Double Destiny

Chapter Six
Watcher, Watcher, Go Away

by
Lisa Y. Drexel

I stared down at the crumbled body that lay at my feet and silently groaned. I should've figured that any time spent with the slayer would be filled with danger and life-threatening situations. Wasn't it that way ten years ago?

And here I was dreaming about shagging the bint...

"—Get some rope and tie him up?" Buffy said, stepping into my view.

"What's that, love?" I asked as I shook my head in a vain attempt to clear my thoughts.

Unfortunately, I was too late—my cock was already swelling.

Bloody hell.

"—I've got some rope in the other room. We can tie him and stick him in the back room so he doesn't bother us when he wakes up," she said, her hand on the doorknob, still staring down at the body. At least she hadn't taken notice to my present state of being. Ever try willing your cock down? It's impossible, let me tell you.

"Damn, all I wanted was one day without any hassles," she mumbled to herself as she closed the bedroom door behind her, leaving me alone with the intruder.

"Just one day, you stupid pillock," I growled at the unconscious man.

Of course, he said nothing.

Sighing, I walked back to my clothes and grabbed my jeans. It wasn't until I had them up over my hips and had to carefully pull the zipper over my straining hard-on that a whole new set of curses directed at the mortal fly through my mind. "Bloody asshole...I might have finally gotten in her bleeding' pants if you hadn't decided to show up. Well, you and that pillock, Ben."

After tugging off the tee-shirt and slipping on my over shirt, I sat down on the bed and groaned at the thought of that other Immortal. Who the hell was he? And, more importantly, who was he to Buffy to not only have a key, but for her to have his underclothes? "Isn't there a law or something?" I whispered as I pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Groaning, I rubbed my hand across my face and was startled to note that somewhere during the scuffle, I had slipped into my true face and it hadn't gone back.

My stomach tightened, and it was then I realized that when Ben had knocked the mortal out, he had caused the chap to bleed.

"Bloody wonderful," I whispered, falling back onto the bed. "Starving with all this blood and nothing to eat. I hate you, Peaches."

The bedroom door swung open as Buffy walked in, arms laden with ropes. She knelt down beside the mortal and pulled the unconscious man into a sitting position. Quickly, she secured the man and hoisted the body up over her shoulder and disappeared out of the room.

A minute later, she returned and stopped when she spotted the blood staining her carpet. "Damn," she whispered and turned around to look over at me. Her eyebrow shot up and suddenly her eyes twinkled in realization. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"What gave you that idea, pet?" I asked through my fangs.

She shrugged as she gave me a small smug smile. "Just lucky, I guess," she said as she sauntered over to the bed and fell down beside me. Rolling over onto her stomach, she propped herself up by her arms and looked down at me, still grinning. "So, how hungry are you?"

I didn't even bother with a verbal response; instead, I just arched my eyebrow at her as I blew out a lung full of smoke.

She batted her eyes at me as she turned around and sat up. "As much as I would love to offer you my neck right now, I can't. Not with Ben in the other room." She sighed dramatically as she pushed herself off the bed and went over to her dresser, yanking drawers open and pulling out pieces of clothing. "Sooo instead, I'll bleed a vein for you...after I get dressed. Is that okay?" She asked, turning around with an armload of clothing hugged tightly to her chest.

Frowning, I studied her eyes for any deception and found myself shocked at the seriousness I saw there, despite the smile she was wearing. "You're serious?"

She rolled her eyes at me and shifted her weight to her other leg. "Well, duh. It's not going to kill me, and, from I what I hear, I pack a wallop, so it might hold you for a while." She suddenly paused as she tilted her head to the side as she opened her mouth and just as quickly, snapped it closed.

"What pet?"

Her head dropped as she watched her toe lightly trace circles on the carpeting. "It's stupid. I'm almost embarassed to ask, but it would kinda fill in some blanks—answer some questions that I never got to ask."

