Title: You Forgot to Mention Hell, Horatio (18-20/20)
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Previous parts at: www.angelfire.com/de/theparlor/buffy.html

Huge thanks to Marius and Carrie!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Although the killing and maiming portion
of the night that the Army of Legion fell ended
with the death of the Immortal Steven Keane, the
Slayerettes were still left with a few loose ends to
tie up -- the foremost being the disposal of
Keane’s corpse.      

	When asked to help with the
‘relocation’ of the body, the expressions of
disgust on the teenagers’ faces were enough to
leave Adam gaping in amazement.   Put simply,
the Immortal found it quite impossible to
believe that, given all their ‘extracurricular
activities, they’d never before seen a dead
body.

	“Well, not exactly,” Xander admitted
for both himself and his friends.   “Most of the
things we kill are kinda self-cleaning, if you
know what I mean.”

	Taking pity on the teenagers, it was
Angel who provided the easiest -- and most
obvious -- solution.   Working together with
Adam, the two immortals shoved the headless
corpse down the nearby open manhole cover. 
Pierson even went so far as to toss Keane’s
sword in after the body.  

	“If the police in this town are in as
much denial as you say,” the Immortal scoffed
wryly,  “maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll
assume that Keane managed to accidentally
behead himself right after he started the fire in
the tunnels.”

	With that said, Angel replaced the manhole
cover while Adam and Oz began the laborious
process of getting the injured to the waiting car
and truck.  After abandoning the extra
pumper-truck at the empty warehouse, the group
was finally able to rest at their temporary base of
operations: the Rosenburg house.

	It was unilaterally decided that taking four
wounded people who reeked of smoke and were
smudged with ash to the hospital in one night
would raise far too many questions from the
medical staff.   Once again, the Immortal in their
midst came, albeit reluctantly, to the Slayerette’s
rescue.   It seemed that Adam had -- at several
points in time -- trained as a doctor.   

	Despite their initial skepticism, Adam
Pierson proved to be a relatively able physician.  
Working with the rather well-stocked first aid kit
Giles had brought earlier from the library, the
Immortal did what he could for the Watcher’s
dislocated shoulder while ordering Cordelia to
shower away the grime on her body before he
taped up her broken ribs.   After binding the
librarian’s shoulder, the Immortal asked Oz to help
Giles to a bedroom to rest.   Having finished
tending to Angel’s still-bleeding wrists, the
werewolf hastened to comply.

	Oz and Giles were about halfway down the
upstairs hallway when pandemonium broke out in
the room behind them.   Painstakingly retracing
their steps, they returned to find a mortal and a
vampire exchanging sharp words with an equally
irritated Immortal.   In fact, the only silent person
in the room was the fiercely blushing Willow.

	Apparently, Adam had requested that the
two men leave while he saw to the deep cut Eleni
had inflicted in Willow’s side.   For once Angel
and Xander found themselves united.   Neither one
was willing to leave the embarrassed redhead alone
with the Immortal, no matter how trustworthy
Adam had proven himself to be.   After a few
minutes of their bickering, the Immortal ended the
argument in exasperation.

	“Did it ever occur to either of you bloody
idiots that in order for me to stitch up her wound,
Willow is going to have to remove her shirt?” 
Xander and Angel’s sheepish expressions only
confirmed that neither of them had considered the
notion.   At the same time, the embarrassed
redhead in question gave the Immortal a look of
gratitude.   “Now get out of here so I can treat my
patient.”

	In too much pain to sleep, Giles slowly
made his way down to the living room.   After
assisting the injured Watcher to a seat on the
couch, Xander and Angel resumed their restless
pacing as they waited for Adam to finish with
Willow.   As the minutes passed the quarter, then
half-hour mark, even the seemingly unflappable Oz
began to look a bit pensive.

	When the shaken, pale-faced Willow finally
appeared at the top of the staircase, Angel was at
her side in an instant with Xander only a few paces
behind.   Mindful of her injured side, the vampire
nevertheless swept the petite witch into an
embrace.   Ignoring Xander’s annoyed protest,
Angel steadfastly refused to let go of the girl in his
arms.

	From his seated position on the couch,
Giles was the only person in the room to see when
the apprehension on the vampire’s face melted
away as he held on to Willow.   Angel’s eyes
briefly looked heavenward, as if he was giving
thanks for her safety.   That accomplished, the
vampire squeezed his eyes tightly shut, allowing
him to savor the feeling of the girl he was holding.

	Finally, after a long moment had passed,
Willow pulled away in order to reassure Xander
and Oz that she was all right.   Well, as all right as
a person with fifteen newly-sewn stitches in her
side could be.   Then, as the night’s events quickly
caught up with her, Willow swayed just a bit.   It
was enough of a warning for Angel to lean
forward to sweep the demure girl up into his arms.  
With a curt word to the two teen-aged boys, the
vampire turned sharply, carrying his precious
bundle down the hall toward her bedroom.

	The librarian must have dozed off after
that, because the next thing he new, Adam and Oz
were gently waking him.   With the aid of the two
uninjured men, Giles managed to stagger
sluggishly up the staircase.   An almost paternal
need forced the Watcher to slow as they passed
the two rooms where his other charges were
already sleeping.   Seeing Xander and Cordelia
curled up in each other’s arms did not surprise the
librarian in the least.

	Finding Angel and Willow in an almost
identical position on her bed, however, most
assuredly did.

	Giles’ eyes instinctively turned toward Oz,
only to find the teenager’s face totally impassive.  
As usual, whatever the werewolf’s thoughts on the
subject might have been, he was keeping them to
himself.   Too exhausted to do anything else, Giles
decided to follow the teenager’s example.   Saying
nothing, the Watcher simply filed the information
away for examination at a later time.

	Adam kept a close eye on all of the injured
over the course of the night, especially Xander.  
Since they had neglected to ‘borrow’ any oxygen
gear during their earlier ‘equipment raid’ at the fire
station, there was little else the Immortal could do
but monitor the teenager, making sure the youth’s
abused lungs did not hamper his breathing any
more than necessary.  Fortunately, Xander did not
experience any major problems.

	Exhausted not only by the events of that
night but also from the long weeks that preceded
it, the Slayerettes spent the next eighteen hours in
various stages of sleep.   After sharing a relatively
light-hearted and jubilant celebratory Chinese
take-out dinner (and pig’s blood for the vampire in
residence), most of the Slayerettes returned to
their respective homes.

	Although he made a good show of it, for
once the Sunnydale residents were able to see
through the facade Adam erected over his true
feelings.   While the Immortal *was* genuinely
happy to have played a pivotal part in the
destruction of the Legion, his confrontations with
Keane and Ahrimin left him with a deeper sense of
urgency.   Despite his accomplishments thus far,
Adam was really no closer to helping MacLeod.  

