Xander watched the vampire turn to dust and idly wondered about the mechanics of dusting a vampire by decapitation. Did it take just that much longer for the body to turn to ash, and how exactly did the body, or the head for that matter know?

Shaking his head at his ridiculous thoughts, Xander turned around.

He only got a few feet before his head started pounding and he groaned. He recognized the headache as the one he got just before some stranger attacked him.

He spotted a man nearly three yards away leaning casually against a large tombstone. Xander approached the man cautiously.

"Who are you?" Xander eyed the man carefully, his weapon gripped firmly in one hand.

The man tilted his head towards the weapon, a slight smile quirked on his lips. "What are you going to do with that?" He moved his gaze around their surroundings, a cemetery in Chelsea. "We are on Holy Ground."

Xander blinked and straightened up a little. The man didn't appear to be about to attack him, but then again, appearances could be deceiving. He knew that better than anyone. And what did being on Holy Ground have to do with anything?

"Adam." The man inclined his head slightly. And you are?"

"No one." Xander shrugged and stepped further away.

"No one? Is that a family name?" He asked with a grin.

"Look, buddy, I don't know who you are, or what you're doing in a cemetery in the middle of the night, but I'm in no mood for another weird guy looking to fight me for something I obviously don't have."

The man's eyebrows went up just a bit. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Xander sighed. There were a lot of things he didn't know.

"What you are."

Xander narrowed his eyes. "Who or what I am is of no concern to you."

"You're immortal." Adam said.

This comment didn't faze Xander, but neither did it mean anything. He was obviously immortal, if what happened with Angel was any indication. He just didn't know how he got that way.

"As in There Can Be Only One." Adam continued.

Xander looked closely at the man. That statement did sound familiar. He'd heard it, or a variation of it, from almost every one of the bizarre mortals who attacked him. He lifted his weapon again. "What do you want?"

"Whoa there. we're on Holy Ground."

Xander blinked again. "Yeah, and."

"We can't fight on Holy Ground. Besides, I don't want your head."

Xander digested this for a second. "Okay, I'll bite, what do you want?"

"I have a better question." Adam asked. "How long have you been immortal, and how did you survive?"

*~*~*~*

Xander continued to stare at the man, not sure if the guy was serious or not.

"Excuse me? What do you mean 'How did I survive?'"

Adam smiled. "You're walking around with a weapon.. you're obviously familiar with one-on-one combat, and yet, you don't even know what you are." He paused and eyed Xander carefully. "When did you die?"

Xander blinked. It was official. This guy, whoever he was, wasn't your run-of-the-mill wacko. No, he was a special breed of crazy person. It was on the tip of his tongue to just deny it all. To tell him it was obvious he hadn't died. He was still walking, talking, *breathing* so there had been no death.

He should have done just that.

He should have walked away.

He didn't.

He was suddenly just too tired.

He was tired of the constant fighting; the not knowing who or what he was.

The demons he could handle. He brought that on himself, hunting them the way he did. He welcomed it.

It was the other people that wore on him. The men and women who came out of nowhere, with no warning except the strange dizziness and the weird electricity he could almost feel in the air. They always seemed to be after something.

Something he knew he didn't have, but they always disagreed. He didn't know what this something was, and honestly he could care less. Xander knew he had nothing worth killing for.

Nothing worth living for either.

And yet, they still kept coming.

This Adam, whoever he was, seemed to know something. Something Xander didn't, but perhaps something he *should* know.

Xander sighed and leaned against a nearby tombstone, looking completely at home in a darkened cemetery. "I'm not sure I know what you mean." He said, somewhat honestly.

"You're not sure?" Adam asked. He'd met a lot of Immortals over the years, and though no two were the same, one thing they all had in common was remembering their first death.

His better judgment was telling him to leave this boy to his own devices and go on his way. But there was something about him. Some familiarity behind the eyes that caused him to continue.

"You don't remember dying?"

Xander shrugged. "Not really." He looked past the man, staring into the distance as if remembering something, or at least trying to. Xander looked completely relaxed against the stone beneath him, though it was obvious to anyone perceptive enough that he hadn't let his guard down.

