up with both of our coffee mugs in my grip. As I walked over to the kitchen counter to refill them, I inwardly hoped that he would drop it. I innately knew where he was steering the conversation, and I was in no mood to deal with my feelings at that moment.

Maybe never, if I was honest.

Of course, he ignored the scowl on my face once I returned to my seat, sliding his drink across the table. "You can't sit on this, Old Man. Look what happened with Mac—"

"I told him," I said, interrupting the mortal.

"Too late! You know that! By the time you admitted your feelings to him, he didn't think he was worthy of them. I'm not saying that the same thing will happen with Buffy, but I do think you owe to yourself to tell her," Joe explained, dropping his eyes to stare into his coffee cup.

"What about the bloody vampire up there sharing her bed as we speak?"

"Do you think?"

I shrugged diffidently. "If they did, it was last night."

Joe just shook his head at me as he lifted the mug to his lips. After sipping his coffee, his looked up from his drink—his bright blue eyes staring unerringly into mine—and shrugged lightly. "It's your life, Old Man," he told me, his voice belaying a casualness that wasn't present in his eyes. "Just don't let it bite you in the ass like it did with Mac."

Chapter Two
LA Musings...
Part 1

An Angel's Fall

Los Angeles, CA
Angel's warehouse

Stunned.

That's how I felt—stunned.

She was alive.

She was alive and my childe knew about it.

Rage filled me, and I welcomed it. It was so much better to feel angry than flabbergasted. I could deal with anger. It had been my best friend for nearly 140 years while I haunted Europe's dark nights, bringing death and pain wherever I went.

But this stunned silence—this total mind-boggling blankness—no, I couldn't deal with that.

Growling, I threw the phone across the room, grinning at the sound of its shattering as it hit the wall.

"Angel!" I heard Wesley fearful, but worried exclamation sing through the room.

My head shot up and I found myself, for just a moment, remembering what it felt like to hold that warm body close to mine...his strong, but human arm holding me tight to his chest as Cordelia rained hot kisses down my spine...

What have I done? I asked myself as I caught the look of panic and fear that skittered across Wesley's face.

Suddenly I needed to just leave—to put as much distance between me and my lovers—before I hurt them anymore. They had given everything to me—everything that I never had deserved because my heart had always been partially devoted to another.

"I'll be back," I whispered seconds before I left the room and disappeared through the trapdoor that led into the tunnels.

I could feel the violence bubbling up inside of me—threatening to overwelm my control—and knew that nothing short of hours of slaying could help bring me the clarity of thought I so much needed.

That was the last rational before I began to pummel my way through the demon-infested, underground world of LA.

~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't wake up from my daze until I was back home. For hours I wandered the sewers, killing every vampire and demon that dared to cross me, hoping that somehow I could pierce through the pain and the betrayal that ate at my soul with every heart I staked or neck I broke.

It didn't work.

But I should've known that it wouldn't.

After all those years as an unsouled vampire—of screaming vengeance and killing without thought—I knew that violence wasn't the answer.

I just needed to know why she was alive when Willow and Giles told me that she had died. Did they know about this? If they did, they were incredibly discreet. And although I could see Giles managing to keep that a secret, I knew Willow well enough to realize it would've been impossible for her to do so.

Not with something this big.

It was that thought that calmed me. I needed to understand. Earlier, I had been so angry that I hadn't bothered to ask Cordy about any of the other pertinent details about her vision. Seeing her sitting calmly on the couch with her head leaning against Wesley's shoulders as they both waited for my return, I knew that I had to find out how and why, before I raged any more against my childe and former lover.

If Cordy's vision was true and Buffy was alive, the former slayer needed our help. Help that would be nearly impossible to give with all that rage I felt simmering inside of me.

Sitting across from them, I took Cordy's hand and held it. When our eyes met, I gave her and Wesley a small, self-deprecating smile. "Tell me," I urged softly.

Nodding once, she looked over at Wesley and seconds later the former watcher handed over a legal pad with Cordelia's familiar script adorning the first page.

I released my seer's hand and took the pad. Without saying another word, I began to read.

"'One - Buffy—looked the same—not aged, except the eyes...eyes looked older. Hair a bit darker—like when she first came to Sunnydale." I thought about that and found myself frowning...a human that does not age? I shook my head and continued to read.

"'Two – a bar...Le Blues Bar. (Paris maybe?)

"'Three – a sword, a flash of blue-white lightening—death, pain, assimilation...'there can only be one' rang through my head..." Interest piqued, I looked up and met Wesley's knowing glance. "You recognize this too? The white-lightening and swords?" I asked him.

"I've read about it somewhere," he said, frowning slightly. "I would like to call Giles and ask, but I refrained from doing so until we talked to you. We are going to have to call them and let our colleagues in Sunnydale know about this." He took off his glasses and began nervously polishing them. I remember the first time I saw him do that and inwardly chuckled. Sometimes I still catch myself wanting to ask Wes if Watchers have a class to teach their proteges how to deal with nervous energy considering I had observed Giles do the exact same action thousands of times before.

"I know we do, Wes. Let's give Spike a day. If we don't hear from him by tomorrow at this time, then we'll call Giles." When Wesley began to protest, I held out my hand and continued. "Spike may be irritating, infuriating and obnoxious, but I know him." Sighing softly, I thought of the last time I saw my childe and felt a familiar pang in my heart. I let him go—for his sake as well as mine.

At first, I couldn't believe that all those years he had spent terrorizing my former lover, it had been just a cloak—a mirage—to hide his true feelings. My childe, the Big Bad as he used to call himself, was in love with a slayer. And not just any slayer—my slayer.

If I hadn't seen the near devastation that her death brought him, I might've staked him right there out of sheer rage—rage that he had dared to cross that unspoken boundary that separated me and mine from him and his.

But he was shattered. Whether it was Dru leaving him, the chip or Buffy's death, I had no clue.

And after a few years, I let him go...

He, whether he was aware of it or not, needed it as much I did. Cordelia and Wesley understood my nature far better than I deserved and wouldn't have protested my continued dalliance with my childe. They knew the vampire part of me craved that kind of intimacy with my blood almost as much as my soul craved their warmth. But what Spike and I had was not healthy—for either of us. No matter how hard we both tried pushing away the memory of a certain blond-haired slayer from our thoughts, we couldn't. We had sought solace in each other's embrace, and in doing so, had kept Buffy alive in the process—if only in our hearts.

It would've been fine that way, if Spike had something other than me or Buffy's ghost to keep him occupied, but he didn't. As a demon, he had never learned how to let go even though the lesson had been repeatedly slammed into him—first, with my disappearance, then with Drusilla's departure, and finally with Buffy's death—and he needed to learn to live or unlive as it might be. Depending on me to fill that emptiness—to love me as he wanted to love Buffy—wasn't helping him do anything other than prolonging the process of grief.

And now, here I am, years later, finally at that place that I strove to be at all those years before—almost a haven where I could love Buffy and not ache in grief every time her name was uttered—only to discover that she was still alive and that Spike was right in fighting to keep those feelings close to his heart.

I moved on and he hadn't. And now he's got the girl. Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the legal pad, and began to read from it again.

"'Four – a human wrist with a tattoo on it. The tattoo looked like a stick figure of a bird flying surrounded by a circle and with little circles decorating the circumference. I got the feeling they were everywhere and saw everything...also, the word watchers flashed through my mind when I saw the tattoo.'" Once again, I looked up at Wes. "Watchers? Are you familiar with this at all?"

The former watcher shook his head slowly. "But then, I've been out of touch with the Council for nearly a decade, Angel. Who knows what's happened in that time..." he trailed off, his eyes taking on a distant look. "Although, I do remember something strange...that happened a long time ago when I was just a boy."

"What?" I asked as he placed a comforting hand on the man's knee, unable to hide my curiosity and pleasure. Wes was always a fountain of information, but then that's what all Watchers are. Sometimes I couldn't believe my luck that he ended up on my doorstep all those years ago instead of in Sunnydale. His knowledge has saved all our lives countless times. "What do you remember, Wes?"