"Shoot. Go ahead, ask away," I told her as watched her face turn about a dozen different shades of red.

"So, is it true? About my blood? Is it that...tasty? I mean, you did get a taste last night and you didn't say anything. And well, the last a vamp did that, I nearly died again for the thousandth time and he was riding a high that, well I kinda wondered what the hell he'd been eating before me. I finally found him two days later and staked him right off. But, I never asked him, ya know? And then there was that time that I forced Angel to drink from me and well, he was supervamp for about a day—"

"Buffy?" I called out to her, interrupting a ramble that could put Willow under the table.

"—and then he left, and well you...what, Spike?"

Although I understood her nervousness, it still tickled me to no end. Blood or even the talk of blood was nearly the equivalent to foreplay for a vampire, and she knew that. Even if her and Peaches avoided that subject like the black plague, the Slayer wasn't stupid—especially if Angel responded as joyfully to her as I had a feeling he did. Soul or not, her blood could burn the most callous of us all—and if it happened to be someone who was in love with her as well. Let's just say happies were had by both parties—even if it did put her in the hospital for a couple of hours.

Unable to prevent the grin that I knew was curling my lips, I quickly swung my legs around and hopped off the bed. After taking those two additional steps that placed me right in front of her, I slipped my finger under her chin and pushed it gently upwards, forcing her to look at me. Once our eyes met, I bent my head and kissed her softly on the lips. "Exquisite, love. Exquisite."

Her eyes widened as the implications of what I said sunk in, and just when I didn't think she could blush any deeper, she did. It took every bit of restraint I had not to sweep her in my arms once the sweet, musky scent of her arousal filled my senses. Instead, I bent my head down to her mouth and ran my tongue across her lips. Sighing softly, her mouth opened and we kissed—tongues engaged in an ageless dance, as we both conveyed our desires to one another—with a promise that more would soon come.

When I felt something soft fall on my feet, I regretfully broke the kiss and stepped back. Looking down, I saw the clothes that she had been holding and grinned at her—noting with a bit of smugness, that my kiss had left her dazed. I knelt down, quickly gathered her things and stood up—handing them back to her.

She took them back and suddenly shook her head as if the action would somehow clear her thoughts. "Well," she whispered as she gave me a half-smile. "That was fun. Damn! I want more," she said, her voice taking on a child-like quality. "But," she sighed. "Duty calls once again...so, it'll work?"

"What?" I asked, inwardly kicking myself when I realized I too, was feeling a bit off. There goes the last bit of my reputation—the dashing lady-killer knocked on his ass by a bloody kiss, I thought to myself.

"The blood—my blood. In a few minutes. In a glass."

"Oh, yeah," I said, smiling despite my embarrassment. Damn, if a kiss does that to me... I forced myself to stop those thoughts before I ended up whacking off in the bathroom. "It'll work love," I told her, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"Oh, yeah," I said, smiling despite my embarassment. Damn, if a kiss does that to me... I forced myself to stop those thoughts before I ended up whacking off in the bathroom. "It'll work love," I told her, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"Cool!" she said, barely able to hide her own glee as she bounced out of the room into the bathroom.

"Cool, she says," I muttered, picturing a thousand different ways I would have preferred acquiring her blood instead of her bleeding into a glass for me. Just the thought of finally drinking from her was enough to almost make me come in my pants. It had been so long since I had drunk from a human for anything other than just plain hunger. Matter-of-fact, Willow had been the last person I fed from that I even knew as more than a passing acquaintance. And like the slayer now, Willow had offered her blood willingly, but I had been nearly dying from an especially vicious fight with a Chaos Demon on the Hellmouth.

In a panic, Willow had sliced her arm and waved it in front of my nearly unconscious face. My demon had latched onto her arm and held her for bloody life. It had taken Xander, Giles and Anya to pull her out of my steel grip.

I still have nightmares about killing her.

It isn't too surprising that I never fed from anyone I cared about since.