	In addition, he had also picked up a new
cause for concern -- the fate of the Immortal
Amanda.   Adam had already checked in with his 
friend, Joe Dawson, but the mortal’s Watcher
network had not been able to locate the missing
woman.  Nor had they uncovered any new clues as 
to where the Highlander was hiding hiding himself.

	Since there was little else Adam could do,
he decided to stick around and finish the work that
had drawn him to Sunnydale in the first place.

	The following day brought a sense of
renewed normalcy to the Slayerettes.   Although
they were still aching and tired from the battle,
the teenagers all resumed their regular class
schedules.   As was typical in Sunnydale, nobody
deemed to comment on their collective bruises or
their group absence the previous day.

	With the Slayerettes’ immediate problem
out of the way, Adam Pierson finally found the
time to delve deeply into more scholarly pursuits.
Taking advantage of the quiet library, the Immortal 
spent his days heavily researching the demon called
Ahriman.   He was aided in his search not only by
the resident librarian but also by the world’s only
vampire with a soul.

	Day after day, Giles watched the two dark
heads lean forward as they poured over book after
book.    They rarely spoke to each other, however,
save for terse exchanges when one or the other
uncovered a bit a new information.   And yet,
despite his obvious discomfort in being around
Adam, Angel was a constant presence in the
library.

	Guilt, Giles thought as he watched the
vampire hand over yet another ancient book to the
Immortal, can be the most powerful of motivators.

	It quickly became apparent, however, that
Angel was not the only local resident who felt a
lingering obligation to the Immortal.   One by one,
Cordelia, Willow and Xander eventually arrived at
the library after their classes let out for the day.  
Even Oz, who had dropped out of Sunnydale High
to pursue his music interest, turned out to lend a
hand in the information search.   

	Five days after the fall of the Legion, an
unexpected influx of new research material made it 
readily apparent that Adam was going to need
every pair of hands he could get.

	As fate would have it, word about the
holocaust under the streets of Sunnydale spread
throughout the supernatural community...well...
like wildfire.   Stories began to surface,
undoubtedly embellished by the vampires who had
been lucky enough to escape into the night, about
the Army of Light that had thoroughly vanquished
the 10,000 vampires that had gathered together.

	Perhaps it was inevitable that the
Watcher’s Council heard of the Slayerette’s
victory from their own independent sources long
before Giles even had time to prepare and submit
his own report upon the events.

	Up until then, Buffy’s disappearance had
left Giles in poor standing with the London-based
Council.    With the success of their victory,
though, the librarian found himself back in the
good graces of his peers and superiors.

	Giles used his renewed status to press the
Council to send any and all additional information
they possessed on Ahriman.   After realizing the
potential danger the demon posed to the world at
large, the Council complied.   Within days, another
large crate of dusty tomes was delivered for the
Slayerette’s review.

	The books, however, were not the only
new information to arrive from the Council that
day.

	Another smaller packet was delivered to
Giles at his home later that evening.   In answer to 
his special request, the Council had also sent all the
information it could quickly find on both Adam
Pierson and Duncan MacLeod.   

	It surprised Giles to learn that the latter
name appeared twice in the vast archives of
Watchers.   Apparently, the Immortal Highlander
had first entered a report in 1840.   The Slayer at
the time had been dispatched to Paris following
rumors of vampire attacks within the city.   It had,
however, turned out to be a hoax -- one
perpetrated by an Immortal to cover up several
run-of-the-mill murders.   The deception was
uncovered by MacLeod before the Slayer could
even reach Paris from her native city of London. 
Nevertheless, her Watcher had recorded the facts
in his journal for posterity’s sake.

	It was the second entry on Duncan
MacLeod that interested Giles the most.  
According to an unsubstantiated report, less than
two years earlier, the Highlander had uncovered
one of the greatest lost secrets of his kind:  the
mythical Horsemen of the Apocalypse were
actually four ancient, still living Immortals.   The
report went on to state that MacLeod, with the
help of an unidentified female Immortal, managed
to kill all four in a single night at an abandoned
submarine base in the French town of Bordeaux.

	Although he doubted the veracity of the
report, Giles could not help but find the notion
intriguing.   It wasn’t that he doubted that the
Horsemen might have been Immortals -- after all,
it was commonly accepted that most myths and
legends had some basis in fact.   But after
witnessing just how weak Adam had been after
Keane’s  Quickening, Giles was hard pressed to
believe that any Immortal would have had the
strength to defeat four different opponents in rapid
succession.

	Fallacy or not, both reports seemed to
paint the Highlander in a very positive light.   A
decent man and a strong Immortal, one that would
most likely *not* be an immediate cause for alarm
were he to be the one to win the Immortals’ Game.

	‘And a good man to have as a Champion in
fight of good against evil,’ Giles mentally noted as
he read the reports.

	The little tidbits about MacLeod were a
novel compared on the scant information the
Council provided on Adam Pierson.   A birth
certificate, his college transcripts, passport
records, some incomplete employment history.  It
was all they managed to uncover about the
mysterious Immortal.   

	Although he was not surprised by the lack
information, Giles could not help but be a little
disappointed.   It wasn’t that he distrusted Adam --
not after the Immortal risked life and limb to help
them defeat the Army of Legion.  No, the simple
truth was that, first and foremost, Giles lived for
piecing together puzzles -- and Adam Pierson was
certainly a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

	An enigma that currently needed their help.

	So, with no other immediate avenue of
recourse, the librarian volunteered his services.  
Together with Angel and the other Slayerettes, his
spent his afternoons and evenings in the library
researching.   

	How quickly things had returned to status
quo.

	And yet, Giles noted as he wrote in his
private journal on one of the following afternoons,
things were not quite as normal as they appeared
on the surface.

	Although it often seemed that the librarian
was oblivious to the personal intricacies and
entanglements of his young charges’ lives, that was
never truly the case.   As the ‘adult’ in the group,
Giles actually found it both useful and necessary to
keep a careful, if distant, eye on any changes that
could alter or disrupt the carefully woven
relationships of the Slayerettes.   

	For any other group of teenagers, such
changes might not have been so important.  
Things were, however, different for these
particular children -- especially when one
poorly-timed moment of distraction could cost one
or more them their lives.   That was an outcome
that the Watcher refused to allow to come to pass. 
Not when he could prevent such circumstances
from happening.

	The only real problem was determining just
what *exactly* had changed now that the dust had
settled.	

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

	The myriad of volumes that the Watchers’
Council sent on the demon Ahriman had kept the
group members busy for days.   The six Sunnydale
residents and their Immortal guest spent their
afternoons individually reading dusty book after
dusty book.    After a quick dinner of the take-out
food de jour, they usually held a ‘group review’ to
share and compare any new information uncovered
during the day.

	“So what will it be tonight?” Xander
questioned as they decided to break for dinner.  
“Chinese?  Burgers?  Or that great old stand-by --
triple-cheese-meat lovers?”

	“Oh God, not pizza *again*,” Willow
protested, her face taking on a barely discernable
greenish-hue at the very notion.