"You know that my father was a member of the Council as well?" I nodded, silently encouraging him to continue even though I knew he was wading through some painful memories. Wes, like me, had an unforgiving father, and the young Wesley had paid repeatedly for his father's shortcomings. "I was just a child, and I used to hide from him—closets, under the stairs, in the basement. Any place where he wasn't..." Wesley chuckled coldly. "That particular night, I was hiding in one of my favorite places—a little cubbyhole in the library—behind a bookshelf. A man, a Council leader, had come in the room with my father and they started talking about financial things—not even realizing I was in the room. The other man was uneasy about turning over some documents to something or someone, but felt obligated because of the latest influx of monies that had been funneled to the Council. They then discussed the documents in question at length and I heard whisperings of prophecy and immortality. When I was older and finally an active Watcher, I remember how just when the Council were days from having the electricity turned off at the Mother house, there would be a sudden influx of cash reserves. Paychecks were suddenly on time, the pantries were stocked...funds were suddenly available."

"A mysterious benefactor?" I asked, sitting back against my heels. "Makes sense. I always did wonder where the Council got its money to run such an extensive organization. Something else we need to ask Giles when we talk to him," I whispered as my eyes dropped back down the paper in my hands.

"'Five – Spike." That still bothered me, no matter how much I tried rationalizing it. How or why did my childe know more about Buffy than I did? Shaking my head, I turned my thoughts back to the list.

"'Six – A tall, dark haired human – almost Roman looking. Big nose—good looking...Dark aura surrounding him, but it was light in the center—like Angel's. Death came to mind when I saw him.

"'Seven - They were running. Fearful of everything and everyone around them—unsure of who was tailing them...but desperate to remain free—to keep Buffy free.

"'And Eight – a flash of that huge book that Giles has called Vampyres. The one he used to show Buffy and the rest of us when she first came to Sunnydale.

"'My impressions...that whatever Buffy is—she's still the same—but is finally aware of what she is...that the CoW is involved somehow with these other Watchers. And that if we don't keep Buffy out of CoWs hands, the Powers are going to be really, really upset. And their solution is to have her come to Sunnydale. Where the Hellmouth and her old friends can protect her.'"

I must've reread the last paragraph five times before I realized someone was tugging on my sleeve. I looked up and met Cordelia's gentle gaze. "Go ahead," I whispered, knowing that she had something to add by the way she pursed her lips.

Intimacy does that, you know.

Suddenly she stood up in a rush of energy, causing me to lean back as she began to pace in front of us. "I know that I wrote this, but Angel, this is important. I can imagine how you feel right now, but if the TPBs sent me this message..." she paused, wringing her hands. "I don't know for sure Angel, but I think They are the ones that made her leave...They want her to be free."

I could only groan at Delia's words. After a decade of dealing with the Powers, I've come to quite a few conclusions about them. One being that they are one manipulative bunch. If they were the cause of this...

I found that I couldn't even finish the thought—at least if I wanted to keep my rage to a manageable level.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I nodded slowly. "I hear you." I turned my attention to Wesley. "Wes, can you look into this for me? See what you can come up with before either Spike calls or we call Giles?"

"Sure thing, Angel. I do have some contacts in the Council that I trust. I'll call them."

"And I can check the demon database and other web sites for any mention of humans that don't age, lightening and that tattoo," Cordelia added.

"Good. Thank you. Both of you. And I'm going to try and get a hold of a contact of mine own," I said, thinking of Whistler. Although he was nearly impossible to get a hold of by mortal means, I did have a little chant I could do if all else failed—which I planned to use.

I grabbed my coat and headed for my office, already searching my memory for the spell required to communicate with the immortal demon. Hopefully he would give me the answers I needed.

Chapter Two
Part Two

A Seer's Resolve

It wasn't until we all scurried off into our own little corners to research, that I let those tears that had been threatening to fall slide down my face.

I wasn't sure who I was crying for: Angel—for finding out that the one girl that he held responsible for him beginning his long road of redemption was still alive even though he moved on; Wes—for the panic that I saw in his eyes when Angel left earlier today or myself: for falling in love with the big doofus to begin with even though I knew that he could never love me like he did Buffy.

I hate being second best, and it appears like it's my karma for it always to happen to me.

I could deal with Wesley—because we all seemed to fall into this weirdo relationship together. How? I didn't know. I still couldn't believe it. I mean, when I looked back at my life when I left Sunnydale, I would've never guessed that I would have ended up here—living in an old, run down hotel with a ghost, an ex-watcher and a vampire with a soul.

And be sleeping with two of them while the third one doted on me at every chance he got.

Go figure.

But it did happen.

At first, it was just Wesley and I. Somewhere along the way we slipped from being bickering siblings to lovers. It was easy, simple and most important of all—comfortable.

And it didn't hurt that we were both in love with Angel either.

And Angel?

He came later. Once he discovered his soul was anchored, we all went out for a night on the town. Angel had actually gotten drunk. How, I don't know, but by the time we made it back to the hotel—inhibitions relaxed—sexual innuendoes amok—and whammo! The next morning I woke up, hung-over with Angel pressed against my back and a warm hand hugging my breast.

I was startled to say the least.

My eyes shot open as I propped myself up enough to peak over Angel's large frame to see Wes on the other side of the vampire—his left arm draped over Angel's chest at just the right angle to have it land on my boob.

And that was the beginning. It had been just over five years from the day Buffy had died, and Angel had finally moved on. Not too soon after that, he broke it off with Spike, and I found myself in the middle of the strangest menage a trios that I could have ever imagined. Or was it four people? If you count the fact that Dennis was able to make the move from my apartment to the Hyperion with me...well, let's just say that things are really interesting around here.

A small smile curled my lips at that thought, and already I could feel my mood improving. Dennis always seemed to do that for me. No one has ever loved me as unconditionally as Dennis has for the past eleven years. Even now, as I worried about my two lovers, I could intuitively feel Dennis' concern for me as he hovered over my tired body. After all this time, he still took care of me, and in some ways better than my lovers have.

For nearly five years, Dennis had remained in my apartment, not believing he could leave its confines. It wasn't until Angel had left a frantic message on my machine telling me not to go out with the date that I had just left with, that Dennis discovered he could leave our home.

Somehow, the haunting had changed since we had sent his mother's spirit back to the great unknown. Instead of him just fixating on the apartment, I had become the center point of Dennis' haunting. Out he went, following instincts that only a supernatural being could have, and found me tied and trussed up on an altar—ready to be sacrificed to a low-level, but nasty demon.

Dennis easily untied the ropes when my 'date's' back was turned, and lifted me into his phantom arms—ready to take me away.

My date, one Steven Cosier, tried fighting for me, but Dennis used his ghostly powers and shoved Cosier across the room—breaking the human's back as his body slammed against the stone wall.

After that night, Dennis stayed close to me—wherever I went, he followed.

And when Wesley and I moved into the Hyperion with Angel, Dennis came along.

And I've never regretted it.

Oh, I'm sure Angel and Wes get tired of him sometimes—especially when he has made his feelings known. If one of them has treated me wrong, Dennis will haunt them—playing poltergeist-like tricks on them, until either Angel or Wes will finally just give in, and ask what they had done wrong.

Dennis then would tell them—one way or another. Either by scribbling his answer in dust or writing out his answer on an available pad of paper.

And soon afterwards, a bemused but contrite lover would be standing in front of me, mumbling out an apology.

What can I say? It works.

Somehow, someway, the four of us here—in this old hotel, work. We have lived, slept, ate—made love and saved lives together—and it has worked, and hopefully will for a long time to follow.

With that thought, I booted the computer up, wiped my face with a tissue that Dennis has graciously provided and begin my search for humans that may be Immortal and fight with swords.

I will do it for the Powers, because it has been my job for over a decade, and for my lovers—a vampire that has yet to realize he long ago let go of that young slayer that had warmed his undead heart and for an ex-watcher who hasn't accepted the plain fact that Angel won't leave him—no matter how unworthy Wesley might feel. And I will do it for a ghost—whose only wanted his princess happy and his home filled with a long desired peace.

And most of all, I will do it for Buffy.

Because for those few short minutes while I was under the gies of the Powers That Be, I had felt the sheer panic and heartache that has and still is wracking her soul.

Despite all the appearances to the contrary, I know in my heart that this was not a destiny that Buffy Anne Summers had chosen for herself—anymore than being a slayer was. And because of that, she would need all the support possible in the upcoming days if she was going to survive this latest battle against CoW—of that I was sure.

