Header & Chapter One

Title: Immortals in Sunnydale

Series: Vampires, and Witches, and Immortals, Oh, My!

Category: BtVS/Highlander X-over

Author: Spikedluv

Rating: NC17/Adult/Slash (overall)

Pairings: Willow/Spike, Duncan/Methos (also mentions Xander/Anya)

Spoilers: Through end of BtVS season 4. Story takes place in the fall of an alternate BtVS season 5 and approximately 2 years after Hts ended.

Summary: Two Immortals come to Sunnydale to learn about demons.

Notes: ** indicate emphasis. [BtVS season 5 Spoilers in Notes!!] There is no Riley, no Tara, no Dawn, and no Glory in this fic because I had too many other characters to worry about and I just wasn’t feeling - creative enough - to write them (or the lack of them) into the storyline. And Joyce didn’t die - just ‘cause I didn’t want her to. Also, I don’t know Latin. I used an online translator, so if I got the words wrong, don’t send me complaints, but if you’re willing tell me nicely I’ll be happy to fix ‘em. And finally, I reproduced some of Giles’ speeches about the Slayer and vampires directly from transcripts at www.buffyworld.com and from ‘The Watcher’s Guide Volume 1'.

Feedback: It’s ALL about the feedback (and naked Spike)! Don’t make me beg, it’s not pretty.

E-mail: spikedluv@midtel.net

Distribution: The Seduction of Spike, Soulmates, Willow’s Lil’ Secret, Shades of Gray, The BatPack Archives, Wacky Witch Willow, Rapture, Shippers United, Near Her Always, Twisting the Hellmouth, Seventh Dimension, and anywhere else I send it. If anyone else wants it, please ask.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, just borrowing them for awhile. Everything BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Grr Argh, the WB, UPN, Fox and whomever else they really belong to, although I wouldn’t mind having a Spike of my own. Who would? Everything Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment and Panzer/Davis. The story is mine, though.

Thanks: To everyone who beta’d this for me: Amanda, as always, beta and grasshopper extra ordinaire; Karen, ‘net bud whose fb rivals ambrosia; Elizabeth, for her HL comments; Ami, HL beta; and everyone at HLCrossroads for your helpful comments, especially Tessa. Your time and effort on this one is greatly appreciated. And thanks to Beth for help with the Latin translations.

****************

Buffy neatly staked the vampire in front of her, and quickly whirled to meet the two approaching her from the rear. She was in Holy Mother Cemetery, the last stop on her patrol route before calling it a night.

“Come on, guys,” the petite blonde spoke impatiently and rolled her eyes. “I haven’t got all night here.” She waved them forward with the fingers of the hand that gripped her stake, shaking her head to get her hair out of her face. “It’s Saturday night, and there’s a great band playing at The Bronze. We don’t want to miss it. Besides, its getting a little chilly, and I don’t want to catch a cold.”

The two remaining vampires shared a look, and charged her. Buffy stepped to the side, easily eluding their rush, kicked the one closest to her in the back as they passed her, and then threw her stake into the back of the other vamp before they could recover.

The vampire she staked dissolved into dust. Buffy quickly ran over and bent to retrieve her stake from the ground, and stood, then slammed the stake back and up into the chest of the remaining vamp, who had been attempting to sneak up behind her. Dust rained down and she took a step forward, away from the resulting cloud.

She shook dust off of her leather jacket and out of her long hair, and was brushing dust off of her slacks when the sound of quarreling reached her ears. She just shook her head and grimaced, as she turned to face the approaching duo.

“I could have taken him,” Willow was saying.

“Right, Red. He had you on your back, his fangs at your neck; I saw exactly how you were going to *take* him,” Spike replied nastily.

“You’re such a pig!” Willow responded, slapping his arm as she scooted around him and walked stiffly back towards Buffy. “I could too have taken him,” she muttered.

She’d been trying to use physical strength and agility to stake the vampire, not wanting to rely on her magic all of the time, but when that failed, had just been choosing the stick she was going to levitate and stake the vamp with, when Spike appeared with a growl and picked the soon-to-be-dusted vamp up, and tossed him into a nearby tree.

He’d punched the stunned vamp a few times, before finally staking it and returning to stand over Willow, who was still lying on the cold, hard ground, confused at the sudden turn-around in circumstances. He shoved the stake back into his duster pocket and lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and blew out the smoke.

“You plan on getting up anytime soon?” he asked, hiding his worry behind a facade of casual disinterest. In fact, when he’d looked over and seen Willow beneath the vamp, he’d felt fear like he never felt it before.

“I almost had him,” Willow grumbled, as the bleached-blond vampire pulled her to her feet, and the argument had begun. Embarrassment and the desire not to be a liability on Willow’s side, and gut-wrenching worry on Spike’s, had only served to fuel their squabble.