"If I'm immortal, as you say, and that much I had already figured out, I don't think I ever did; Die, I mean." Xander remembered the incident with Angel, but some internal sensor was telling him that there had been other events even before that.

"You did." Adam stated decisively. "Immortality isn't.. activated, I guess you could say, until you die your first death, usually by violent means." He eyed the boy in his appearance of being relaxed, the hilt of his weapon still gripped firmly in one hand, and smiled wryly. "Why do I get the feeling that violence is something you're familiar with?"

Xander shrugged. "Lucky guess?"

"Maybe." Adam acknowledged and looked around, noticing the dawn starting to break.

"Whatever you were hunting has gone to ground."

Xander didn't seem surprised by Adam's statement, or the deduction that whatever Xander was after obviously wouldn't be found in the light of a new day. "Probably."

"I know of a monastery not far from here." Adam offered.

"Holy ground, huh?" Xander raised an eyebrow before nodding. "Lead the way."

*~*~*~*

The ringing telephone was ignored as Rupert Giles continued to read through a Latin text.

He'd been back in England for a few years and although he was technically retired, he still kept busy.

His services were no longer needed as a watcher. A new Slayer wouldn't be called until after Faith died, and Faith wasn't really Watcher-friendly. She did pretty well on her own, roaming North America at will.

Giles spent a lot of his time organizing his extensive personal library, some of which consisted of one-of-a-kind books. Presently, he was translating such a text.

The phone's consistent ringing didn't disturb the former watcher, as he knew if it were important, the caller would leave a message.

Sure enough, after Giles' standard greeting, the caller spoke.

"Rupert? Samuel Jameson here. We've lost another one."

Giles reached for the phone. "Sam? Who did you lose?"

Sam sighed into the line. "Three more immortals were killed last week." He paused. "Following the beheading of a Laquira demon."

"Are you sure they were killed by the same person?"

"Yes. I saw one of the beheadings myself. It's our guy."

Giles took a deep breath, thinking. "You still believe this immortal doesn't know what he is?"

"We are uncertain. He took a sword off the Laquira."

"Do you have a photograph?"

"No, not yet, but one of my watchers is going to try and do a sketch."

"Good. Send me a facsimile."

"I will." The man paused. "Rupert, I appreciate your input. I know your retired, but it's been a long time since we've had a cause for concern like this."

"You still believe this man is a danger?"

"Yes."

"Why are you so concerned? From what you've told me, he doesn't sound as though he's particularly aggressive. Are you worried he'll tell others, destroy your secrecy? Or is it something else?"

Sam sighed. "That's partially it. Immortals have survived for thousands of years in the shadows, a secret society, living, and dying, by their own rules. We, as watchers have dedicated our lives to observing them, recording their lives, their history, for future generations. This young immortal has no knowledge of what it means to *be* immortal, and he doesn't seem to care about anything we can discern. What's to stop him from sharing our secret?" He paused and tried to get his concern across. "He's unpredictable. That makes him dangerous. We do not know what he's capable of, nor where his loyalties lie."

"Sam," Giles began, "your immortals are far less predictable than either vampires or demons have proven to be. What makes this one so different?"

"I'm not sure, exactly." Sam admitted hesitatingly. "Three of the immortals that were killed by him last month were old, and not easily hunted. If this new immortal, if in fact he is new, really doesn't know about his immortality, as we believe, what is driving him to kill? How has he survived? And what happens when he learns the truth?"

"I think you worry too much." Giles finally said. "Send me the sketch and I'll see what I can determine."

"Thank you, Rupert."

Giles hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. Samuel Jameson had never been one to over-react. Perhaps there was more to this young immortal. Maybe there was reason for concern.

*~*~*~*

Xander looked around the abandoned monastery, still holding his weapon though he had dropped his duffel bag to the ground.

His weapon was a sword he'd taken off a Laquira demon he had killed after leaving Angel. He'd thought the weapon might be useful since it was obviously old and well-made. Xander had remembered how every *mortal* he'd fought had carried a sword of one type or another, and its convenience was not lost on him.