Chapter Two
Part 3

An Ex-Watcher's Fear

At times I wished I hadn't fallen in love with Angel.

For five years I had feared the day that his past would come and take him away from me...us, and now that it might, all I could think about it was how I allowed myself to get into this situation to begin with.

Love. What had it gotten me in my lifetime? I loved my mother, and she did nothing as my father repeatedly beat me, claiming he was trying harden me up for whatever calamities I would have to face as a watcher. Love hadn't helped me with my father either. All it had done for me with him was turn me into a simpering idiot for the first thirty-some add years of my life—until I finally had found that inner-strength that had been strangely absent most of my youth. And it sure as hell hadn't helped me when I had dropped to my knees at twenty-six and asked my first love, Susan Culloch, to marry me underneath the decades old Willow tree on our estate. She still turned me down.

And finally, it hadn't been around when I could have really used it. I can think of a certain slayer that would have benefitted from my love and understanding instead of the callous and coldness that I had bestowed upon her which, incidentally, eerily resembled the way my father had treated me for all my life.

Maybe Faith would not have jumped off the path of light if I had been the kind of watcher that Giles had been with Buffy.

Instead, because of my own inadequacies, she nearly destroyed herself.

You would think I would have learned after the diseaster I had made of Sunnydale.

But I didn't.

Not a year had passed, and I found myself in the precarious position of falling in love with my mission: a souled vampire with a somewhat lacking disposition. I could not help but wonder where the hell my brains were then—before I had fallen so hard and so thoroughly that there has been no where else I could go other than just continue on, inwardly praying that I would survive sanity intact to see the other side.

And now, I wondered if that were even possible.

Although logically, I understood that Buffy's 'reappearance' wasn't a guarantee that Angel would become the same lovesick vampire that I had met nearly twelve years before, emotionally I feared what her presence would do to the three of us.

She was his one moment of true happiness.

Buffy Summers was the reason Angel had gotten up every morning for five years, and after she had died, she had been the one reason he had still fought the good fight. She had been his redemption—alive or dead.

And yet, through all the misgivings and fears, there was a part of me that wanted to know how this could be. Over a dozen people had watched Buffy Summers die that spring—myself included. I had seen that demon-cyborg thrust his splinter into her stomach—gutting her—before he had jumped into the shadows. I had heard Willow's screams, Angel and Spike's growls, Giles' heavy sobs, as Xander—the luckiest human being alive—had swept up her dying body into his arms, despite the vampires crowding around her, and screamed for everyone that she was needed to go to the hospital.

It had been Angel that had grabbed her body from the boy and had raced to the hospital with her. It had been his actions that had spurred everyone else into action. Cordelia had run to Angel's car and had started it—yelling at everyone to get in. How we had managed to fit all six of us, covered in blood, dust and dirt—inside of it, I would never understand.

It hadn't been until we got to the hospital and had seen a devastated Joyce Summers standing side by side with Spike, had I even realized that blond vampire hadn't been with us in the car. It hadn't occurred to me to question his actions or to ask why the Sunnydale crowd had scowled at him as they had walked past the pair; I was too worried about Angel.

Even then I was in love with him...although I had been too 'manly' to admit it.

Not even ten minutes after we had arrived at the hospital, a painful sob had echoed through out the hallway followed by a figure in black streaking past.

The hospital doors were nearly knocked off their hinges.

Another growl had filled the room as Spike had taken off as well. Whether he had followed Angel or not, I still do not know. Two minutes later a flustered doctor had appeared, obviously in a clean pair of scrubs, and had asked for Joyce Summers.

Buffy Summers had died that day...a legend had died...and I had been there to bear witness of the fact.

So, how could she be alive a decade later—looking much as she had all those years ago? And what does the Council have to do with this? And why are they chasing her? And why do the words lightening, swords and humans ring a bell for me?

These questions—so much like the millions of questions I've asked during my life as a researcher and demon-hunter—are what spurred me on as I picked up the phone and began to make my calls.

I saw that young woman die—the exasperating, but miraculous Buffy Anne Summers—and I wanted to know how she could be still alive after all these years.

Sunnydale's Sorrow
Chapter Three

A Watcher's Job is Never Done

Part One

After living on the Hellmouth for nearly fifteen years, I've come to expect some 'weirdness,' as Xander would say, to invade my life.  The fact that it has—with some regularity—did—with some regularity—did nothing but support that view.  I have seen more than my share of the supernatural, preternatural, the goodness and the horrible, bone-chilling evil to know that this is the way of the Hellmouth.

From giant praying mantises to master vampires to hell-bringing demons and ascending demons—they have all used my adopted hometown as their playground.  With this in mind, logically I shouldn't have been as shocked to hear of Cordelia's newest vision as I was.

But I was.

I was shocked to the core.

How could she still be alive?

I could almost feel my still-broken heart shatter at the news. 

Alive.

Buffy was alive.

Hanging up the phone, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the pile of papers in front of me.  Spying a name scribbled at the corner of the top of the paper, I could only sigh. 

The newest slayer, Cindy Wallace, was taking my Introduction to Folklore and Legends and, not suprisingly, she was doing quite well in the class.  Although she's not my responsibility, her watcher, Michael Mahoney and I are good friends, and I help when I can.

I don't mind helping out—anymore than Willow, Oz, Xander, Anya, and Spike on occasion, do—but sometimes, as I watch her train and listen to her and Michael talk, I find myself being taken back to those years when I first arrived in Sunnydale and met Elizabeth Anne Summers.

For nearly five years, Buffy had infuriated me—stretched my patience nearly to the breaking point, pushed me to grasp onto concepts that I had been told since I had been a child were wrong.  She forced me to accept not one, but two vampires into her circle of friends...friends, mind you, that she wasn't supposed to have.

And despite all that, she had overcome insurmountable odds and survived far longer than anyone had predicted.  In the five years she had slayed, she had been responsible for more recorded deaths of master vampires than any other slayer in over five hundred years.  If that had been the only accomplishment, it still would have placed her portrait in the Watcher's Great Hall.

But it wasn't.

She had prevented the world from ending five times—four additional times she put a halt to events that would have surely eventually led to the world collapsing in the midst of chaos. 

She had survived her Cruciamentum...she had quit the council, and she saved the integrity of two Watchers who, prior to dealing with her—had accepted CoW's word as law...not to mention the half-dozen watchers that have been swayed to her way of thinking because of our influence since she had died.

She was a heroine—in every sense of the world.  She had taken the hearts of two powerful and deadly vampires, and made them her own.  She had inspired a type of loyalty that even after ten years of her absence, still runs as deep and as strong as it did when she was alive.

And yet, now as I hear Wesley's words reverberate in my heart and mind, I can't help but feel betrayed...despite his assurances that Cordelia feels that it wasn't by her choice.

She was alive, and hadn't told us.

How could she do that?

And what was the meaning of her life now that slaying was no longer her destiny?

How could she look the same as she had all those years ago when I had witnessed her death?

What strange and unfortunate circumstances had she found in herself in to bring her back to the one place she most likely wanted to avoid with all her being?

Staring at the penciled in grade my teacher's assistant had given Cindy, I realized that there would be no more grading to be done that day, and picked up the phone, dialing the number by memory.

"Magic Shoppe, how can I help you?" Anya's voice rang across the phone line.

"Anya, this is Giles.  I need to speak to Willow," I said, unable to hide the weariness in my voice.

"Sure thing...Willow!" She yelled out, causing me to hold the phone away from my ear.  After all these years, Anya had yet to learn the art of discretion and, even though I've come to appreciate it, sometimes...

"Anya...please try to be quieter the next time," I heard Willow gently admonish the former vengeance demon.  "I don't think they heard you at the coffee shop...Giles!  What's up?"

I could hear Anya grumbling in the background, and could only sigh.  "Unfortunately, too much.  We have a situation."

"Situation?  A new baddy?  Michael's here, and he didn't—"

"Willow, Wesley called me.  Cordelia's had a vision—"

"What kind of vision?  Is it going to happen here or in LA?  What do—"

"Willow," I snapped. "I need you to call Xander and Oz, and have them meet us at the store in a couple of hours...is there any chance you could close it down for a couple of hours?"