Now, Willow stomped up to Buffy with her arms crossed over her chest, her lips clenched tight, green eyes blazing. Buffy looked between Willow and Spike, rolled her eyes at their constant bickering, and asked, “You get ‘em?”

“Yes,” Willow replied shortly, without looking at Spike, who was leaning casually against a headstone behind her, his legs spread out before him, his blue eyes burning a hole into her back as he drew on the cigarette held loosely between two fingers. “Where’s Xander and Anya?” She allowed concern to cloud her eyes for a moment.

“Right here!” Xander cried, as he and Anya came crashing through the bushes. The brunette had a cut on his forehead, his clothes were rumpled, and there were grass stains on the knees of his jeans. Most of Anya’s currently-blonde hair had been pulled out of the scrunchie she was wearing for patrol, and hung about her face; a smear of dirt adorned the tip of her nose.

“Xander, you’ve been cut. You’re bleeding,” Buffy said worriedly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m bleeding?” Xander questioned, reaching for his forehead. The ache in his head reminded Xander that the vampire they’d gone after had hit him, but he hadn’t realized he’d broken the skin.

“Here.” Willow pulled out an alcohol wipe she carried in her jacket for times like these. She wiped the wound, mumbled a short incantation, and watched as the cut above Xander’s left eye closed up and healed. She wiped the rest of the blood off of his forehead and stood back. “There, good as new.” She nodded, and then wobbled.

Spike, who recognized the signs of the toll her magic use took on her body when she was already tired, was behind her immediately, placing a hand on her lower back to steady her. He wanted to pick her up and carry her home, tuck her into bed with hot chocolate - although that was mostly for himself, especially if she had marshmallows - and make sure nothing could hurt her, but he knew she’d resist any attempt to coddle her.

“Did you get him?” Buffy asked, taking another alcohol pad out of Willow’s pocket and using it to wipe the dirt off of Anya’s nose.

“Yep,” Anya replied, allowing Buffy to dab at her nose, and then hefting the baseball bat she carried on patrol. “I knocked him out and Xander dusted him. Eventually.”

“Great!” Buffy beamed. “Then we’re done here. You guys still up for The Bronze?”

“Absolutely!” Willow enthused, pulling away from Spike’s steadying hand without a backward glance or a ‘thank you’. She and Buffy started walking toward the cemetery entrance; Xander and Anya close behind them.

“Yes,” Xander added sarcastically, “my aching head will feel so much better after I’ve subjected it to loud music.”

“I could use a beer,” Anya said wearily, brushing her hair out of her face.

“You’re an underage human now,” Xander reminded her, reaching up to pull the scrunchie out of the little bit of hair that was still holding it in place.

“I know,” Anya complained, letting her shoulders slump a little. “Who’d have thought I’d ever need ID?” she asked.

Spike just shook his head at Willow’s insistence on going to The Bronze. Silly chit; didn’t know when enough was enough. She should be home resting after doing a spell, even though it had just been a small one, not going out dancing. He crushed out his cigarette beneath his boot and lit another, then followed them at a distance. Somebody had to keep an eye on her.

***

“Think that was the Slayer?” a voice colored with a slight Scottish burr asked, when silence once again blanketed the cemetery. The speaker, a tall, golden-skinned man with long, dark hair pulled back in a clasp, wore a slight frown of concentration on his face, his hands shoved into the pockets of his long leather coat. They had been reconnoitering the town before their appointment the next day, and had come upon the short-lived battle.

“Unless there’s another ‘one girl in all the world’...,” his companion, a slightly shorter man with pale skin and short, dark hair, replied drolly in a mostly-British accent, a small shrug gracing his shoulders.

“Very funny.” The Scot sounded faintly annoyed. “I thought she was supposed to work alone.”

“Well, I thought there was no such thing as demons,” the other replied, turning so that his angular features caught the moonlight.

Duncan MacLeod shrugged broad shoulders. “Got me there. Shall we follow them?”

“Sure. I might even be able to find a good beer in this place. It’s got a Hellmouth and demons, gotta have a beer I haven’t tried, right?” Methos asked.

“Right. Read the label first, though,” Duncan warned with a slight grin, as he started after the others. “I’ve heard they bottle Yak urine - in some places it’s considered a delicacy.”

“That’s disgusting, MacLeod!” Methos wrinkled his nose. “Yak butter was bad enough!” He shuddered. One reason to not return to Tibet any time soon.

Methos, hands shoved in the front pockets of his battered jeans, caught up to Duncan and walked beside him as they followed the Slayer and her friends to The Bronze. The town looked like any other, but there was an undercurrent of...something...that gave him the jitters. He couldn’t wait until they had the information they were looking for and could get out of this place and back to Seacouver.

The part of town they were walking through was awfully dark and quiet, more ominous than peaceful, and Methos was glad he had his sword. Not to mention the dagger and gun he always carried. It never paid to be unprepared. Not that he was the Boy Scout; that was MacLeod’s role. He shot a covert glance at the other man. Always dragging him into trouble, Methos thought, and then grinned. Right where he wanted to be, usually.