"Bloody fool," I whispered to myself as I reached the bedroom door. "Brood-boy junior strikes again," I said, shaking my head at myself. I had only been awake for an hour and already I was wondering what the hell I was doing in Paris, chasing after her. She had a life...people she cared about...people that weren't me. Bloody hell, one of those said people was standing in the kitchen right now, and I was wearing his fucking boxers. Did I really belong here...chasing after a half-realized dream of a broken vampire?

As I walked down the hallway to the kitchen, I took a deep, unneeded breath and readied myself to face the owner of the boxers.

Fucking asshole.

Have I mentioned how detrimental being horny always has been to my mental state of being?

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

I hate uncomfortable silences. I always have. When I was still the 'Big Bad,' I used to fill in those long, painful pauses with equally long painful, bloody threats or deeds.

It occurred to me as I felt Ben's eyes studying me, that I missed those times. What the hell was I saying? I've always missed those times. But it's like missing loving Dru. I remembered how I felt about her. I remembered the passion, the love...the devotion, but I don't feel those things anymore. At least not about her. That was how I feel about the 'Big Bad.' During the day, sometimes, I'd dream about the killing and the chaos that had followed, and even then, it doesn't feel right. It just felt...off.

Satan below, I hated Peaches. You know, this was all his fault. Yeah, yeah, I know that if I wanted to get technical about it, my whole bloody unlife was his fault. But that wasn't what I was talking about. It was the last thirteen years I was bitching about. From the moment I set foot in Sunnyhell that first time to me going to Paris in search of the slayer like some lovelorn sick, Nancy-Boy. That was his fault.

I would've never been in this position if it hadn't been for him. Between the blood-oath, him kicking me out of his bed for two mortals, to being chipless but still unable to kill...to falling in love with the slayer. It was all his fault. Bloody hell, it was his fault I lost Dru to begin with!

I felt myself tense up and pushed back the chair in a rush of anger. Ignoring the curious stares of the Immortal, I began to pace restlessly all the while slipping into another deep brood. Thinking about Peaches always seemed to get me—in my gut and my heart like nothing else could. When we finally reconciled after nearly a hundred years of abandonment and anger on my side, guilt and fear on his side, it was really good, for a while. But unfortunately I wasn't what he needed. The slayer was. Just as his demon yearned for his favorite childe, his soul craved the touch and love of humans. And since Buffy was dead, he turned to the only other mortals that had seen him at his worse, supported him—laughed with him and loved him as one of their own: Wesley and Cordelia. I should've seen it coming, but I didn't. I was too wrapped in how good it felt to finally be with my sire after all those years to acknowledge the sadness I occasionally saw in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking.

I would like to say I was duped. Fooled into letting my defenses down—opening my heart to the one being I had spent most of my unlife trying to please, but I couldn't do it. I could barely be mad. He wasn't Angelus. He was Angel, the souled vampire—a strange mixture of both demon and soul—not the vampire that had ruined my mortal life and brought me across over 200 years before.

See what I mean about silences?

I stopped my pacing and closed my eyes, taking a deep, unneeded breath as I tried to rein in my emotions. Thinking about Peaches wasn't helping my mood any and it sure as hell didn't answer my questions about the Immortal or the unconscious intruder laid out in the other room. Growling softly, I strode over to my seat and fell into it, ready to find out more about this Immortal—this Benjamin Adams that had managed to insinuate himself into my slayer's life.

As my eyes took in his appearance, I realized that any other time, I would've found him intriguing. He was good-looking. More striking than anything. Patrician nose—lips that seemed to easily slip into a sardonic smirk—not unlike my own.

And then our eyes met.

That's when it me.

Up until that moment, I had thought of him as more of nuisance than anything else. Someone that had an in into the slayer's life that I didn't...a life that I hadn't been privy to for the past decade. He was an obstacle—a bother—someone to swat at, much like one would do to an irritating fly that had taken to buzzing around your face. But as our eyes met, for one fleeting second, I saw something that I'd never seen in a human's face before—a strange mixture of evil, good, complacency and a wariness of life that only the oldest of immortal creatures could ever feel.