	“I’m afraid I’m going to have to side with
Willow on this one,” Adam Pierson calmly
intervened.   Exchanging a friendly smile with the
young redhead in question, the Immortal continued
to speak.   “There are actually four other food
groups out there -- some even with items that
*don’t* harden your arteries just by looking at
them.”

	“Hear, hear!” Giles muttered under his
breath.

	“At Willow’s suggestion, I took the liberty
of phoning in an order to the ‘Lettuce Patch’
earlier,” Adam revealed.

	“Salad?!?” Xander exclaimed.  “Salad isn’t
food.  It’s what food eats!”

	A mere four days away from his ‘time of
the month’, Oz found himself nodding in
agreement.

	“Geez, Xander,” Willow chided as she rose
carefully from her chair.   The wound in her side
was slowly healing, but it was still too early to
remove the fifteen stitches that had been required
to close it.   “It’s not poison, just salad.”

	“How do you know?” Xander called to the
witch’s back as she headed off to the restroom. 
“What if I have an allergic reaction or something? 
Cordy,” the teen turned to his girlfriend in
desperation, “how ‘bout an emergency Mickey D’s
run?”

	“Huh?” The cheerleader in question’s head
jerked up at the mention of her name.   

	“Rabbit food verses Big Mac,” the
dark-haired teen reiterated for his girlfriend’s 
benefit.

	Much to Giles concern, such lapses in
Cordelia’s concentration had been occurring at an
alarming frequency as of late.   Although her
normal attitude and acid tongue still found many a
victim among their little group, she could just as
often be caught staring off into space, as if
pondering the mysteries of the universe itself.   

	Since her elevation to a full-fledged
member of the Slayerettes, Giles had come to
realize the Cordelia wasn’t *quite* as vapid as he
had initially believed.   Still, the librarian
whole-heartedly doubted her to be capable of deep
philosophical meditation.   That being the case, he
was left to wonder just *what* she was thinking
during those occasions.

	Shaking off her malaise, Cordelia rejoined
the rest of the group by opening another round of
her endless bickering with her boyfriend.   It was
good to know, Giles thought to himself, that some
things never changed.

	At some point during their affectionate
bantering, Willow slipped back into the library.  
The petite girl was readjusting the straps on one of
the pairs of the brightly coloured baggy overalls
she tended to favour wearing.  Coming in to find
her best friend and his girlfriend in the middle of
one of their typical ‘discussions’, she rolled her
eyes.

	“Ready to go, Willow?” Adam asked while
grabbing his car keys from the table.   

	“Sure,” she replied with a gracious smile.

	The librarian watched the friendly exchange
between the witch and the Immortal with more
than a casual eye.   Ever since the night of the
Legion, something had changed between Willow
and Adam.   Something that Giles could not seem
to put his finger on.   It wasn’t anything untoward
-- of that much, the librarian was certain.   Unlike
Angel, who had the ability to ‘blend-in’ with both
adults and teenagers centuries his junior, Adam
presented a much more...mature...impression.  
Perhaps that was why Willow’s and Adam’s
sudden...closeness...left the librarian feeling a bit
uneasy.   

	While Giles often thought of Buffy as his
surrogate daughter, the young witch also held a
special place in his heart.   With her fierce 
intellect and pure determination, the Watcher often
thought of Willow as his protege.   Given the fact 
that her parents were often out of town, Giles had 
long ago taken it upon himself to keep a close 
watch over the girl.   	
	
	Apparently he wasn’t the only one in the
room to do so, Giles noted with a glance in
Angel’s direction.   For his part, the vampire was
scowling at Adam’s departing back.  Not for the
first time, the Watcher found himself pondering
Angel’s motivations.   What, if anything, was
going on between the vampire and the witch?
	
	Giles’ own thoughts were interrupted as
Angel abruptly rose to his feet.

	“I’ll be back,” the vampire said softly to no
one in particular.   He really didn’t need to say
anything else, though, since the guilt-ridden
expression on his face was explanation enough.

	Angel was going off to feed.

	Despite the residual resentment the
Watcher held for the vampire, Giles could not help
but feel a bit sorry for Angel.   Ever since his
return from Hell, the vampire had worked so hard
to redeem himself -- to once again prove himself
worthy in the eyes of the Slayerettes.   Even
though his multiple violent attacks on Adam the
night of the Legion were practically an involuntary
response, his actions nevertheless cost Angel a
great deal of hard-won ground in the eyes of the
mortals with whom he worked so closely.

	But not everyone was unnerved by the
vampire’s assaults on the Immortal.   As it had
been for months now, Willow remained Angel’s
closest friend and his fiercest advocate.   This time,
however, she was not alone.    Adam Pierson had
made a point of being friendly to Angel, especially
when in the presence of the other, more skeptical
Slayerettes. 

	Now, as he watched the obviously unhappy
vampire vanish into the upstairs stacks, Giles
found himself wondering what had disturbed the
vampire more:  the fact that his two strongest
supporters had left the room, or that they had left
*together*.

	Lost in his thoughts, the librarian began to
absent-mindedly move books off the table to clear
a space for their upcoming meal.

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

	Less than an hour later, Adam and the
Slayerettes were once again elbows-deep in
research.   Only Angel was absent, following his
evening habit of doing a quick patrol before
returning to the library.   Surrounded by legal pads
and a half-dozen mostly empty Styrofoam take-out
boxes, the assembled group was already deeply
into their nightly review.

	Xander and Willow had already presented
what little new information they’d come across that
afternoon.   Cordelia was next to go, offering some
inane connection between the world of high fashion
and the rise of ancient demons as only she could.  
Stifling a sigh at the cheerleader’s bizarre leaps in
logic Giles permitted his attention to briefly
wander.

	It was, he thought to himself a bit sadly, the
beginning of the end of their collaboration with 
Adam Pierson.   Earlier that day, the librarian had
noticed that the amount of books provided by the
Watcher’s Council left to be leafed through was
down to practically nothing.   Working together,
the seven of them had managed to comb through
the vast amount of reading material rather quickly
-- with a fair amount of results to boot.  Before the
Immortal went his own way, however, there was
still some work to be done.

	Although they had not yet managed to
uncover the key to defeating the Ahriman, they had
pieced together a great deal of history on the
Zoroastrian demon.    Nevertheless, they kept at it
-- fitting all of the miscellaneous tidbits and facts
they uncovered about Ahriman into some kind of
bigger picture.   

	The sound of Adam slipping into his
‘college professor’ mode dragged Giles’ attention
back to the matter at hand.   The Immortal was
presenting the first truly interesting revelation of
the evening -- some new information he’d come
across in a book on Summarian folklore.   

	“So they believed that the demon *could*
be vanquished by the chosen champion,” the
Immortal spoke with an air of excitement.   “The
truly fascinating part is a paragraph that translates:
'Every champion shall have to find the path that
only...’” 