"Well yeah...it's not like we have a sale going on, but Anya's going to have a fit—"

"Willow, it's important.  Tell Michael as well, and I will let Cindy know.  Angel, Cordelia and Wesley have already left L.A. and should be here by 5 pm.  Also, don't bother calling Spike...he won't be home.  And Willow?"

"Yes?" she whispered, her voice wavering. 

"I need you to look into humans that are immortal, swords, lightning, and a tattoo that looks like a picture of stick bird flying in a circle.  I'll fax you the drawing that Wesley sent me, and make sure to bring Michael into this, but tell him, the Council cannot know...can you do that?"

"Of course I can Giles...but what's this about?"

"I'll tell you when we meet.  I can't do it twice.  Cindy and I will be there within the hour," I added, nearly hanging up the phone before something stopped me.  "Oh, one last thing, can you run over to the gallery and ask Joyce to meet us?"

"Jo—Joyce?"

"Yes, it's imperative."

"Okay, Giles, no problem."

Groaning, I dropped the receiver down on its cradle and pushed myself out from behind my desk.  After faxing Willow the drawing that Wesley had sent me, I walked over to the door and opened it.  Just as I was to step out it, I turned around and looked at what had been my life for the last few years,  and found myself immersed in a wave of sorrow.  Somehow, someway, I knew that once I told my friends of the vision, the life that I had built here, at USC at Sunnydale, was going to come to a close.

I just hoped that was all that was going to end well.

I don't know if I could handle much more loss.  I had reached my limit.

Part Two
A Witch's Wonder

For a moment, I just stood there, phone in hand, the dial tone's obscene ringing doing nothing to shake the fear that was causing me to clutch onto the plastic device with all my strength—that is, until Anya pried the phone from my fingers and hung it up.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her tone both concerned and impatient.  My eyes suddenly cleared to find myself the center of both Anya and Michael's attention—as they watched me carefully.  "What did Giles want?"

I took a deep breath, and shook my head as if I could somehow shake the dread that was clawing my heart.  It had been years since I had heard that tone in Giles' voice...it had been what I had dubbed in high school, as the 'I'm-concerned-for-Buffy's-welfare-and-she-is determined-to-ignore-me' voice.

It was a voice he had used quite often in those days because, let's be honest, Buffy had tried everyone's patience.  When she had first arrived in Sunnydale, her irreverence to authority in general and to slaying specifically, was enough to drive even the most sane of watchers—which Giles was—to the end of his rope.  That he never let go of said rope, was a testament to his strength and perseverance...and his love for not only his slayer, but the rest of us who had joined with her in fighting the evil that clamored for control of the Hellmouth.

As I got older, I could only think back to the way Giles handled all of us with awe.  He had been amazing back then.  To not only was he responsible for Buffy, but also for Xander, Cordelia, Oz and I was an incredible feat—considering the fact that we always flew right into the midst of trouble with barely a prayer and a plan to pull us through.  If it hadn't been for his knowledge, and Buffy and Angel's strength, we would have surely have died.

Later on, when Wesley and Faith had joined us, we were surer of ourselves.  We had survived nearly two years—two years that had brought too much pain and heartache our way.  Jenny Calendar's death, Angel losing his soul...Spike, Dru, the Judge, Acathla...all of it had hardened us in ways that, years later, we are just finally understanding. 

Unfortunately, it was the fourth year that nearly broke us.  Looking back, I don't understand how we could've missed it.  Giles had been unemployed...Xander was lost in a sea of worthless dead-end jobs...Anya had been floundering in her newly acquired humanity with barely any help...Spike was chipped, and unable to feed...and Buffy was Angel-less.

I don't know why we refused to accept how much he had meant to her, but we did.  We had buried our heads in the sand, refusing to accept that his departure had nearly broken her...causing her to, in turn, bury all those emotions inside ofherself.  That, more than anything else, I believe was the reason she had died at the end of Adam's skewer.  She had lost the hope of ever being happy—accepting that Riley Finn was her destiny despite the fact she could not ever be in love with him.

And we had encouraged that—fearful of Angel's power over her and frightened to death by the obvious electricity that flowed between her and Spike—and pushed her reluctant self right into Riley's arms.  From there, it was almost happenstance that she had died.  What did she have to live for, if not hope?  Was it her fault that her heart would always lie with Angel, and maybe even Spike?

Back then, we thought so.

It wasn't until I saw the look of horror that crossed Spike's face—mirrored by Angel's—as she crumbled onto the ground, that I realized that Spike had loved her too.

Goddess, we were such fools back then.

"Willow!" Anya yelled out, shaking me from my inner wanderings.  "What did Giles want?"

"He's calling a meeting. We're going to have to close the store this afternoon—as soon as he arrives.  Also, can you call Xander and Oz to let them know?"

"A meeting?  Did he say what was wrong?" Michael asked, his Irish accent more apparent than normal.  He, like Spike, always seemed to fall into his native voice when he was under stress.

"No, other—"  The fax whined, interrupting me. I jogged over to the machine and waited for it to spew out the sheet.  I hadn't even realized Anya was standing behind me, until she grabbed the paper out from underneath my fingertips and sucked in a deep breath.

"Oh boy—what do Immortals have to do with this meeting?" She asked as she handed me the fax.

"Immortals?  Is this a sign of Immortals?"

She shook her head.  "No, of Watchers...they watch Immortals."

"Watchers—like Giles and Michael?"

"No," she said, pursing her lips.  "No, these kind of Watchers watch Immortals."

"And Immortals are?" Michael asked.

"You don't know what an Immortal is?  What kind of Watcher are you?"

"Anya!"

"Well geez—once guys are like the experts on the supernatural, I thought for sure you would know what an Immortal is.  I mean, how much more supernatural can you get than humans that are immortal."

"Immortal, like live forever?"

She shook her head impatiently.  "Well, they can't really live forever.  They can die, just like everyone else, it's just a bit harder for them.  I had a client once—16th century Spain—she was Immortal.  She caught her husband, another Immortal, fooling around with the maid.  Her wish was to make him mortal."

"Did you?"

She nodded, her face falling.  "Biggest mistake I made other than letting Giles break my pendant.  You don't fool around with them—the Powers get real testy if a run-of-a-mill demon hurts one of their favorites. I had to spend fifty years in penitence, doing 'good deeds' for the Powers. Not even D'Hoffryn could save me.  Never again did I ever fool around with an Immortal."

I sighed, feeling a migraine coming on.  I had a bad feeling about this.  I looked over at Anya, and could only shake my head in wonder.  How many times had she saved us hours upon hours of research because she knew of something from experience that none of us had a clue as to what it was?

"Thanks Anya...can you go ahead and give Xander and Oz a call then?"  I turned to Michael.  "Could you check into what Anya just told us?  Look for lightning as well.  Immortals, the tattoo, and lightning—"

"That's the Quickening," Anya supplied as she handed a customer her change.  "You know how I said they can die?  Well, when they're beheaded, their life force is released and is more than likely absorbed into the Immortal that had just taken the first guy's head.  It's like a lightning storm."

I nodded again, and shrugged helplessly.  "Just double check, please?" I asked him as I grabbed my wallet and coat and made my way through from behind the counter.  "I have to run an errand.  I'll be back in a few."

"Where are you going?" Anya asked.

"To tell Joyce to meet us."

Both Michael's and Anya's faces froze in shock.

"Joyce?"

I nodded yes.

"Oh boy," whispered Anya as she fell back against the counter behind her.  "That's not good, is it?"

"No, I would say it's not," Michael said as he sat down in front of the lap top sitting on our research table. 

Saying nothing more, I left the store and headed for the gallery.

Part Three
Zeppo's Disbelief

"Alive?" I squeaked.  God, I'm nearly 30 years old and I still squeak when I'm shocked.  "Are you sure, Giles?"  I ask, while inwardly I begin chanting a whole line of denial dialogue.  It can't be true...I held her bleeding and dying body in my arms...I felt her heartbeat sputter...she couldn't be alive...

"I'm sure...well, as sure as any of us can be of Cordelia's visions."

"Has—has she ever been wrong?" Joyce asked quietly as she clutched her tissue so tightly in her fist, I wondered if it was going to disappear.

God, she didn't need this.  She had a life outside of the monsters and things that go bump in the night.  A husband, a new home, and happiness mixed in with a near forgetfulness that none of the original gang would ever have.  She was the constant reminder to us of why we even bothered after all these years.