Whistler's got that look. Peaches is getting it. I think Hell did it for him.

And then as quickly as I saw it and identified it, his eyes cleared, and suddenly I found myself looking into the eyes of a bored intellectual.

Unnerved, I dropped my head and inwardly groaned at the hunger gnawing at my gut. Even with the slayer's promise to 'open a vein' for me, I couldn't ignore its strength. It had been nearly 12 hours since I had really fed, and then it was only enough to curtail the hunger—not even close to appeasing the demon. Granted, the slayer's blood from the night before had seemed to calm things a bit inside. Yet as soon as I took a whiff of that mortal's spilt blood in the bedroom, whatever peace I had found, had been lost.

Growling softly, I stood up and began pacing the room once again—this time allowing my eyes to take in all the small things that the slayer had done to make this place her home. A nice upholstered couch—not too unlike the one her mother had had all those years ago in Sunnydale. Off-white was the color and I knew if I sat down, it would be as comfortable as its counterpart. Smiling slightly, I walked over to the two built-in bookshelves that sat on either side of the fireplace. I was more than a little surprised to see bestseller fictions sitting among the more obscure reference books that I had always associated with the slayer and her friends. My eyes immediately pinpointed a spell book, a few demonology books as well as an old battered watcher's journal. My interest peeked, I pulled it out and flipped it open and was shocked to see it naturally fall open nearly three-fourths of the way through it.

And then I spotted a too-familiar name and instantly knew why.

"'The one with an angelic face has brought another across to join him. A young man, brown hair, eyes blue as the sky and a title as well...'"

"Shit," I whispered, slamming the book shut.

"Problem?" Adams asked, his voice too close to me for him to still be sitting at the table.

I spun around and was shocked to see him standing behind me, watching me as his eyes sparkled in amusement. I blinked a couple of times; inwardly kicking myself for not realizing he had snuck up behind me and finally just shook my head in mock defeat.

"Just a bit peckish, bored and not liking to see my past written up in some wanker's journal, that's all," I said as I moved to slip the book back into its place.

Ben's hand shot out and grabbed the book, but stopped once his fingers touched the leather. "May I?"

I lifted my eyebrow at him and tried staring him down.

His hazel eyes met mine and didn't waver—not like I expected him to fear me or anything. It just would've been nice...

"How 'bout we make a deal...I give you a glass full of my blood in exchange for you letting me read this?" He asked me as he arched his eyebrow as well.

Blood in exchange for my past?

Immortal's blood in exchange for my past?

Well, when I put it that way, how could I refuse? "Deal," I muttered, releasing my hold on the watcher's journal.

Ben nodded once as he grabbed the book and turned on his heel. After dropping the watcher's journal onto the table, he headed into the kitchen and grabbed a glass. I leaned against the wall and watched as he pulled out a dagger from a hidden ankle holster. He placed the glass in the sink, pushed up the sleeve of his sweater and held his wrist over the glass.

With a long practiced swipe, he cut his skin and began to bleed himself. Almost instantly, I felt my face change as the scent of his blood hit me. So much like the slayer's, but yet I could tell the difference even before I tasted it. Whereas hers possessed the slayer essence as well as the Immortality factor, his was strictly Immortal—but far older than anything I'd ever tasted before.

"How old are you?" The words were out of my mouth before I even thought of stopping them.

His head turned as a small smirk played on his lips. "What did Buffy tell you about me?" He asked as I watched his wound heal in front of me. My eyes quickly shot over to the sink, and I was disheartened to see the glass only half-way full. But before I could even growl, he repeated the action and new river of blood flowed down to the glass.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried remembering what Buffy had actually said about Adams. 'A mystery within an enigma.' Chuckling softly, I told him.

He laughed and shook his head. "Anything else?"

