Things That Go Bump in the Night

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Chapter Twenty One
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Xander leaned against the wall, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been *this* sore. Not even his first day working construction had left him feeling this unable to move -- and *it* had been a full day's work. He groaned softly as he lifted an arm to wipe the drops off his forehead before the fell into his eyes. Spike was slumped against the same wall not far from him, looking about like he felt. That, at least, gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, but frowned. At least Spike had actually gotten to *use* his borrowed sword.

He almost laughed, Spike had been horrified to learn they'd be using *wooden* practice blades. The fact that he wasn't a vampire at the moment had evidently been temporarily forgotten.

"It'll pass quickly," Richie offered in quiet commiseration. "That's one of the benefits of being Immortal. Sore muscles don't last very long."

"Thank God!" Xander replied in heartfelt sincerity, pulling his attention away from his fellow victim.

"It's been a couple of years, but I still remember my first day working out with Mac. I thought I'd never recover."

Xander nodded. That was exactly how he felt. What bothered him the most, however, was that they hadn't even really fought with the swords. Mostly he'd spent the day working out, and *holding* the damn weapon. It got heavier each time he lifted it. **Block in this position. No, hold your wrist like so. Now, hold it at arms length in front of you, that'll build your arm muscles,** Xander repeated in his mind. And then there was *Adam*. Xander sent a baleful glare in the Immortal turned vampire's direction. God! Nothing was good enough for him. He couldn't see how Richie could consistently accept or laugh off the irritating man's comments. They were enough to make a saint swear.

Xander was no saint; he'd been swearing under his breath for the last half of the three hour session, and wondering how he was going to learn to fight by doing nothing more than holding the sword. Was he supposed to learn it by absorbing it through the metal or what?

"Don't worry, Xander," Richie said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, "you've got to learn the proper holds and develop the right muscles, then you'll be able to move on from there. Give it a week or so, and then we'll do a light spar, give you a taste, so to speak."

Xander grinned. **Good.**

"Come on, Adam, I'll spar with you," Richie said then, suddenly jumping up and heading across the room they'd usurped for their workout.

Xander grinned as Adam automatically protested, groaning theatrically, but also noticed he didn't hesitate in rising and getting his own sword.

Adam and Richie squared off, giving nod to custom with a quick sword salute, before dropping into stance and beginning to circle each other assessively. Xander spared a quick glance over at Spike, noticing his attention was fully on the spar in front of them, before turning his own attention back to the pair. He was just in time to see Adam leap forward almost quicker than he could follow. Evidently Richie had the same trouble, as the Immortal barely blocked the blow, wincing as his sword was pushed down from the power of Adam's vampiric strength.

"Damn!" Richie swore, jumping back. Lofting his sword to his off-hand, Richie shook his right hand in an obvious attempt to ease the sting.

"Sorry," Adam said, not sounding sorry at all, and if he was, it certainly didn't stop him from continuing the spar.

Xander shook his head as he watched the two continue trading blows and feints. Both men took minor hits, Richie more than Adam, but Xander could tell that Adam was getting better and better at judging his new strength -- Richie was switching sword hands less and less often. At first glance, Xander thought that Richie was better than Adam, smoother, but realized as the fight progressed, seeming to continue forever, that Adam was actually the far better swordsman.

It was amazing to watch. Both of them were very good, moving fluidly from one position to the next, gracefully sliding from a block to an attack with an ease that amazed Xander. He'd *never* be that good, he thought mournfully. They danced around each other like professional ballet dancers -- almost.

He gasped as suddenly, in a series of moves that Xander couldn't hope to remember, Adam swung his sword up and around Richie's arm. Richie's arm flew out to the side and Adam's sword bit into Richie's abdomen. Sword clattering to the ground, Richie dropped to his knees, and Adam's sword came down in a fast sweep, stopping a mere heart-stopping inch from his neck.

"Good thing I know you like me," Richie quipped before crumpling over in a dead faint.

Xander launched himself away from the wall and toward Richie; it didn't hurt as much as he thought it should. Adam managed to catch the downed Immortal before he actually hit the stone floor, though, laying him gently down. "Don't believe in pulling punches, do you?" Xander asked snidely as he knelt next to the pair.

"No, I don't," Adam responded, quietly, confidently, turning to look at him squarely. "It doesn't teach *anything* to go easy. When I spar, I don't do it for fun. I do it because it's necessary to keep the reflexes required of Immortals to stay alive in the Game."

Xander nodded silently taking in what Adam had said, for once thinking before he answered instead of throwing back an automatic quip. "I consider myself warned," he said quietly.

Smirking, Adam turned back to Richie. "Good."

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Adam nodded.

Xander swallowed nervously. Except for vampires he wasn't used to the dead coming back. "You're sure he'll be alright, though, right?"