	All eyes turned to the Immortal as his
normally rich timbre trailed off into unexpected
silence.   Adam, however, was barely aware of the
Slayerettes around him.    Tension suddenly filled
his slender body as he quickly sat up in his chair,
his eyes focusing directly upon the double doors of
the library.

	“Adam?” Giles asked.  When the man in
question ignored the librarian in order to reach for
the broadsword concealed under the massive table,
the Slayerettes sat up and took notice.   “Dr.
Pierson?”

	“Take the kids and go out through the
tunnels,” Adam’s tone brooked no argument as he
knocked his chair backwards in his hurry to stand. 
When they all failed to react, the Immortal spoke
again, more harshly this time.  “Get out!  Now!”

	Seeing their guest sink into a defensive 
crouch and holding the large Ivanhoe sword, the 
others were spurred into action.  Pushing back their
chairs, they rose as one, preparing to heed the
Immortal’s proffered advice.

	But it was too late.   Freezing in place, all
eyes turned to the heavy door as it slowly slid
open.    Silently holding their collective breaths,
they waited to catch a glimpse of Adam’s latest
challenger.   

	The right door silently began inching
inward.    A momentary flash of light reflecting off
metal alerted all of the library’s occupants that the
intruder was coming in sword-first.   At their first
sight of the weapon, Giles reached into the sling
cradling his injured arm to withdraw the stake he’d
secreted inside it.   Glancing over at his charges,
the Watcher was proud to see the students going
through similar motions, arming themselves with
their own concealed defensive weapons, ready to
defend their ally.

	Adam’s body was tense in anticipation, his
gaze focused intently upon the sword as it
continued to glide into the room inch by inch.   A
harsh creaking sound filled the air as the other
Immortal finally, cautiously opened the door
enough to enter the room.

	Whatever Giles was expecting, it certainly
wasn’t a petite sword-bearing woman.  

	Upon seeing each other, both Immortals
visibly relaxed, lowering their weapons
simultaneously.    As the adrenaline pumping
through his body began to dissipate, Adam’s
expression quickly segued into a mixture of relief
and exasperation.

	“Amanda!” Adam chided.  “What are you
*doing* here?”
  
	“I...uh...was just in the neighborhood?” the
beautiful Immortal asked with a hint of humor and
a smile that would stop most men right in their
tracks.   However, it appeared to Giles that Adam
was immune to Amanda’s not-so-insignificant
charms.

	“Where the hell have you been?  Joe’s had
Watchers scouring half of Europe looking for you,”
he admonished.

	“You *were* worried about me,” Amanda
grinned, although her smile held the faintest hint of
real delight.

	“Of course I was...,” Adam stopped
himself, apparently unwilling to be sidetracked
from finding the truth of why she there.  

	Rolling her eyes at the other Immortal’s
stubbornness, Amanda took her first real look at
the other people in the room.   Giles could only
guess that Adam appeared...a little out of place
with himself and the collection of teenagers.

	“I know you’re good at blending into the
background, but don’t you think that impersonating
a high school student is stretching it just a bit too
far?” 

	“You know me, always out to try
something new,” Adam responded jestingly.   He
then turned toward more serious matters.   “These
people are helping me with some research on the
thing that is after MacLeod.”

	“I see,” she replied quietly.  

	After a moment of silence, Amanda boldly
walked forward, using her body language as a silent
cue to be introduced to Adam’s new friends.   

	Stammering his way through a ‘how do you
do,’ the Watcher took the opportunity to study the
female Immortal -- for purely professional reasons,
of course.   Or at least that was what he told
himself.   

	The simple fact was that Amanda was
beautiful.   From her rich, sable coloured hair in its
short bobbed cut to her well-proportioned curves,
it was painfully obvious that she was the kind of
woman who turned heads wherever she went.   But
without a doubt, Amanda’s most striking feature
was her eyes.   The doe-brown orbs were a few
shades deeper than even Angel’s, but the colour
was not so much what entranced Giles.   It was the
depth he saw there -- a timelessness that betrayed
Amanda’s true age.

	The introductions to the rest of the
teenagers was handled in true form.   
Oz gave her a shy hello, while Willow speckled
hers with her typical brand of babbling.   Cordelia
seemed a tad bit more aloof than usual, but that
really did not surprise the librarian -- not when
there was a beautiful, mysterious stranger so close
to the cheerleader’s boyfriend.

	At the moment, Cordelia’s instinct seemed
to be right on the money.

	Giles was hard-pressed to keep from rolling
his eyes as Adam introduced the female Immortal
to a slack-jawed Xander.    Even as his name was
spoken, it was all the teenager could do to raise his
eyes above her neckline.  Knowing that everyone --
especially Amanda -- had noticed where his
attention had been focused, Xander blushed in
embarrassment.   He spoke quickly, attempting to
make verbal amends for his visual impropriety.

	“Do all female you guys look like you?” 
Xander was so overwhelmed by Amanda’s
presence that he had no idea that his last sentence
was a jumbled mess.

	“You’ll have to forgive Xander,” Cordelia
said with a roll of her eyes.  “It’s oxygen
depravation.   He loses the ability to speak
coherently when all his blood heads south.”

	“Close your mouth, kid,” the female
Immortal winked at Xander, who immediately
blushed again.  “You’re drawing flies.”   

	“What are you doing here, Amanda?”
Adam repeated his earlier question now that all the
introductions had been made.

	“It’s a funny story, actually,” she began,
taking a seat at the table as she spoke.   “I came
home to find a lot of frantic phone messages from
Joe two days ago, and it started me thinking , ‘You
know, I haven’t been to the States in a while. 
Maybe I should go see some old friends’.  So,
when I got to Seacouver this morning, Joe told me
that you’ve been having some...trouble lately, so I
hopped the first flight down here I could find.”

	“Joe *knew* you were back?   Why in the
bloody hell didn’t he call to tell me?” The Immortal
did not sound happy at this turn of events.

	“I think Joe might be a little...upset...with
you.   He said something about you ‘hedging’ on
your promise to tell him all the details of what
exactly you’ve been doing down here.”

	The news that Adam hadn’t provided
detailed information to his friend on his time in
Sunnydale did not surprise the librarian.   After all,
what sane person would believe such a story?  
Then again, Giles quickly amended, it might be
different for someone who was friends with a
group of Immortals.

	“Still, haven’t you ever heard of calling
ahead?   Not only did you almost gave me a bloody
heart attack,”  Adam fumed, “it could have gotten
you killed.”
	
	“Oh please, I was ready for you!”  Amanda
protested.   “Talk about ingratitude.   I just thought
that you might want somebody to watch your back
for a while.”

	Despite her apparent selflessness, Adam’s
expression betrayed his belief that concern for his
well being was hardly the sole reason for her
sudden appearance in Sunnydale.

	“Who’d you tick off this time?   The police
or another richer-than-God art collector?”

	“Don’t be ridiculous, Adam!”

	“Amanda,” the Immortal’s eyes narrowed in
accusation.