“What’s so funny?” Duncan asked.

“Nothing,” Methos replied, slyly.

“Methos,” Duncan said his name warningly, a tone of voice that made Methos shiver.

Methos sighed deeply, and then said. “This place is trouble. I can feel it.”

Duncan was silent for a couple of minutes. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I miss Joe.”

“I miss Joe’s beer,” Methos replied.

Just then The Bronze came into view, silencing Duncan’s rebuttal. It looked like an old warehouse. There were no windows, and just a neon sign proclaiming ‘The Bronze’ to advertise its purpose. The group they were following disappeared inside, and moments later, Duncan and Methos followed them.

The inside was unexpected, given the unassuming, nay, neglected air of the exterior. There was a stage, upon which a band was performing, and a dance floor. Tables and couches provided seating; there was an upper level, and a bar along one wall. The place was packed, but a path opened before them as Methos led the way to the bar.

***

Willow, Buffy, Xander, and Anya were seated around a table with their sodas when Spike joined them, a beer bottle in hand. He didn’t say anything to the group, just took the empty seat next to Willow. Willow made a great show of ignoring him, and then headed to the dance floor with Buffy. Xander and Anya soon followed them.

Spike sat at the table watching Willow dance, growling to himself as other dancers, male dancers, swirled around her. He never took his eyes off of the redhead; he could tell that she was tiring. When she and Buffy returned to the table, Willow sank heavily into her chair.

“Drink up your soda.” Spike leaned over to her, shoving her cup closer. “You need the sugar. And then I’m taking you home.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” Willow petulantly replied.

“Your body is exhausted,” he hissed. “You need to rest. And I am taking you home if I have to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder to do it!”

Spike’s voice was raised by the time he reached the end of his diatribe, but the loud music and conversation around them kept anyone from overhearing. Willow wanted to slap him. She also wanted to jump into his lap and kiss him. The thought of him throwing her over his shoulder brought a blush to her cheeks, and made her angry.

Stupid vampire! Why was she always falling for people who were just so *wrong* for her? And he wasn’t even a people...er, person. He was a vampire! First she dated a werewolf, and now she had - feelings - for a vampire. And she’d called *Xander* a demon magnet, she remembered. Must be the Hellmouth, she thought, as she raised the cup to her lips and finished her soda.

When she was finished, Willow stood and grabbed her jacket, then turned and walked towards the front door without telling Spike that she was leaving. He just rolled his eyes, wondering if she really thought he’d let her go that easily.

He stood and leaned over the table. “Walking Red home,” he told the Slayer. She looked away from the dance floor and up at him in surprise, and then noticed Willow’s empty chair. Spike pointed his thumb over his shoulder and Buffy spotted Willow heading for the door. She nodded her head, and Spike turned to follow Willow.

Buffy watched Spike push his way through the crowd and catch up with Willow, grabbing her arm and pulling her into him as he worked his way to the front door. “Good luck,” she said under her breath.

***

Duncan and Methos sat at the bar. Duncan was nursing a tumbler of single malt scotch; Methos was working on his second imported beer, the best he could find at The Bronze. If there were any exotic demon brews to be had in this town, they weren’t being served here.

Duncan’s arms were folded in front of him and he was leaning on the bar, lost in thought. Methos had turned around on his stool to get a better look at the people crowding the club. He was leaning back with his elbows on the bar, a beer bottle swinging from one hand, the heels of his hiking boots caught on the rungs of the stool, legs splayed.

“There goes one, make that two, of the Slayer’s friends,” Methos said, watching the redhead and the bleached-blond make their way to the front door.

Mac lifted his head from contemplation of the amber liquid in his glass, to look in the mirror behind the bar. He saw the redhead from earlier, but no sign of any of the others. “Where?” he asked.

“Right there,” Methos lifted his chin. “The redhead and the bleached-blond.”

Mac looked again. Either the blond had already made it out the door, or Methos’d had too much to drink.

“I don’t know, Mac, everyone in here seems pretty normal,” Methos said, as he lifted the bottle to his lips.

“That’s just it,” Duncan answered him, his gaze fixed on the napkin he was shredding, “how do you tell? I mean, Ahriman looked normal, too.”

“No, *he* used the images of dead people to project himself. That’s not normal,” Methos replied.

“It seemed normal, unless you already knew they were dead. How do we know these people aren’t projections of dead bodies?” MacLeod persisted.

“You’re right, Mac,” Methos sighed and slid off of the stool, placing his empty bottle on the bar. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about demons. We’ll find out more tomorrow. Come on.” He touched his friend’s arm tenderly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Duncan tilted his head and looked at Methos’ face, and then the hand on his arm, and nodded his head. “Okay,” he agreed. He finished his glass of scotch and threw a couple of bills on the bar, and then turned and followed Methos out of the club.