Laughing, Adam nodded again. "Yes, he'll be fine. He'll be up in just a minute or two. My sword thrust, though deadly, didn't actually do that much damage."

No sooner had Adam finished speaking than Richie gasped and curled into a sitting position. "That hurt!" he exclaimed as soon as he was able."

Adam's smirk bloomed. "It was supposed to, Brat. You left yourself open to that basic move. I couldn't let it go by."

"Basic move?" Richie demanded incredulously. "Basic maybe, with vampire speed behind it!"

Adam shrugged and Spike laughed.

Richie gave them both a sour look. "How many Immortals do *you* know who can move that fast?"

Adam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in an exaggerated pose, as if he were really trying to think about it. "One," he finally admitted with a sly grin.

"One's all it takes," Spike commented, cutting off Richie's comeback.

Richie slumped slightly, conceding the point. "Good thing Immortals can't be made into vampires," he said.

"Who says?" Spike asked instantly.

No one answered him right away. They all exchanged surprised looks instead.

"No one," Richie finally said slowly.

"I don't *think* it's possible," Adam added, but he didn't sound nearly as certain.

"You don't sound too sure about that," Xander commented nervously.

Adam turned to look at him. "Until yesterday, I was absolutely certain demons didn't even exist."

"Point," Xander replied. "Kinda hard to even speculate about something you don't believe in."

Any further speculation was cut off by a knock that startled all of them. The door opened slowly and Buffy peeked in. "You guys about done? We're going to get something to eat, and we wondered if anyone in here was hungry."

"Starved," came four replies, nearly in unison.

She grinned and withdrew from the room shaking her head. "I'll let everyone know to wait for you."

All four of them scrambled up off the floor and headed for the door. "I'm calling the upstairs bathroom," Xander shouted as he raced forward and slipped through the door first. "Hey!" Richie exclaimed, taking off after his dark-haired student. "That's the only one with running water."

"I know. Why do you think I claimed it?" Xander asked over his shoulder, not slowing down.

*****

Methos followed behind, not bothering to race like the others. He needed cleaning up less than they did. He supposed not sweating came in handy for that at least. He'd also been more of a . . . spectator slash critic for most of the lesson. He smirked as the three others disappeared up the stairs. He'd gotten such a kick out of Xander's reactions to most of his comments. The kid certainly *didn't* have a poker face. Heading toward the kitchen for his own clean up -- via the sink -- he was pretty sure Richie had caught on to what he was doing early on in the session.

Ordinarily Ryan would have been reacting similarly to the way Xander had, but for some reason, he'd been playing along -- and hadn't *that* baffled the poor kid. All in all, he had to admit that Richie would make young Xander a good teacher. That eased his mind somewhat. Much as he might claim otherwise, he wouldn't have wanted to leave Xander without someone to train him properly. Richie would be good for him. The brat was far more patient than he would have been -- he never had been very patient with his students. Methos suspected the younger Immortal would eventually make an even better teacher than MacLeod -- after he'd gotten some experience under his belt, both as an Immortal *and* as a teacher.

Of course, now that he was no longer distracted by the antics of both himself and the other three, his thoughts automatically returned to the problems currently plaguing him. The likelihood that his Immortality would remain hidden from the Watchers much longer was remote. Even if Richie managed to keep Spike in line, -- **Odds on that one, anyone?** --- the fact that Adam Pierson was seen in the company of Immortals, namely Richard Ryan, again, was bound to attract unwanted attention and equally unwanted suspicion. He may not be in the Watchers any longer, but he was still known by them. He was sure he'd have some fancy footwork to do as soon as this was over, in order to lose that attention. If he didn't, it was only a fine line between them finding out he was Immortal to them finding out who he *really* was.

He sighed deeply. Life had certainly thrown him a doozy this time. Running the water, Methos splashed his face and quickly dried off before heading up to his room. He was sure he'd have time to change into something before Xander and Richie finished fighting over the bathroom. Smirking to himself as he dressed, he realized that the next couple of days were either going to break him, or they'd be the best he had ever had, and damned if he knew which it was going to be. He was getting used to controlling the ugly impulses now, and while they were still a considerable strain, he no longer had to devote as much attention to them.

He arrived in the living room before the others to find the rest of the group gathered there, waiting patiently in mini-groups of one or two. What surprised him was that Doyle was off to the side with Angel instead of with Cordelia as he usually was. "Not here yet, I take it?" he asked.

Buffy grinned and shook her head. "We counted on you guys taking forever to get ready. There's still about six minutes to sundown, and we can't safely leave until then . . . well, some of us can't."

Adam smirked. He'd be willing to bet it was either Giles or Angel who'd thought of the timing. Dropping himself down onto the fireplace hearth, Methos crossed his ankles and leaned back against the marble wall, fully prepared to wait. He'd be willing to bet the other three men wouldn't be down until well after sunset. He was grateful, however, that between Richie and him, they'd managed to keep Spike too occupied to slip out on them while the sun was still up. Almost snickering, he was pretty sure it wouldn't work a second day, but they could always try.