"Has Spike always known?" Joyce asked, her voice rising with her ire.

"No," I interrupted, flashing back to the dozens of times I spent with him as he drowned himself in his bourbon, all the while bemoaning the fact that he had let Buffy die.  "No, there's no way he knew.  It couldn't have all been an act."

I knew that.  As unbelievable as it sounded, I knew Spike.  I knew him well enough, and liked him—despite our rocky beginnings—to know when he would be pulling a fast one, and when he wasn't.  My God, he was my best man at mine and Anya's wedding.  He actually had beat out Oz with that honor, and for some damned odd reason, I considered him one of my closest friends outside the group that was sitting with us now.

There's no way he could have faked that kind of heartbreak.

Not Spike...not ever Spike.

He was, after all, by his own admission, Love's Bitch.  If he had known that Buffy was still alive, he would have chased after her—no matter what.  There's no way he would've left her alone.   I looked up from the table and found myself meeting Willow's gaze.  "Right, Wills?"

She nodded in agreement as she wiped her tear-stained face.  "Right, Xan."

"He loved her," Anya said as she ran her fingertips across the table.  "He never got over her—unlike Angel or Riley...does anyone know when he left?"

Willow looked up from her clasped hands and glanced over at Oz.  "When did we start getting his mail, Oz?"

"Four or five days ago."

I thought about the last time I saw him—it was last Wednesday night.  We met at Sam's, a pub that sported the best pool tables in Sunnydale for our weekly, 'let's see how fast Xander's hard earned cash can be slipped into Spike's waiting wallet.'

Of course, he won most of the games, but I left that night feeling quite proud of myself; I had actually won two games.  It's not much in the big scheme of things, I know.  But after ten years of getting my scrawny ass kicked by that undead son-of-a-bitch, I felt quite proud.

Petty, I know.

But, damn it felt good.

"—Xander?"

Shaking my head, I looked over at Willow. "Yeah?"

Rolling her eyes, she let out a huge sigh and spoke again. "When was the last time you saw Spike?  Wednesday?"

"Won two games, too," I said, unable to hide the shit-eating grin curling my lips.  "He was fine.  He was actually kinda proud of me.  Said it took me long enough, but it was worth all the cash that had lined his pockets for all these years."

"So, you don't think he knew then?"

Xander shook his head, remembering some off the cuff comment Spike had made about Angel.  Even after all those years of Angel breaking it off with Spike, it still stung the vampire.  And a Spike stung was a smart-mouthed Spike.  That was something that hadn't changed through all of Spike's incarnations...from the evil vampire that raided the Scoobies' Junior Parent-Teacher Night to the broken-hearted and drunken man who had stumbled into Sunnydale after Dru left him for a Chaos Demon, and finally to the vampire who had been chipped by the long-dispersed Initiative.

And Xander knew that Spike wouldn't have been bitching about Angel if he had known Buffy was alive.  Matter-of-fact, Spike wouldn't have been playing pool with Xander if he had known Buffy was alive.

"Well, somehow he found out—from Wednesday to now..." 

Then Giles sighed.  It was a quiet, painful sigh that seemed to come straight out from my own heart.  Buffy was alive—there was no more denying.  However it happened, she was alive and she left us.

"Okay, what do we know?" asked Cindy as she stood up.  "One, that she's alive and most likely she's Immortal...right?" She stopped her pacing to meet Anya's eyes. 

Anya just shrugged.  "I don't know—but it makes sense.  How else could she still be alive?  I don't know that much about Immortals—just that they can die, but they don't stay dead, unless they're beheaded."

"So, when did she die the first time?" Oz asked, squeezing Willow's hand.  "That night with the Initiative?"

Giles shook his head.  "No—not that time..first time..."

My eyes widened at what he was implying.  He couldn't be saying that she really died that night at the Master's lair, could he?  That it didn't matter what I or Angel, did or didn't do, she would've still revived...

"It was prophesized...prophecies are rarely wrong.  I know that," Giles said in a far-off manner.  "And I ignored it, because she lived when she shouldn't have.  I ignored how much stronger she seemed...how her abilities seemed to fluctuate with time."  He shook his head.  "Oh dear, it was always there, and I was too blind to see it.  We were all too blind to see it.  That's the only reason another slayer was called, because she had died—truly and completely."

Willow reached over and grasped his shoulder.  "Giles, you didn't know...you didn't know about Immortals, did you?"

He shook his head.  "Imagine how scared she was...waking up in the morgue.  She probably thought she was a vampire...I wonder how she figured it out?"

Joyce took deep wavering breath as she leaned back against the back of her chair.  "Because she had help, Rupert.  She couldn't have done this by herself."

"She wouldn't have left us unless she didn't have a choice," I said, suddenly knowing that was the truth.  Buffy needed us—even if she acted as if she hadn't that last year.  And she loved all of us—with all her heart.

The front door suddenly opened, the bell ringing ominously as Angel, then Cordelia and Wesley walked through it.  They all looked good, but stressed.  Not too much different from us from what I could tell.  After all these years, Buffy still pulled at our heartstrings—even  when we thought they were gone.

I met Cordelia's gaze and gave her small smile as I stood up.  It had taken a long time, but we were finally in a comfortable place in our relationship.  Metal spikes and Willow-kissage had disappeared under the years of stress of protecting the world's innocents from the evil that threatened it.  Even Anya understood our friendship, and I didn't feel a bit of guilt for taking the former prom queen into my arms and giving her a strong, healthy hug.

"How you holding up?" I asked her as I pulled back and nodded at the two other men who entered the shop.

She gave me a patented Cordy face, and shrugged.  "Other than killer visions showing me stuff I'd much rather not know, okay...how 'bout you?"

Chuckling softly, I just shook my head.  "In shock...so," I started as I glanced over her shoulder's and met Angel's curious gaze. "We've got some answers for you, Dead Boy, but I'm not sure you'll like them any more than we did."

Angel shrugged off his coat and tossed it on top of the counter by the cash register.  "I'm sure I won't, boy, but that's besides the point."

"Well, it seems we are in agreement with that," Giles said as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  "Why don't you all take a seat and we can discuss what we've come up with so far."

"That would seem to be the best," Wesley said as he pulled over a chair and sat down next Giles.

Cordelia, Angel, and I followed, and soon we were all crammed around the table, listening to Giles repeat what we had found out about Immortals. As the words drifted through my mind, I couldn't help but feel a bit like I had just come home—somehow with all of us sitting there, talking about the newest threat—reminded me of the times before everything changed so drastically.  Sitting here, with Angel, Wesley and Cordy felt right—almost as if everything was finally falling into place after over a decade of being empty.

The only people we were missing were Buffy and Spike.

And if Cordy's vision was on the nose, they would be joining us very soon.

I couldn't help but feel if that was a good thing, no matter how pissed off I was at her...I still loved her.

Double Destiny II
Chapter Four
Life's Quagmires, and a Slayer's Regrets

"Pet, we need to get up," Spike whispered against my ear.

Ignoring him, I tightened my hold around his waist, reveling in security the coolness his skin gave me.

It was like coming home.

For the past ten years, I have felt lost-almost as if there had been a part of me missing. And in a sense, there was: my slayer part. Oh sure, I still went out nightly and did my thing, but it was different. In some ways when I would slay, I felt like I did when I was young girl when I would snatch a hot cookie off the baking sheet when my mother's back was turned. Sure, my mom knew I was going to do it, and when she saw the empty spot where the cookie had been prior to warming my stomach-she knew where it went...but it was still illicit. I wasn't supposed to steal those cookies until she had given me the okay anymore than I should be slaying now that I'm Immortal.

Even though Whistler had expected this out of me, and told Connor to as well, in reality I was supposed to have left that life behind. Immortals are a paranoid bunch-they have rules that they expect every Immortal to live by. It's understandable; as humans with just a lengthened life-expectancy, if our secret were get out, I have no doubt that humankind would not be as kind to Immortals as I was to Whistler when I had first met him. Demons were not a surprise to me, and Angel had taught me that not all demons were evil, so it was easy for me to accept what my slayer-sense was telling me when I had met him-that he wasn't evil. Most humans don't have that experience to go back to. They have no idea about the other world that lives in the darkness and preys on their weakness.