"That you were really old, and that you had a lot of layers. As well as being really irritating."

"She said that? She knows me pretty well then," Ben said as we both watched the second cut on his wrist heal. With his clean hand, he picked up the glass of blood and set it on the counter before washing his arm off.

My hand shot out and grabbed the glass, feeling my hunger rise to an almost painful level as wave after wave of Ben's tantalizing scent filled my senses. As I lifted the glass to my lips, Ben turned and faced me, watching me curiously.

Deciding to ignore the 'enigma' in front of me, I concentrated on the blood and wasn't disappointed as the first few drops saturated my taste buds.

Life and power exploded in my mouth, and before I realized it, I had downed the whole glass—feeling instantly energized.

It was the most powerful blood I had ever tasted—Buffy's included.

Stunned, I placed the now empty glass onto the counter and licked my lips—almost desperate not to miss any of it. Although my hunger was gone and my demon was satiated, I knew then it was going to be nearly impossible not to ask him for some more in the future. I looked up as my demon-face melted back into its human mask and met Ben's pointed gaze. "How old are you?" I asked again, this time very aware of what I was asking.

"Old...really old. Probably older than anyone you've ever met before—demon included." Ben said as he pushed himself off the counter and walked past me towards the table. "My name is Methos," he said as he sat down at the table. "You can call me that when it's just us three. But in public, I'm Benjamin Adams, okay?"

"Got it," I said as I walked over and sat back down. "Where the hell is she?" I muttered as I glanced down the hallway. I suddenly really needed a cigarette and growled softly as I once again stood up. "I'm going to grab my fags and see what's keeping her," I told Ben—no Methos—I silently corrected myself.

Methos nodded, his nose already stuck in the watcher's journal. "Tell her to hurry up—we haven't got all bloody day!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at the Immortal's irritation at the slayer—it reminded me all too well of my own at various times in my life. It didn't occur to me until much later, how prophetic that observation would be.

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

I found her in the midst of zipping closed a large, travel-sized duffel bag that was sitting on the bed next to the bound and gagged unconscious human. Her head shot up and her lips curled in greeting. "Hey Spike...did you enjoy your bonding moments with Ben?"

I frowned as I stared at the intruder. "How did he get in here? I thought you took him to another room?"

Buffy blushed as her head dipped down, studying her feet. "I felt bad leaving him on the floor. I decided the least I could do is let him stay in here—on the bed. He'll be more comfortable that way," she said softly, obviously embarrassed.

Just when I think there's not much light left in her, she goes and does something like this and proves me wrong all over again.

Even when she tormented me while I had been fixed, I knew she would never stake me as long as I couldn't fight back. She was too human and compassionate to be a cold-blooded killer.

And obviously too human to be a heartless captor as well.

Smirking at her, I picked up my duster and began digging through its deep pockets. "Softy," I whispered, gently teasing her. "He fed me," I said, quietly changing the subject as my fingers touched something cold and plastic. Cellphone, I thought to myself as I pulled the contraption out and looked at it to make sure the thing was turned on. It wasn't. Puzzled, I shrugged to myself trying to remember when I turned the damn thing off. Coming up with no answer, I just switched the phone on and made sure the ringer was set to ring and not vibrate and placed it back into my coat.

"He did?" She asked, sounding surprised.

I nodded as I checked the other pocket and let out a deep sigh as my fingers latched onto my cigarette case. I quickly opened it and pulled out a cigarette. Once lit, I took a deep drag and sighed in relief. Counting the cigarettes I had rolled, I realized that I was going to need to pick up my tobacco before the end of the day. I needed my nicotine. "Can we make a run by the airport before we disappear? My stuff's in a locker."

"Yeah sure, I don't see why not...what do you mean, he fed you?" she asked, changing the subject as her eyes took on a dangerous glint.

Laughing, I sauntered over to her and wrapped my free arm around her waist, pulling her flesh against me. "Jealous love?" I asked, whispering in her ear. "Did you want it to be you that I sipped from? Umm?"