	“You know, that’s the thing about you,
you’re always so distrusting,” she countered in a
poor attempt to change the subject.   It seemed,
however, that Adam wasn’t willing to follow her
sudden switch of conversational topics, so she
reluctantly returned to her original train of thought.
 “It’s nothing really, just a huge misunderstanding.”

	“Who.  Is.  It?”  Adam asked relentlessly.

	“Interpol,” she finally admitted before
continuing on in a dismissive tone of voice.  “You
know how they are, always jumping to the wrong
conclusions.   I mean, just because the Heart of the
Lion goes missing from the British Museum, *I’m*
the one responsible?”

	Recognizing the name from his tenure as an
assistant curator at the institution in question,
Giles’ eyes went wide.   Speaking in an astounded
whisper, the librarian could not help himself from
double checking his facts.

	“The twenty-carat sapphire from the
coronation crown of Henry the Fifth?”  the
Watcher asked the question in utter disbelief.

	“Yes!”  Amanda answered emphatically
before turning back to Adam.   “See?  Like I said,
ridiculous!”

	“You stole a priceless gem from the British
Museum?” Giles clarified.

	“No!” Amanda protested hotly.   However,
when she continued her tone was much more
subdued.   “Not exactly.   It was mine long before
it was theirs...”

	“It was yours only after you stole it from
Henry the *first* time, Amanda,” Adam scolded.  
“And, if memory serves, that was also the first time
you nearly got me killed in one of your schemes.”

	“Oh, please!  As I recall, *I* was the one
who ended up hanging for it!” Amanda reminded
him, speaking more freely now that she knew the
other people in the library were aware of the
immortality she shared with Adam.   

	“I dug you up later, you ungrateful wench! 
*And* I was dismissed from the Royal Guard when
I asked Henry to stretch your infuriating little neck
rather than let you lose your head on the block!”

	“It never would have happened at all if you
hadn’t turned me in in the first place...” Amanda
retorted before being interrupted by an awed voice.

	“Y-y-you...knew...H-Henry the Fifth
personally?  B-both of you?” Giles asked shakily,
but the Immortals were too wrapped up in
discussing the 600-year-old event.

	“Henry the Fifth?  Was that the one Mel
Gibson played?” Cordelia whispered to Willow.

	“No, that was Hamlet.  Kenneth Branaugh
was Henry,” the redhead informed the brunette.

	A loud crash coming from upstairs brought
all the various conversations to an end.   Both
Immortals jumped out of their seats, drawing their
swords as they stood.  It was only then that Willow
realized that she had never noticed when the
Immortals had put them back into their coats the
first time.  Dismissing the thought quickly, she, too,
focused her attention to the top of the stairs.
	
	Angel was there, crumpled to the floor
under the combined onslaught of the two old and
powerful Immortals.	

	“Here we go again,” Adam groaned silently. 
He was already anticipating Amanda’s upcoming
questions even as he grabbed her hand and led her
towards the staircase.

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

	The introduction between Angel and
Amanda had been...interesting...to say the least.  
When informed that the very attractive man sitting
across the table from her was a vampire, the
1100-year-old thief had replied simply.  

	“Right.  And I’m the Queen of Sheba.”  

	Ten minutes and a demonstration of
‘game-face’ later, the group resumed their places
around the table, adding an additional chair for
their newest guest.    For the next three hours, they
discussed, argued and speculated over the
information they had accrued over the course of the
past week.    Amanda’s presence was a much-
needed added bonus.   Once she managed to
suspend her sense of disbelief, she did contribute
from to time with the fresh insight she brought to
the table.

	It was almost 11:00 PM when they decided
to call it a night.  Despite the recent devastation to
Sunnydale’s vampire populous, there was still one
last late-night patrol to be made.   Adam also took
his leave, citing the fact that they still needed to
get Amanda checked into a hotel.   Saying their
goodnights, the Immortals headed off with a
promise to meet the Slayerettes again at eight
o’clock the following morning.

	It was an appointment they never kept.

	Later that same night Adam Pierson, as well
as Amanda, vanished from Sunnydale without a
trace.   

	When he reported for work the next day,
Giles found the library exactly as he had left it with
one glaring exception.   The door of the weapons
cage, which was normally locked when the library
was empty, was ajar.   Although all of the various
weapons contained within were in their proper
places, there were two very crucial items missing: 
the two Immortal journals on loan from the
Watchers’ Council.

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

One Week Later

	Angel was exhausted as he stumbled down
the stairs.    In the week since the abrupt departure
of Amanda and Adam Pierson, the vampire had
slept poorly every single night.   No matter what he
tried, he simply could not avoid the dreams that
seemed to be haunting him.   

	For the first time in his life, Angel found
himself *wishing* for nightmares.   Having been
plagued by night terrors since his soul had first
been restored by the Romani clan, at least they
were familiar territory for him. 

	Not like these new ones.

	But, it wasn’t actually the *content* of the
dreams that bothered Angel the most -- it was the
person that seemed to be the star of them.

	For Angel was experiencing intensely erotic
dreams about Willow Rosenberg.

	Another round of the heavy pounding that
had roused him from his uneasy slumber echoed
through his warehouse apartment.    Throwing a
robe around his boxer-clad body, Angel trudged
down the stairs to answer the banging against the
outer door of his apartment.    

	Wiping the last vestiges of sleep from his
eyes, the vampire tried to determine the identity of
his unexpected visitor.   He was truly puzzled by
that point.   It couldn’t be Willow or any of the
teens since school was still in session for the day,
and Giles always called ahead.

	 The building’s northern exposure saved
Angel from the worst of the sun’s rays as he
cautiously opened the door.    Standing on the
other side was a Federal Express driver.

	“Are you Mr. Angel?”

	“Uh...yes,” the vampire’s puzzlement
changed into a hesitant chuckle.   It had been years
since anybody addressed him as ‘mister.’   

	“Sign here,” the driver asked, handing over
an electronic clipboard.   

	“Umm...where exactly?” Angel questioned,
unfamiliar with the modern device.   In all actuality,
this was the first express package he had ever
received.   The vampire received little personal mail
aside from the bills that came monthly to his post
office box.   Even the occasional items sent to him
by Whistler were all hand-delivered via
intermediaries.

	“Here,” the driver pointed impatiently to
the proper spot.

	After signing the clipboard and thanking the
man, Angel closed and relocked the door.  
Meandering in the direction of his sofa, the vampire
carefully studied the unexpected parcel.  It seemed
too slender to be anything inherently dangerous.  
As far as he could tell, there were no strange scents
coming from it, either.

	Focusing on the plastic-covered shipping
form, Angel observed the generic block lettering
that betrayed nothing as to the identity of the
parcel’s sender.    The return address appeared to
be a hotel in Manhattan, one that the vampire was
unfamiliar with despite all the years he had lived in
New York City.   Yet the sender had been
conscientious enough to include the names of the
two streets that intersected outside of Angel’s
apartment in order to insure that the parcel would
be swiftly delivered.  Finally, with no other options
to pursue, Angel turned over the package and
opened it.