And they shouldn't. That's the job of the Watchers and Slayers'-to worry-not your normal Joe Blow that goes to the office five days a week and works over 40 hours a week. And to be honest, it is likely that same Joe Blow has met demons before-and just didn't know it. They're all over the place. The more benevolent ones have nearly enmeshed themselves completely into our society. If they can pass for human, they do it.

And why not? If they're contributing members of society and pay their taxes-why shouldn't they live in the world in which they happen to occupy?

But just the possibility of immortality is a whole 'nother ballgame. It's like a Pandora's box ready to be opened. The secret of longevity-that special gene that enables a human being to theoretically live forever. Just imagine what humankind would do if they found out that immortality was possible. A modern-day witch hunt would be one of the more pleasant outcomes. What would the Initiative have done if they found out Immortals? I cringed everytime I thought about it.

Therein lies the problem.

Every time I go out and slay, I risk betraying my race. At least that's the way most Immortals see it. Methos has always had hated it. Joe has worried incessantly about me for the past seven years since he found out who I was prior to my life as an Immortal. Although Duncan might admire my persistence in continuing to answer my calling, he still believes to this day that I was risking too much by slaying.

All it would take is one reporter catching me at the wrong time, and all the world's secrets would be thrown into the light.

And yet, I can't stop myself. It is who I am, and I've been the only one in the past decade, until Spike, who understood that.

Everything about him and me together seemed to confirm who I was now, and who I had been before. Just laying there in his arms, inhaling his smoke and copper tainted scent could send me spiraling back to a time when my life had been so much simpler.

I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me-his dark blue eyes filled with love, worry and concern. When was the last time I had been with someone that loved me that much?

Angel.

What was it they said about your first? That it defines you, if you let it. That it molds who you are and who you're to become?

Angel was that for me. His cool strength...his continual presence in my life-whether he was by my side in Sunnydale or in LA-I still felt his love no matter where I was. He was the reason I jumped into Riley's bed without much of a thought. He was the reason I had become something so foreign that I had even been a stranger to myself during my freshman year in college.

Everything I did for those three years after I had moved to Sunnydale had been influenced by Angel-one way or another.

Even meeting Spike, and the strange twisty-turny curves our relationship had taken had been defined by Angel...Angelus was Spike's sire...Spike blamed me for being the one that triggered the happiness clause in Angel's curse. Spike losing Dru to her 'daddy's' attentions. Our truce, the Gem of Amara, the chip, the second truce...

Everything.

And yet, somehow in that quagmire of betrayal, hatred, and respect-something happened. Our relationship became something more than our mutual hatred of Angelus or our desire to keep the world from ending...it became about us. And when that happened, Spike was no longer a part of Angel in my mind-he was just Spike.

Once that happened, everything else was almost happenstance. Which was a good thing, or I would've never been able to see past all the baggage that Spike's presence in my life had brought. I couldn't have allowed myself to be with him-like this.

And that, in retrospect, was probably one of the best things that could've ever happened to me, him or us.

Well that, and being Immortal.

If I hadn't been in the position that I was in now, I also would never have accepted those shades of grays that kept dumping on me with impetuousness'-especially when it came to Spike. For an evil vampire, there wasn't actually much evil in him. He was a mixture of both-good and evil, light and dark-just like me. Maybe I had more light in me than him, but still we are both guided by love-and that can't be anything but a good thing in my book.

My stomach fluttered as I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder. I didn't want to let him go...to get up and face the craziness that was my life outside this room. Leaving this room meant me dealing with not only Joe, but Methos-and his painful glances that were almost guaranteed to be thrown my way. I had made my choice, and it wasn't him...

And it was going to hurt the ancient Immortal, and I was loath to do that.

"I don't want to," I mumbled against his cool skin.

His soft chuckle filled my senses. "Neither do I, pet...but I don't see much of choice in the matter."

I groaned softly as I shook my head in denial. I wanted to stay there-in this bed-where Spike had made love to me for the first and second time. I wanted to stay there-where I knew everything was all right, and soak in all the love he gave me.

And love me, Spike did.

My stomach fluttered with the memory of him slowly taking each piece of my clothing off. His pale skin almost glowing in the dim candlelight as he had shed his own clothes. How he kissed every inch of my skin all the while whispering his love for me and how much he ached inside when he had thought I had been dead.

How suddenly his world seemed right, when for nearly 200 years he had felt lost in the confusion of love, hatred, right, wrong, violence and tenderness. How it all seemed to make sense now that he had finally seen who I was meant to be. That everything that had happened to him molded him into becoming a vampire that was meant to stand side-by-side an Immortal Slayer until the end of time.

And God, I felt the truth in his words-their poignancy slicing into my soul and heart with every thrust of his body, and nip of his fangs. When his teeth finally cut into my skin-over scarred remains of Angel's love for me, I finally felt whole...

My skin was flushed with the memories as I began to pepper soft kisses across his collarbone. A soft growl filled my ears, and I heard myself laughing quietly as I rolled over onto my back, pulling his languid body on top of mine.

Three times, I thought to myself as his mouth crashed into mine. I needed this third time before I had to face the overwhelming problems of the day, and my life.

Soon I would have to face not only Methos' sad golden eyes, but the anger and betrayal of all my old friends...

Soon, I would have no time for whispered affirmations and loving caresses, because once again my fate was threatened...

And finally, once again, I would turn to the only people I ever trusted with my life-like I had done so many times in the past. Although a part of me balked at even considering the idea of turning to anyone other than a fellow Immortal for this mess I found myself in, a larger part of me felt oddly at peace with the whole idea.

It was truly like coming home again-in more ways than one.

I just wish I knew if that were a good or bad thing, because at this point, I had no idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nine hours later - midday
Over the Atlantic Ocean

Even before I could stop myself, I sighed.

Again.

It must've been about the millionth time if I could take the glares I received as any indication. I gave both men a stare of my own, and then leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.

They were acting like children, and frankly, I was getting sick of it.

It was bad enough being hunted by every watcher on the face of the earth, but to have to deal with two pouting, immortal men was enough to send me to the nuthouse.

Any other time, I would've thought the situation was humorous. But now, all I felt was impatience and irritation. Even if it was, in a sense, my fault that Methos and Spike were now involved in their own little Cold War.

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I mean, Methos and I have had a long, but complicated relationship...and I knew he was in love with me. I just couldn't give him what he wanted.

I wasn't ready.

And Spike knew this as well-even if we hadn't talked it over. He had always been real perceptive, and even though I welcomed the vampire into my heart, he had to sense my reluctance to completely let go of the ancient Immortal.

I just couldn't do it. Other than my mentor, Connor, Methos had been my lifeline in my crazy life for far longer than anyone else ever had been. He gave me a sense of security in my Immortality that I never had before he and I became close.

He helped me accept that part of myself.

I wished that there were something I could do to help him. But it was futile-I knew that. I had had my heart broken enough to know that only time would heal its sharp, painful pieces. Besides Spike, the only consolation I had was the knowledge that Methos possessed that one thing-time-in vast quantities.

Even Joe had talked to me about him-pulling me aside while Spike and Methos talked of strategy-reassuring me that in the end, I had to follow my heart. Maybe the elder watcher could see the guilt and fear in my eyes, or maybe he just knew me better than I had thought-I don't know. But when I felt the older mortal's arms wrap tightly around my body, I couldn't stop the tears that slipped down my cheeks.

"Is he going to be all right?" I asked Joe, knowing that the watcher was one of the few people who truly knew Methos. Well, at least as much as Methos let anyone really know him. It wasn't the first time I had asked Joe for advice in dealing with the ancient Immortal, and I was no fool in believing that it would be the last as well. Methos was a complex individual-filled with contradictions and sharp turns all over the place. He never failed to surprise me in the past seven years, and as I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate that trait more and more.

Sometimes Methos' left turns were the only excitement I had in my otherwise normal, dare I say, even boring existence.

The watcher's eyes dropped as he stared at the ground, clenching his jaw. I could feel Joe's weariness-it was nearly tangible in the air. None of us had gotten much sleep in the past day or so, but for the most part all Spike and I had done was worry, whereas Joe was gathering his troops-preparing them for battle against CoW. Methos' helped him a bit, but it had been over twelve years since the ancient Immortal had been a watcher, so all he could do was offer Joe his advice. And it wasn't an easy thing-waging war, but I had no doubt that Joe would do all right. He was soldier-through and through-and he was an honorable man, who fought for what he believed in.