I could feel her body heat rise as her heart began racing. "What—how? Argh! Spike, you drive me nuts!" she sputtered against my chest.

I nipped at her neck and chuckled softly. "Don't worry, pet. He bled himself into a glass in exchange for getting a look-see at that watcher's journal I found stuck among your books." Her head shot up, nearly hitting my chin. "What I'd like to know, is how in the bloody hell you managed to get your hot little hands on it in the first place, um?"

Rolling her eyes, she stepped back enough to look me in the eye. "Jeez Spike, suspicious much? Actually, it was one of those weird serendipity kinda of things. Joe found a used bookstore in London and bought it thinking it was a Watcher's chronicle on an Immortal—not a Watcher's journal of the vampire sort. When he realized what he had, he asked me if I wanted it. I did, so I reimbursed him—not even knowing until I got home and began reading it that I actually managed to purchase a journal that detailed Darla, Angelus, you, and Penn's life in the early 1800s. I was shocked. And curious. How the hell did watchers know all that?" She asked me, her eyebrows creased in question.

I shrugged, kissed her on the forehead and released her. "Hell if I know, pet. A demon—a stealthy watcher. Maybe someone that had magical abilities to cloak themselves. I don't know. I don't remember anyone around at that time, but then I was just a fledgling," I said softly, trying not to shudder at the memory.

Remembering those last weeks I had spent as a mortal had never been easy for me. Even after 200 years as a vampire, a part of me would always resent Angelus for destroying my life. As the eldest son of a nobleman, my future—or more succinctly put, William Keating's future was set. I was in love...nearly engaged...I found myself a natural at politics, primed to follow my father's footsteps when the elder Keating finally would succumb to the sickness that was eating away at his body. Although I—or William—had no love for my father—the senior Keating was a cruel and heartless bastard—I did love my gentle and innocent-like mother with all my heart. Even after I murdered my father, I managed to whisk her away and allowed her to live the rest of her life in obscurity.

And in safety.

Angelus never found out.

I don't know how I managed to keep even that much of my humanity, but I did. Although I was not a cruel or hateful human, I had always been my own man. Something inside of me perpetually balked against anything that tried to rule over me—my father, society—whatever. I think that, more than anything else, was what kept me more me than anyone else I had known that had been brought across.

That's not to say that I wasn't an evil bastard once I became vampire, because I was. I had to be, in order to cover up that speck of humanity I had clung to—despite the demon's damnedest to push it out.

"Spike?"

Buffy's soft voice broke me out of my own little stint of brooding and I found myself flashing her a self-depreciating grin.

"You were brooding again, weren't you?"

"Guilty as charged, love," I said as I swung my duster over my shoulder and grabbed her duffel bag after I stuck the fag in my mouth. "By the way, just for the record: I'd much rather drink your blood from the source than a silly glass, if you get my drift." I gave her one of what I had dibbed as a mortal my 'killer, sexy smile' and opened the door with a flourish. "After you, milady."

Buffy giggled softly as she walked past me out into the hallway. I followed her, closing the bedroom door behind me.

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

Methos looked up from the watcher's journal and nodded his head towards the kitchen. "There's fresh coffee made," he said as he closed the book shut. "Interesting reading. Would you believe that I remember the tragedy that surrounded your family?"

I sat down and arched my scarred eyebrow at him. "Oh really? How's that?"

Methos leaned back in his seat as he watched Buffy refill his coffee mug and set hers on the table. "Byron," he whispered as he stared down at his now-filled coffee cup. "He was Immortal and my student. We were in the area."

I don't know why I was surprised.

"I also remember hearing about a mysterious married couple that were rubbing elbows with nobility. Poised, polite with an air of danger that seemed to surround them."

"Darla and Angelus..."

He nodded once, watching Buffy as she sat down in between us. She turned to look over at him and then me, chuckling. "Those two crazy vamps got around, didn't they?"