	Angel knew the identity of the sender as
soon as Cassandra’s missing journal slid out into
his hand.   The book was accompanied by a thick
stack of photocopied papers, all written in the
Immortal’s neat, precise script.   As he flipped
through the pages, Angel realized that Adam must
have translated the entire journal over the course of
the past week.   
	
	Continuing through the copies, Angel came
across a page marked with a yellow sticky note.  
Recalling that Adam often marked important
passages by such means, the vampire opened the
makeshift book more widely in order to closely
examine the page in question.   His eyes were
immediately drawn to passage highlighted in
yellow.

 Prophecy o...{smudged}
‘Come from darkness, grown in...{smudged},
 Bring forth goodness in the eternal...{smudged}
 From one of change, and one who spies,
 From one who slays, to one who’s died,
 One of hex, and one who lives,
 To fight for good, their lives sworn to give.’

	Well, it was clear to Angel why the
Immortal had noted this particular passage.   It was
more than a bit unusual though.    Over the years,
Angel had read a number of prophecies written
about Slayers, and occasionally -- to his amazement
-- even a few about himself.    This was the first
time, however, that the vampire had run across
something that referred to the Slayer’s *friends* as
well.     

	The places marked ‘smudged’ bothered the
vampire.   Prophecy of what, he wondered? 
Predictions were difficult enough to work with
when they were complete, but this?   This was
virtually useless.

	The other question in Angel’s mind at that
moment, though, was why the Immortal had sent
the journal to *him* rather than to the library?  
Perhaps, the vampire theorized, Adam wanted to
ensure that it wouldn’t be seen by prying eyes at
the high school.  Or maybe he wanted to be sure
that somebody, one of the Slayerettes in particular,
received the book directly.   Since he was confined
to his apartment during the day, Angel *would*
have been the most logical recipient in that case.

	And where exactly was the other missing
journal -- the one written by the supposedly 5,000
year old Immortal that one that Adam had initially
dismissed as a fake?   If it was so useless, why had
he bothered taking it as well?   Perhaps Adam’s
interest was simply an Immortal thing -- curiosity
over another of his race.   Or maybe Adam was still
transcribing it, intending to send it on at a later
date.

	Only when Angel finished skimming
through all the photocopied pages did he come
across the handwritten note shoved in between the
translation and the journal itself.   Dropping the set
of copies on the coffee table, the vampire began to
read.


Angel,

I hope this has found its way to you safely.   I must
apologize for my sudden departure, but drawn out
good-byes have never been my strong suit.   Then
again, you strike me as a ‘slip out the back’ kind of
person yourself.

I’m sure, once you see the section I’ve highlighted
in the text, that you will understand why I have
returned the journal to you.   Although you are free
to present the translations to Giles and his Council,
I hope that he will honour our agreement to leave
any reference to me out of any reports he makes to
his superiors.   Of course, after you finish reading
this letter I am quite sure that you, of all people,
will understand my desire for anonymity. 

I suppose that I should say something here along
the lines of what a wonderful time I had during my
sojourn in your strange little town, but then we
both know that would be a lie.   What I can, and
do, offer freely is my gratitude to you and your
friends for the invaluable assistance you have given
me.   Whether you realize it or not, it takes an
incredible amount of courage to do what you all
do, especially your friends.   

Treasure them like the gift they are, Angel.   Don’t
be afraid to cling to them for however long they are
with you.  But remember one thing, you foolish,
brooding vampire, do not forget that they are
mortal.    It is their lot to die.   

That is why you should take whatever happiness
they bring to your life while they are there.  Take 
it from somebody older and wiser.   Mortals like
Willow are extremely rare.   She cares about you,
Angel.  Don’t allow your guilt over your past to
weigh you down.   Guilt is only the shackle with
which we bind ourselves.   Don’t be afraid to admit
your own feelings to her.  There is a fine line
between stoicism and stupidity; don’t force yourself
to stand on the wrong side of it.  Enjoy what time
you have together before she runs out of time.

Well, speaking of time, mine here in the Big Apple
grows short.   The information we amassed in the
library has opened many new avenues of research
for me to pursue.   Oh, and I suppose you are
wondering about the other journal...

	
	The page ended, forcing Angel to turn the
paper over in order to continue reading.   As he
finished the one and only sentence on the back side
of the page, the vampire’s normally pale skin
blanched to an even whiter colour.    Stunned by
what he read, his knees gave way and he sank
heavily into the sofa behind him.
	
	“Son of a bitch!” Angel whispered into the
empty living room, his eyes reading and rereading
the same line over and over.  It couldn’t be true,
could it?  “You son of a bitch!” 

	A chill crept over the shocked vampire.  
Lowering his arm to rest uselessly on one of his
muscular thighs, Angel stared blindly into space, his
mind frantically reviewing the events of the past
few weeks.    Long minutes passed by as the
vampire sat wondering just how they all could have
missed the obvious.	

	‘And speaking of the obvious,’ Angel
thought to himself, ‘is it possible that Adam could
be right about...well... whatever it is that exists
between me and Willow?’

	After the fall of the Army of Legion, Adam
and Willow seemed to fall into an easy friendship --
one so quickly formed it left Angel feeling unsettled
from the moment he sensed it.  At first, Angel
wrote his concern off as simply being
overprotective of Willow.   She had, after all,
become his closest friend and confidant in the past
few months.   It was, he told himself, only natural
for him to worry about her safety, especially if
Willow planned to keep any sort of company with
an Immortal who frequently had people challenging
him for his head.

	‘But I wasn’t just being overprotective,’ 
Angel grudgingly acknowledged.  ‘I was jealous.’

	Jealous of a centuries-old Immortal who
was most likely only being polite by satisfying
Willow’s intense curiosity about Immortals.

	‘God, I’ve been such a fool.   Adam was
just being friendly to her, like I *should* be doing,’
Angel admonished himself.  But given his dreams
of the past few days, it was clear to the vampire
that friendship was only the cornerstone of what he
really wanted with Willow.

	The only real question that remained was: 
Would Angel be brave enough to go after what he
wanted?
	
	It was over an hour before Angel finally
gave up on his chaotic thoughts.   A quick glance
at the clock told him that he was expected in the
library in less than a half-an-hour.  Bringing the
letter still clutched in his left hand back up, the
vampire reread the entire thing twice, committing
the words written there into his long-term memory.  
As if he would ever forget them, especially the
devastating revelation the page contained.

	With one long, last look at the letter, Angel
stood and walked into his tiny kitchen.   Turning a
dial on the stove, he heard the familiar
‘click-click-click’ as the pilot caught.   With a
muffled ‘whoosh’, a gas-fed flame flared from the
lit burner.   Without so much a moment’s
hesitation, the vampire thrust a corner of the paper
into the burner long enough to set it on fire.  As the
flame rapidly expanded to encompass the entire
document, Angel threw the whole thing into the
sink before he scorched his fire-sensitive skin on it.
Once the paper burned itself out, the vampire
turned on the faucet and washed the charred
remains down the sink.