I just hated the idea that this war was being fought because of me. If it just were about me-Buffy-the Immortal, I wouldn't have bothered to ask for help. But it wasn't just about me...it was about the future of the world. It was also about freedom and lines that were drawn over a thousand years ago being erased. The foundation of Immortal watchers was non-interference, and what CoW was asking them to do was sacriledge.

I may be Immortal, but I'm a slayer as well. The Powers wanted me free, and who else but CoW would have the arrogance to believe that they knew what was more right than the PTBs?

Joe finally lifted his head, his tired blue eyes meeting mine, and nodded once. "Buffy, he'll be okay. Just give him time," he told me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I think the worst thing about this is that he did this to himself, and he knows it. He may act like a spoiled child for a while. Or he may even surprise both of us and drudge up that enormous amount of maturity that I know he keeps locked away most of the time and be easy to deal with it," Joe added with a slight grin. "But whatever he does, he'll survive. Because that's what he is-above all else-a survivor."

I nodded in agreement and gave the man a small smile. "I'm going to miss you, Joe Dawson," I told the man who, in some ways, reminded me of my watcher in Sunnydale. Like Giles, Joe loved me like a daughter-something I've found myself needing most of my life. It's funny, for all those years before I found out I had been adopted, I always wondered what had I done to deserve my father's distance from me. He didn't actually abandon me, but as I got older, he did pull back from me emotionally-leaving me always yearning for more from the men in my life.

Joe helped fill in that gap in my life after I had left Sunnydale.

"Hey, I'll see you again...you can count on it!"

I wiped my eyes dry and shrugged. "Are you sure about that?" I asked, still feeling unsure. "I may have to go into hiding for the next century or two."

Joe shook his head. "Nah, we'll get this taken care of. There are not a lot of people I know that are very happy with what has happened. And most of them don't have a clue about what's really going on. After I fill them in, I doubt there'll be many Immortal Watchers too keen on giving the slayer watchers what they want. You've got to remember, Buffy...we have the power and money, they just have some knowledge that yes, might have been useful in the past and answers in the future, but I think the Immortal Watchers will eventually be the ones calling the shots."

I let out a sigh of relief and hugged him one more time-taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart-memorizing the gentle way his arms held me. Why did it feel like I had seen the last of him?

Because, I snapped at myself, CoW is ruthless and you'd be a fool to believe that they'd see Joe's protest as anything other than an act of treason.

And CoW never dealt with treason very well.

It always went back to Cow, didn't it? No matter how assured Joe was-no matter how much he believed in what he was doing-I still wasn't convinced that anything other pain and death was going to come out of this battle. Joe may've been right in human terms; Immortal watchers did hold the pocket book, and CoW definitely needed the cash, but CoW never thought in human terms. They were a magical organization based on destiny, birthright and doctorines that upheld their belief that CoW was in the right, and always had been.

CoW's very existence was founded on the idea that they knew what was right when it came to slayers, vampires and demons. There was no way that they would allow some mortal establishment to dictate their policy. They might even appear to relent in their search for me, but in truth, I doubted if they would ever give up. At least not until the ones that called the shots at the Council of Watchers were no longer in power.

I had a feeling whatever happened in the immediate future, CoW would always be a thorn in my side-now that they knew I was Immortal. They believed it was their right to control my life-it was their destiny. And unless something drastic happened like my final death or their destruction, I was skeptical of any real change-no matter how sincere CoW appeared to be.

Groaning, I shook my head and turned to see Spike leaning towards me. Seconds later, his lips caressed my cheek-sending a pleasant shiver across my skin.

"Hey," I whispered, as I laid my head on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, pet?"

I shrugged. I never could lie to Spike. "Just thinking," I answered. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, considering I was getting tired of watching you two glare at one another," I told the vampire as I picked up his hand and held it in mine. I looked up and met his embarrassed gaze, and gave him a small smile. "So, are you going to cool it for awhile?" I asked him.

He nodded, his mouth opening in a huge yawn. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna catch some shut-eye. All this flying is wearing me out," he told me as he lifted the bar that separated our two seats.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I said as he laid down on the bench, resting his head on my lap. "Sweet dreams," I whispered right before kissing his cheek.

"Thanks pet," he said, yawning again.

Within minutes, he had fallen into a deep, motionless sleep.

There was a part of me that wished I could follow him, but when I looked up and met Methos' silent plead, I knew it wasn't an option.
 
I needed to talk to Methos first-he deserved at least that much, if not a lot more.

Sighing, I gently lifted Spike's head off my legs and slipped out from underneath him, placing him back on the seat. Once standing, I took a deep breath, inwardly preparing myself for the conversation that was soon to follow, and made my way over towards the other end of the plane, where Methos was sitting.

This was not going to be easy.

We'd been in the air for five hours, and although we were in a private jet-the accommodations were wonderful, it was still a plane.

And I was still exhausted.

After pouring myself a glass of wine, I pulled a bar stool around and sat down across from the dark-haired Immortal, and waited for nearly five minutes for him to speak.

"Do you love him, Buffy?"

Although I shouldn't have been surprised by his question, I still was. It hurt. It hurt to look at him, and to know that I was, in turn, hurting him by not choosing him. And most of all it hurt hearing him question my feeling for Spike. I knew I didn't have the best track record in the past ten years when it came to romance. Matter of fact, it was pretty dismal-the whole keeping sex and emotions separate thing wasn't something I could hold up and wave in righteous indignation as I claimed that my feelings for Spike were genuine. But still, now that I had finally committed myself emotionally, a part of me just expected that Methos could see that as well.

What a fool, I thought to myself as I looked up to see him waiting for my answer. Although he deserved an honest answer, a part of me was loath to give it. I didn't want to hurt him, and that was exactly what would happen as soon as I told him.

Why did things have to work out this way?

Why did Methos have to be so damned stubborn and headstrong?

If he had only accepted me for who I was all those years ago, we would have never been in this position to begin with. I would've jumped at the chance to be in a relationship with him if I had felt that he had given me a chance.

Well, maybe that wasn't totally true. It would've taken awhile for me to begin to trust in myself once again, but if I had felt secure enough in myself, it would have happened a long time ago.

But Methos made a choice a long time ago when he discouraged my slayer part, and here was the end result. And now, a decade later, I have finally found someone that will love me completely and fully-regardless of who I was or who I am right now. Or maybe even because of it. I don't know. But I do know, that Spike loves me-all of me, and that's an incredible feeling. One that, to be honest, I've never had before. Angel came the closest, but when his alter-self came into play, a part of me realized that it had never been the real honest truth. If it had, Angelus would've loved me as well.

And he didn't. I can't even begin to describe what Angelus felt for me-and there's no way I could ever rationalize it or paint it into something that looked a bit kinder or gentler than it really was. Angelus hated me. He hated me, despised me, loathed me-maybe lusted after me-but he never was capable of loving anyone-especially me-the one human put on this Earth to kill vampires, and demons like him.

But Spike can, and does love me. And has since before my second death.

Incredible.

My mortal enemy. The vampire that got away, and kept getting away and getting away, I added, inwardly chuckling. That should've clued me in way earlier than it did. We couldn't kill each other. Why was that? Well, other than the obvious-that I was basically un-killable by that time-but that still doesn't explain why I had never dusted Spike.

What it did mean was that I enjoyed him-his presence in my life. Whether it was to knock me on my ass all the while spitting out harsh truths that no one else would dare utter to me or those uneasy alliances we had formed in those years.

I can still remember him sitting there-all prim and proper-talking to my mother in our living room while I was on the phone with Willow during that Acathla ordeal. My mom always liked Spike. Even though she knew what he was, she couldn't seem to help herself.

Another clue just waiting for me to puzzle over if I had bothered to look closely at my life. My mother had always been a bit ditzy, but at the same time, she had an incredible knack for seeing the real person underneath the various masks that they chose to wear at the time. Call it women's intuition, or her own equivalent to my slayer-sense or whatever-but it was uncanny how she almost instantly took to Spike-a soulless vampire that was willing to risk everything for the woman he loved.