Growling softly, I felt my eyes flash as I nodded slowly. "It was all just a game to them. A way to feed, build up riches to keep them rolling in the laps of luxury as they fed their way through the ranks. They'd been at it for nearly a year, before I caught Angelus' eye. Apparently he and Darla got in a little tiff during some point, and he decided to make me his personal project. We became friends long before he brought me across. I had no idea that this man—whom had become one of my closest friends—was in actuality a demon." I sighed and met Buffy's eyes, surprised to see the compassion for me in them. "It was all part of the game. Build my trust and then destroy it and me along with it." I rubbed my tired face as I found myself remembering how angry I had been once I had woken up into a life of darkness. "Then once they had me and my wealth, we left London for Paris, where the real fun began."

"The accent, Spike. Why is yours so—so—"

"Common?" I asked, grinning at her as I watched her nod yes. "Because love, I worked hard to make it that way. Once my mother died, I wanted all ties to my former life broken. And that meant changing me as well."

"And William the Bloody? Where did that come from?"

"It was one of those misnomers that took off—became a legend in itself. I stopped a mugging in the streets of London. Some reporter was there, wrote all about it in those flyers that used to serve as newspapers of sorts back then. I became a hero even if I got knifed and scarred for the trouble," I said as I ran my finger across my eyebrow. "But the other bloke definitely got the bad end of the deal. By the time I was finished with him, he was literally a bloody mess—hence William the Bloody."

Methos sighed as his eyes shut. "It's always like that, Buffy. The truth is never as cut and dry as history makes it out to be." He sat up and opened his eyes, turning his attention to the slayer. "Something unfortunate has happened, Buffy. And we need to get you out of town like now. And we need to lose your watchers as well."

"What now?" she asked him, unable to hide the weariness in her voice. "A headhunter? A demon? What?"

He shook his head. "Worse." He pushed his chair back and stood up. As his eyes scanned the room, he began speaking. "Before I say anything else, I want you to know that if I had known that this was even remotely possible, I would've done everything in my power to keep you hidden from the Watchers." He sighed as his head dropped.

"Watchers?"

He took another deep breath. "Sometime in between the last time I was privy to the machinations of the Watchers, they met up with the Council of Watchers—"

"You mean the slayer's watchers...is that what your saying?"

"Yes," he whispered. "Apparently they only have a flimsy connection, as far as we know. As soon Joe found out this morning, he's been hacking his way through the network trying to find the link. From what it appears, they joined for financial and intelligence gathering purposes. CoW has access to more information than the Watchers ever could dream of. Legends...prophecies...ancient books...history. And the Watchers, they have the cash to fund CoW as they finally move into the 21st century. I don't know why it took this long for them to figure out that Elizabeth Winters is Buffy Summers...but they finally have.

"Joe logged on this morning only to find a bulletin of the highest priority, an edict to all watchers—be it from CoW or the Watchers—to capture you, head intact, and deliver you to CoW headquarters in London—immediately."

"Oh fuck," I whispered, immediately jumping over to the slayer as I watched her head fall onto the table. "Are you sure, mate? CoW's behind this?"

Methos nodded solemnly.

"We can't let that happen. Not only are they a bunch of wankers, but these are the same fools that tried to kill her!"

"And my mother," Buffy whispered as she lifted her head up.

I nearly gasped out loud when I saw the fear and pain etched in her face. In all that time that I fought against her, I never once caught even a hint of fear in her eyes. The demon part of me howled at the injustice of a slayer never fearing the demons she fought against, but was afraid of the men she supposedly fought for. The irony...don't you love it? I glanced over at Methos and wasn't surprised to see his anger—the same fury I was feeling as well. He lifted his head and as our eyes met, an unspoken message was passed between us. Neither of us was going to let those wankers get to her.