"Do you have a name or you want me to pick one for you?"

Xander shrugged and continued to look around. "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "I did." He looked around the monastery himself. It had been a long time since he'd visited. "Adam Pierson."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Tell you what, *Adam*." He said emphasizing the name. "You want to tell me your name. Your real name, I'll tell you mine. If not." He shrugged. "Call me bozo if you want. It won't matter."

Xander moved around the large room, his body language showing that it truly didn't matter.

Adam watched him closely and realized that if he really wanted to help this boy, he'd have to give a little. More than he had ever been willing to in the past.

"Methos." He said quietly as he moved towards the boy.

Xander looked up. "Xander. Alexander." He said honestly.

"Alexander." Methos repeated and smiled. He'd known a few in his time.

"So, you know what I am? Tell me."

*~*~*~*

Adam eyed the boy carefully, gauging how he was taking everything he'd told him. The boy seemed to be taking it more calmly than most, causing Adam again to wonder what in this young man's past had led him to hunt demons and the like.

"Where are you from?" Adam asked when it appeared the boy wasn't going to say anything.

"How old are you?" Xander asked suddenly, not wanting to get side-tracked with his boring history. He still had a lot of questions.

"Old enough." Methos answered with a wry grin.

"A thousand?" Xander pressed. "Two? Five? Ten?"

"Does it matter?" Methos asked, surprised. Usually when young immortals tried to guess at an older ones age, the numbers were quite low. However, Methos would bet that this particular immortal, young though he was, was probably accustomed to dealing with people on a different level.

Most demons he had come across lived considerably longer than normal humans. Some were even far older than the average immortal.

"No." Xander finally answered. "Just curious." He shrugged and looked curiously at Methos.

"But you are old, right? Older than most."

"What makes you think so?" Methos asked, curiously.

"Your name. It doesn't mean anything to me, but I bet it would to someone who knows a bit more about Immortals and their history than I do."

"Perhaps." Methos acknowledged.

"I'm sure there's a reason you're going around calling yourself Adam." Xander shook his head. "It really makes no difference to me." He looked towards the door. He really needed to get some fresh air, think about everything he'd learned about his special breed of immortality.

"You don't, do you?" Methos asked. "You don't really care how old I am, or who I was."

"No, I really don't."

"Why not?"

Xander sighed. "Look, I'm sure you're really important, whoever you are, however old you are.. but I don't care. I don't care if you're thousands of years old, or if you killed all kinds of people. It doesn't matter to me. Really." He paused a second, sinking himself even deeper into quicksand. "I know some people.. they've done bad things too. I've seen things, Hell, I've done things, things that if I was someone else, anyone else, I wouldn't be proud of. But, honestly, it just doesn't matter, not to me."

"Fair enough." Methos nodded. He recognized a person running away from himself when he saw them.

"The west coast." Xander answered suddenly, hoping, strangely, to get the conversation back onto some surer footing. "I'm from the west coast. California." He wasn't entirely certain why he was telling Methos anything about himself. He didn't think Methos really cared about his past anymore than he cared about his.

He stood up from his spot at a stone table and moved towards the door and walked out of the room without another word.

Xander couldn't quite wrap his mind around everything Methos had said.

The immortality wasn't the shock really. Neither was the idea that he would never grow old. He had even gotten used to people he didn't know attacking him. At least now he knew why.

What he was having trouble with was this.. prize. This elusive *thing* all immortals seemed to be after. It seemed to be kind of vague.

Who would want to be the last? To basically be responsible for the annihilation of an entire species, secret though they were.

Xander wanted no part of it; this hunting each other in some attempt to be the last.

That wasn't his gig.

He wouldn't shy away from a fight, but he wasn't even remotely interested in being the last of his kind or in this elusive prize.

What he *was* interested in was surviving and possibly figuring himself out enough to keep his promise to Angel.

Angel was something else he didn't know how to deal with.

His good sense was telling him it was a bad idea.Angel meant complications.it meant dealing with things he'd rather not.

But for the first time in a really long time Xander thought that maybe he wanted the complications. Maybe he needed them.

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