	His task complete, Angel took a moment
for himself, attempting to bring some order to his
chaotic thoughts.   Realizing how useless it was,
the vampire exited the room and headed up the
stairs to his bedroom loft to change.

	As he donned his clothes, Angel wondered
how he was ever going to explain this to Giles
without breaking the unfathomable confidence with
which he had just been entrusted...

	...well, that, and just when was he going to
find enough courage to finally ask Willow out on a
date?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
{Epilogue}

	‘Rain in Paris,’ Adam mused to himself,
‘what a surprise.’

	In the month since he had taken his leave of
Sunnydale, the Immortal had steadily continued
researching the demon, Ahriman.  Using the
information he gathered from Giles’ vast collection
of books, Adam had traced and tracked down lead
after lead, the latest of which he followed to the
University Library here in the City of Lights.

	After calling it a day, Adam headed out of
the musty building, planning to grab a quick dinner
before heading to the run-down hotel he was
calling home for his limited stay.   

	At least, that was what he had intended. 
Instead, he found himself listlessly wandering along
the Seine, deeply lost in his own thoughts.   
	
	Although he touched based with Joe
Dawson every few days, the mortal still had no
news of Duncan MacLeod’s whereabouts, despite
the best efforts of the entire Watcher organization. 
As frustrating as the lack of knowledge was, it
really didn’t surprise Adam.   The world was a big
place for only a handful of people to cover.  Even
Amanda was helping in the search, volunteering to
track down Duncan’s kinsman and fellow
Immortal, Connor MacLeod, from his African
safari.

	As loathe as he was to admit it, Adam
sorely missed Duncan.  Perhaps that was why his
wanderings had led him directly to the quay where
the Highlander kept the barge -- the houseboat that
served as MacLeod’s home whenever the
Highlander was in Paris.  

	Adam paused on the sidewalk overlooking
the river below.   The barge was still locked up
tight, just the way he’d found it the day after Richie
Ryan’s funeral service.  After two more run-ins
with Ahriman-controlled Immortals, Adam’s
instincts were to keep himself a safe distance away
from the barge itself, just in case Ahriman had
some of his lapdog Immortals waiting around for
either Adam or MacLeod to put in an appearance.  
Testing the waters, the Immortal took a deep
breath and concentrated on his quickening. Despite
the fact that he could sense no others of his kind in
the area, Adam decided it wouldn’t be wise to
linger too long.  With one last sorrow-filled look
down at the weathered deck, he continued his path
along the river’s edge.

	Crossing over one of the city’s many
bridges, the Immortal made his way past the
spectacle that was Notre Dame.  Before he made it
to the end of the block, however, his solitary walk
was interrupted.

	“You know, you’re a really hard man to
find.”

	“Apparently not hard enough,” Adam
groused to the figure that separated itself from the
shadows of the cathedral’s main entrance.  The
unexpected appearance of this visitor had him
instantly on full alert.  The person was not
Immortal, that much Adam could tell by the
absence of the normal ‘buzz,’ and yet, this stranger
obviously had been looking specifically for *him*. 
Deciding that the best course of action was *not*
to stick around to find out more, Adam chose to
ignore any further discussion and just kept on
walking.

	“Hey!  Wait a sec!  I’m here to help you!” 
Seeing that his words were having no effect, the
man increased his volume.  “I’m here to help you
help MacLeod.  I’ve got information on
Ahriman...”   Still gaining no reaction from the
rapidly retreating Immortal, the stranger played his
trump card.   “Angel sends his regards.”

	The last sentence brought Adam to an
abrupt halt.   Turning slowly, the Immortal
wondered what the Sunnydale resident’s
involvement was in all of this.   Not for the first
time, Adam found himself wondering if he had
made a mistake in revealing his true name at the
end of the letter he had sent to Angel.  Had the
souled-vampire betrayed the trust Adam had placed
in him by disclosing his secret to the man in front of
him?   The stranger was obviously not a vampire,
so then...

	“Just who in the hell are you?” the
Immortal queried.

	“Why don’t we step into my office?”  he
offered, extending an arm towards the doorway of
the church in invitation.  When Adam hesitated, he
was offered reassurance.  “Holy Ground,
remember?  I’ll respect it.”

	So, the other man knew about Immortal
traditions.   As they headed for one of the
numerous alcoves in the cathedral, the stranger
continued speaking.   “My name’s Whistler.”

	It took a second for Adam’s mind to make
the connection, but he finally recalled it from his
readings of Giles’ diaries.   “Ah, Angel’s fairy
godmother,” the Immortal clarified snidely. 
“You’re a demon, right?  But in a good way,” he
added with his trademark sarcasm.

	“Somethin’ like that,” Whistler answered.

	“You said you could help MacLeod, so
talk,” the Immortal cut to the chase.

	“Actually, what I said was:  I can help
*you* help MacLeod.”  Seeing Adam’s obvious
impatience, Whistler pressed forward earnestly. 
“Look, I can show you the way, but it’s up to
you...”

	“Oh no,” Adam interrupted, his hazel eyes
rolling in contempt.  “I think you have the wrong
Immortal here.  I don’t *do* crusades.   That’s
MacLeod’s territory.  Besides, I’ve already done
my ‘hands-on’ bit for the next...oh...thousand years
or so while I was in Sunnydale.”   That said, the
Immortal shoved his hands in his pockets and
headed for the nearest exit.

	“You walk away now, and you’ve just
sealed MacLeod’s fate!”  Whistler said loudly,
earning himself a few sharp glares from
worshippers in the nearby pews.

	“I don’t do guilt, either,” Adam tossed over
his shoulder as he kept on walking.

	“Will you just listen to me?” Whistler
growled as he rushed forward, grabbing the
Immortal’s elbow to keep him from leaving.   The
powers that Whistler answered to had warned him
that recruiting this particular Immortal would be his
toughest job yet; but they had also insisted that he
was the only one with the ability to handle the
matter at hand.   Personally, Whistler wasn’t too
impressed.   Given what he’d been told, the demon
had been expecting a huge, bulking warrior-type,
not the mild-mannered researcher in front of him

	“It’s like this.   There are twelve portents
leading up to Ahriman’s release.   The Legion was
the ninth.   You and Angel’s crew did a good job,
by the way.”  Whistler paused as Adam dipped his
head in mocking acknowledgement of the
compliment.  “Unfortunately, while you guys were
busy, Prophecies ten and eleven were also taking
place, and for those two, the good guys got their
asses kicked.”

	“This is all very interesting...”

	“Nah, we haven’t got to the interesting
part, yet.  See, with those two loses, that makes the
score 6-5 in favour of the bad guys.  Every time
one of these Prophecies goes in their favour,
Ahriman gets more powerful.  You with me so
far?”