Would Methos ever do that? Risk it all for someone else? He has in the past, but with him, it's hard to tell. Methos has always been so reserved. Whether that's the face that he chooses to show the world, or if it's an intrinsic part of his personality, I don't know. Sometimes I think he would-if the person meant enough to him. And other times, I would say, no way. Methos has spent a better part of his five milieu protecting himself. That kind of dogged determination at self-preservation is at odds with the kind of devotion to someone else that Spike...and I have shown.

Which is another reason why it was so easy to allow myself to fall into Spike's arms after all these years. I love like Spike loves. Fully, completely and without reservations.

With that thought, I looked over my wineglass to see Methos watching me-waiting for my answer. Sighing, I nodded slowly.

"Yes, I do," I whispered, a part of me shocked that I had the courage to admit it out loud. Had this always been true? I asked myself. Had a part of myself always been in love with Spike, but had been too blind or too much entrenched in denial to admit it to myself? Taking a deep breath, I continued, "And a part of me probably has been for a long time," I added softly watching his face go slack and expressionless. "I'm sorry, Methos, I never meant for anything of this to become as complicated as it has-"

"Buffy," he interrupted me, grabbing my free hand. After squeezing it, he tugged on it, pulling me out of my chair and around the bar until I was standing in front of him. Passive, I allowed him to lead him-feeling confused, angry and unable to ignore the harsh hot pain that speared my heart.

I just hated this situation.

Everything about it just turned me upside down and inside out. A part of me wondered if I would ever know which way was up after this little adventure back into my past. My life, as simple and as empty as it had been for the past ten years, had been comfortable. Letting Spike, and the rest of Sunnydale back into it was ripping that security away.

I just stood there-staring at his face-watching as he lifted his hand up and caressed my cheek.

So hot, I thought to myself, remembering how only a couple of days before how foreign Spike's touch felt on my skin, and how quick I had become accustomed to it. I closed my eyes, feeling my chest tighten once again. God, this was hard, I thought as I heard his chair push across the carpet.

Suddenly his hand left my face and his arms wrapped around me-holding me tightly against his lean, hard body. "No, I'm so-" he broke off, gently pulling back.

I opened my eyes and watched him study my face-almost as if he were memorizing it-as he clenched his jaw-his eyes darkening in need. "Oh bloody hell," he whispered right before he his lips smashed down on mine-

And before I could say anything or do anything, he broke off the kiss. I was ashamed to admit it, but a part of me wanted him even more after that. Why hadn't he done that six or seven years ago? Or even six months ago? If he had, would I have welcomed Spike so quickly into my life?

I really didn't know what the answer was.

"After this crisis is over, I think I'm going to leave for a while," he said, turning around towards the bar. He poured himself a nice helping of whisky and stared at the amber liquid in the glass.

I wanted to scream at him-life-even Spike at the moment-for throwing us into this impossible situation.

I didn't want Methos gone from my life, but at the same time, I knew I couldn't ask him to stay. He stayed for Mac, and look what that got him. What would he gain from sticking around with me?

"God, I hate this," I said, shocked at how tired and empty my voice sounded. "I hate that you're hurting-and I wish I wasn't hurting as much as I am!" I whispered harshly, pouring myself a shot of bourbon as well. After drinking down half of it, I looked over to the side and noticed how tired he looked. "He loves me, Methos. All of me. Me being Immortal-it's like icing on the cake to him. And I'm finally feeling comfortable in my own skin-for the first time since I found I was Immortal."

"How do you know you love him?" Methos asked, his voice harsh and acidic. "Didn't you tell me that he tried to kill you-more than once? How can you love him?"

"He's a vampire. That's what vampires do-try to kill slayers. It's in the rulebook somewhere-not that I've ever seen it," I added, chuckling. It was a lame attempt at lightening things up, but I had to give it a try. From the look on his face, Methos wasn't feeling too humorous at the moment. Oh well, I thought to myself. "But he also helped me save the world once. If it hadn't been for him, it would've ended in the spring 1998. There's no way I would've been able to take on all three of them. I barely beat Angelus," I admitted.

"So, he's like me-he can play on whatever side he wants to win. It still doesn't-"

"It's more than that," I said, interrupting him, feeling my face flush in anger. I didn't really understand why it was bothering me, but him questioning my feelings for Spike irked me to no end. Didn't Methos know me better than that? Didn't he know that I would never say I loved someone unless I meant it?

"You want to hear how when I was sixteen years old, I used to lay in bed and wonder what he was like as a human...and dream being loved like he loved Dru?" I asked him, feeling my body tighten in tension. Nothing like dredging up the past, and all those pesky emotions I had buried so long ago, to bring out my ire. "Do you want to hear about after Angel lost his soul, how I would fantasize about Spike-because instinctively I knew that he was suffering as much as I was. And I was right about that too," I added before downing the last of my drink. As I poured another one, I continued. "Almost every night I would patrol-dreading it, because I knew that Angelus was just around the corner. And if he didn't kill me, he would taunt me-telling me how awful I was in bed. How much of loser I was. How much he didn't love me, but how he did want me to know how grateful he was to me for releasing him from his prison...how he would enjoy showing me his appreciation...how he would play on my love, and attraction, and twist it around until I had no idea what I felt. There were times when I wondered if I really did hate Angelus-and if I didn't really want to just give in to him.

"That's when I would remember Spike...sitting in that mansion, wheelchair-bound, watching Angelus play with Dru in front of Spike-just to hurt him like Angelus was hurting me.

"Sometimes, late at night, when I would lay in bed, I would let my mind go, and found myself fantasizing what it would be like to be made love to by Spike. Because I knew, if he loved me-all of him would have loved me. He was safe...more safe than I ever realized back then," I said. "It was that spring, before I sent Angel to hell, that I discovered my breaking point. If Angelus hadn't tried to awaken that demon and suck the world into hell, I would've eventually turned to Spike...whether it would've been to kill me, or to turn me, to love me or to turn against Dru and Angelus together-it would've been with Spike," I confessed as I stared at the glass on the counter and sighed again. "I really wasn't nearly as surprised at his offer of an alliance as I had acted. I had almost expected it. We never talked about that time again, but I know that's why I was never able to dust him like I was supposed to afterwards. No matter how much he infuriated me...how much I hated him and his words that last year I was in Sunnydale, I wouldn't have been able to do it. We had a bond, forged in pain, and betrayal...and love gone sour. Sometimes those bonds are the hardest ones to break."

I shook my head at the irony, and pushed the pain back that those memories brought. "And finally, he was also one of the only people that would tell me what they thought-without censoring themselves. He did it to hurt me, but the irony of it all of it, is that for some reason, I never could hide from him. I still can't," I added.

"And me?"

"You're where Spike was ten years ago...in this bin of could've-beens. This place in my heart that holds all those possibilities...but not now, Methos." I turned to face him as I grabbed his hands, forcing him to turn towards me. "I don't know what the future will bring-anymore than I knew ten years ago when Whistler showed up at the morgue and told me of my other destiny. I love you-you're my best friend-but right now, it's Spike that I need. And I do love him. I don't think I could ever love you the way you need me to unless I let myself love him. For the first time since I had found out I was Immortal, I feel whole-like I can be both the slayer and the Immortal. If I had chosen you, I wouldn't be whole," I told him before gently pressing my lips against his cheek. "Not for the first time, I wish there were two of me, because I know for sure one of me would have chosen you."

I dropped his hands and turned away-making my way back to Spike-feeling as if I had just let go of another chapter in my life. One, to be honest, that I had never imagined leaving. I could only hope that the future chapters would be less painful than the past ones, but knowing my luck, it just wasn't going to happen.

If there was one thing that's been blaringly obvious in my thirty years of life-as Buffy the normal girl, Buffy the Slayer and Buffy the Immortal-that my life's journey was an especially wild and chaotic ride. Nothing was ever simple.

I just wish if I knew if I liked it that way because after all these years, I'm still feeling strangely ambivalent about it-the good and the bad.

The good-so few and far between had still managed to balance out the bad-but barely. Like standing on the middle of a seesaw-my life had been dangerous, wild, fun and precarious, but never painless.

I was too much of a cynic to believe it would ever really change. My life as a slayer and as an Immortal had taught me that.

And I had the scars to prove it.

to be continued...

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