As soon as hetledtled, Methos sighed. He realized that now, there was nothing to keep him from dwelling on one aspect of this whole situation that still had him bothered. He had trained himself over the years to be discreet, to hide in the shadows, to never call extra attention to himself, and from the way things were still looking, he was going to have to set aside several centuries of self imposed inhibitions, just to get his life back. While a habit of centuries wasn't going to be easy to set aside, he knew he could do it. If he was completely honest with himself, that wasn't what bothered him about the need to recreate the sexual encounter between him and Spike; what bothered him was the fact that at least two of the people who would be there were barely more than teenagers -- barely more than children.

He jumped when Richie plopped down next time him, and he glared balefully at the younger Immortal.

"You're losing your touch, Old Timer," Richie said soto-voice. "There was a time when I could never surprise you."

Trying for a smirk and failing miserably, Methos shrugged. "Got a lot on my mind."

Richie snorted. "Somehow," he said, a hint of laughter underscoring his words, "I think that's about the biggest understatement I've ever heard you make."

Methos laughed. He couldn't help it. Richie was right. Saying he had a lot on his mind right now was kind of like saying grass was green.

"Let me guess, you're worried about the . . . um . . ." Richie glanced away, but not before Methos noticed a growing red tint to the brat's colore-cre-creation."

Letting out an explosive breath, Methos nodded slightly. "Yeah, you could say it's not exactly high on my list of pleasant ideas."

Richie turned back to face him, his color deepening, but his eyes turned serious. "I don't see how you'll be able to . . . well . . . with other people there watching and all, how will you be abl. . . . . ." Richie's voice trailed off, and he frowned in frustration.

It was all Methos could do not to laugh, grateful to the brat for suddenly adding humor to his predicament. Though, he doubted Richie would appreciate that sentiment -- a part of him wanting to exploit the kid's embarrassment. " *That's* not the problem," he replied, then continued, wondering just how far he could push Richie. "It wouldn't be the first time. Besides, it wouldn't matter anyway, considering I'm on the receiving end." He chuckled and shook his head slightly. "And somehow, I don't think Spike minds an audience.

A frown of confusion crossed Richie's face a split second before his blush deepened. "Oh!" he replied, then mumbled, "well that was bit more information than I expected."

Fighting to keep his smirk in check, Methos shrugged again. "You asked."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Richie nodded, then visibly hesitated.

"Go on," Methos encouraged, curiosity as to what Richie really wanted to know getting the better of him.

"What happened in the kitchen," the younger Immortal began, "what did that . . . feel like, for you?"

Methos took a deep breath. Whatever he'd been expecting from Richie, that hadn't been it. "That's hard to explain," he said softly.

Richie cocked his head to the side, watching Methos patiently.

"Spike was right, though. The different emotions *did* make your blood taste different. I felt and *tasted* each one you went through. It was. . ." Methos paused, not really sure how to explain it, ". . . exhilarating, and at the same time frightening."

Richie pulled back a little, surprise etched across his face. "Frightening?" he asked. "I mean, I can see it from my end. There was this feeling of being completely out of control, like you were the one that controlled whether or not I lived or died. That was scary, even though I knew that what was happening couldn't kill me permanently."

"Yes," Methos nodded. "For me, what was a little scary was how much I liked it. Spike said it was different than animal blood, that it was different feeding from the source. I just didn't realize *how* different. I could get to really *want* it."

Richie waited, and Methos realized he knew there was more to it than that.

"I felt powerful, Richie. I felt your life draining into me, sustaining me, making me stronger. I felt what you felt, as you felt it. It was incredible, Rich." He shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it any better than that."

Richie shook his head. "You don't have to, that explains it pretty well," he said.

Xander and Spike entered, cutting off any reply Methos might have made as the younger Immortale toe to meet them.

"It's about time," Cordelia snappbut but her smile took most of the sting out of her words.

Methos had yet to figure her out. At times she seemed a royal pain in the bum, 'Miss High and Mighty,' but at others, mostly when she thought the people who lived in Sunnydale weren't looking, he caught glimpses of something much deeper about her. There was a definite story there, and he wondered what it was. It had been a long time, he admitted silently to himself, since he'd been this curious about the past histories of people. It seemed, in this case, however, that so much had happened in so short a time, it would be nearly impossible to understand their motivations without knowing what had happened to form the dynamics he now saw.

Dropping to the rear of the group as they headed out, Methos' attention was drawn to Doyle. The man seemed . . . uncomfortable. He made his way back toward Cordelia, not so subtly avoiding the blonde slayer as he did so. Why? Methos wondered, and did it have anything to do with the . . . difference . . . he sensed from the young man.

TBC