	“I’m listening.  I don’t know why, but I’m
listening.”

	“We’ve got one more Prophecy coming up. 
If the home team wins this one, the balance
between good and evil will be square.  It’ll still be
up to MacLeod at the end, but at least it will be a
level playing field, if you see what I’m sayin’.”

	“So?  Find yourself another Immortal,”
Adam spoke dismissively.

	“No can do.   They say it’s gotta be you. 
You’re the only one with the abilities to give you
half a chance at pulling this off.”

	“Oh, now there’s a ringing endorsement.”

	“Look, all I know is that if you walk away
without even trying, you, me, and the rest of the
whole world are gonna be sucked into Hell; and
your buddy, MacLeod, is gonna be first in line.” 
Whistler paused, seeing the effect as his words put
a chink into Adam’s thick emotional armour.  “You
ever been to Hell?  Did Angel maybe tell you a
bit’a what it’s like?  You...you think you’re
destined to go there, don’t you?  You think you
deserve it for what you’ve done in the past? 
Maybe you do, maybe you don’t; it’s not my place
to say.   But can you honestly see MacLeod there? 
Can you really sentence him to eternal damnation
on account that you want to go on living for
another couple of what?  Days?  Weeks?  Or
however long we’ve got until the world ends?”

	As soon as he saw Adam’s hand come up to
scrub over his face, Whistler knew that he had
won.   It amazed the demon to realize that, after
the lengthy time this particular Immortal had
existed, his greatest weakness would be a Scottish
Highlander he’d known for less than four years.  
Hearing Adam’s tired sigh of acquiescence,
Whistler waited for the inevitable question.

	“All right, what exactly is it that I’m
supposed to do and when am I supposed to do it?”

	“Actually, we’ll get started as soon as
your...partner gets here.”

	“Partner?” Adam parroted warily.

	“Even you aren’t good enough to deal with
this on your own.  You’re gonna need other skills
that are outside of your expertise, and there’s too
much riding on the outcome to take any chances,”
Whistler explained hurriedly.

	“So who...,” Adam stopped suddenly when
he felt the first tickle of the buzz brush against his
consciousness.   Craning his neck, his gaze
careened around the cathedral seeking out the
other Immortal he knew was nearby.

	Then, despite the distance between them, he
found that for which he was searching.

	“Oh, you can’t be serious!” he exclaimed.  
One quick glance at the no-nonsense expression on
Whistler’s face sent Adam into a string of curses
that spanned several long-dead languages, even as
he felt himself slip back into his memories.  

	She was as beautiful as ever, probably even
more so with all the time that had passed.   She
carried herself with an almost regal manner, one
that bordered on overly proud.   It was a far cry
from the sorry girl he had once enslaved with the
words ‘you live to serve me, never forget that.’  
He killed her time and again, forcing her to bathe
him, feed him, and even share his bed.   For that,
she had sworn to kill him.  The memory of the
threat she posed brought him swiftly back in the
present.   Instinctively, his hand reached for his
sword, not trusting her even though they were on
holy ground.

	Ignoring the woman walking toward them,
Whistler trained his attention on the Immortal
standing next to him.   He found it fascinating as
the disbelief on the other man’s face faded into a
few heartbeats of total blankness before one of the
most amazing things Whistler had ever seen
happened.

	That was when the half-demon realized why
the powers-that-be had insisted on this particular
Immortal.   Even with all his own years of
experience at reading other creatures, Whistler had
never seen anything like it.   Adam Pierson, master
researcher, was nothing more than a mask -- one
that was being shed like a snake ridding itself of an
unwanted layer of skin right before Whistler’s very
eyes.

	Within the span of a single heartbeat, every
conceivable aspect of the Immortal changed.  
From the lackadaisical slouch of the man’s
shoulders to the air of semi-detachment from his
surroundings, it all disappeared.   The
intrigued-but-reserved, slightly cautious expression
faded away, instantly replaced by a face that spoke
volumes of jaded wariness borne of long
experience.   But the most amazing difference was
the eyes, the one feature that was almost impossible
for anyone to significantly change.    The slightly
amused hazel gave way to the calculating, ancient
eyes of the world’s oldest survivor.

	As the woman completed her approach,
Whistler saw the other Immortal’s white knuckled
grip on the hilt of his sword.  About to remind the
pair that they were in church, the demon held his
tongue when the Immortal stopped short of pulling
the sword from its sheath secreted in the depths of
his long trench coat.

	The pair eyed each other warily for a long
moment before the silence was broken by a cool,
wary voice.		
	
	“Hello, Cassandra.”

	The expression of pure contempt on her face 
was the product of Cassandra's 3,000-year-old hatred
for her former captor.   Almost 2,000 years his
junior, being in his presence never failed to send a
chill down Cassandra’s spine.  For unlike most, she
knew who this Immortal really was, and what he
had done in the past.  In her mind, he would forever
be the monster on a pale white horse who, along
with his fellow Horsemen of the Apocalypse,
thundered across the desert steppes to butcher her
tribe and force her into slavery.  

	In a tone that could have frozen hard 
liqueur, Cassandra spat out 'Adam Pierson's' true
name in venomous tone that sounded more like a
curse that an acknowledgement.

	“Methos.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*finis*  (man, have I been waiting a long time to
write that word ;-)

For those of you wanting to know more about W/A's 
budding relationship, stay tuned -- 'cause it will
be picked up in the continuation of the Hell series!

Just some author's notes:
<Sob>  I can't believe it's finally over!  This is, by
far, the longest story I've ever *completed*.   And I
couldn't have done it without all the wonderful
feedback and constant encouragement from so many of
you.  I'm happy and blessed to be a contributor 
in this fandom.  Thank you all for your support!

I’d also like to dedicate this story to Carrie and Marius. 
Horatio wouldn't exist if not for their tireless beta work.  
I can not thank both of them enough :-)

So there you have it folks.  I’ve received a
few...disgruntled letters from the Highlander fans
out there for constantly referring to the old man as
‘Adam Pierson’, but I wanted to keep it secret for
those few Buffy fans who didn’t know his real
identity.  (Yes, there have actually been a few 
people who have written to ask if Adam was my own
original character -- don’t I wish ;-)    I’ve also
received a few emails that this story has actually
converted a couple of people to Highlander.  I can’t 
think of a better compliment.  Thanks!

For those of you unaware, the ‘Ahriman’ story line
was, indeed, part of the Highlander series.  In fact,
this entire story came about as a way of explaining
where the in hell Methos was during MacLeod's 
fight with the demon.  And Methos’ on-line nickname,
ROGue, is an in-joke.  ROG is short for ‘Real Old 
Guy’, and is also the name of the Methos fanfic list.

I hope you have enjoyed this story as much I have
enjoyed writing it.  It is, by far, the most ambitious
thing I’ve ever attempted.  Thanks for sticking
with it :-)  As always, all feedback -- good and 
bad -- is wanted, so let me know what you thought of
my baby ;-)