"And they fired Giles and Wesley," she said right before she wiped her wet face. "Whistler said that the Powers don't want me with CoW...that's why he whisked me away the way he did. If I died any more times, someone on the Council would've finally put two and two together and taken me away—so I could become their little slave."

I was just about to wrap my arms around her, when I heard a cellphone ringing. Instinctively, I reached over to my duster and pulled out my phone and switched it on.

"What?" I barked into the phone as I knelt down beside the slayer. I knew it had to be Whistler, because Giles and the Poof rarely called me.

"Spike? It's Angel."

Oh just bloody wonderful, I silently cursed. It was the Poof. Fuck you, I silently chanted, instantly feeling all that anger and desire that I had managed to quell earlier resurface once again. A constant battle and it pissed me off to no end that he never seemed to be bothered by me. Bloody asshole. "Yeah Peaches, what is it?" I asked, almost proud at how normal I sounded.

Buffy's head shot up and her eyes widened in shock. I shook my head at her, urging her to be quiet and waited for him to speak.

"Where are you?"

"I told you before, I left. I went overseas."

I heard his sharp inhale, and I just knew he was clenching his jaw in frustration. "I know that," he ground out. "Where are you?"

Sighing airlessly, I glanced over at Buffy as if searching for the answers in her. If seeing her in fear and pain threw me for a loop, imagine how stunned I was when I watched her face blanch in horror. She shook her head furiously as she began to mouth 'no,' all the while shaking her head.

Obviously I was going to have to play this phone call by ear. There was no way I was going to hurt her anymore than she had already been that day.

The watchers and the Poof. A double whammy if there ever was one.

"Paris," I answered as truthfully as possible.

"You're with her, aren't you?"

"With who, Peaches? What the bleeding hell are you talking about?"

"Delia had a vision—just now. Imagine her surprise when she saw you and Buffy together—with another man—being chased. The message was clear—you need to bring her back here to the States...to Sunnydale."

I shouldn't have been surprised at how easily my control slipped. He wasn't called my sire for nothing. The fucking asshole. "Angelus—"

"Angel."

"Angel," I said, mimicking him. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked as I watched her frown in confusion. With my free hand, I tucked an errant hair of hers behind her ear as I gave her a small, hopefully reassuring smile. "Have you been hitting that Irish whisky again? The slayer's dead, remember? Going on ten years! I oughta know, I was right there when it happened!" I spat out, making sure to include the prerequisite growl that I also had for him whenever I spoke to him over the phone.

"Quit lying, Spike! Cordy's visions always tell the truth. I don't know how or why, but she's alive and if you aren't with her now, you will be. And she will be in trouble! So, whatever else is going on, find her and bring her back...now!" After yelling out the last line, Angelus slammed the phone down, the noise nearly causing me to flinch. "Fuck," I whispered as I turned off the phone.

I heard a harsh, nearly maniacally laugh and looked up to see Buffy shaking her head, tears running from her eyes as her body shook. "God Damnit!" she yelled, clenching her fist. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!" She shot out of the chair, nearly knocking me on my bum in the process. She began pacing the length of the room, studiously avoiding Methos who was leaning against the wall, watching us both. "He's right too, Spike. They won't check there. Everything in my folder or chronicles says that I've let go of my former life. Sunnydale would be the last place they'd check out. Who in their right minds would want to visit the Hellmouth anyway? Oh shit," she whispered, her body folding on itself as she crumbled onto the floor.

Methos pushed himself off the wall and caught her before she fell. Grabbing her by the forearms, he shook her. "Buffy, snap out of it! We don't have time for the dramatics, my dear."

I heard myself growling at his cruel words, but they seemed to have the right affect on her. Whimpering, she took a few deep breaths and slowly calmed down. "You can let go of me now, Methos," she said as she gently pulled herself out of his hold. "You're right. We don't have time for this." She took another deep breath and looked up at the ancient Immortal. "So, do you have a plan?"

Grinning, he stepped back and grabbed his coat from the kitchen counter. "I thought you'd never ask."

End of Book I