Things That Go Bump in the Night

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Chapter Twenty Two
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Joseph Dawson waited quietly in the shadows surrounding a mansion that had seen better days, wondering what Richie and Adam were doing staying in it. Ricardo Martin's report to him yesterday morning had been disturbing -- disturbing enough that he was now here in this small suburban town hiding in shadows as he had not had to do since his own subject, Duncan MacLeod had discovered the existence of Watchers. As Richie's Watcher, Ricardo was usually kind enough to forward reports of an unusual nature to him at the same time he turned them in to the head office.

Joe hadn't been surprised to hear that Richie had gotten caught up with a beautiful young girl, but the fact that she'd interfered with a challenge, apparently without batting so much as an eyelash, had been puzzling, as well as a little worrying. Then had come the real shocker. Ricardo had reported seeing Adam with all of them as well. That had concerned him even more. Adam was usually pretty good at keeping himself out of Watcher's eyes. Having been a Watcher, it made it easy for the ancient Immortal to know exactly how to escape the organizations notice. Hanging around with Richie simply didn't make any sense -- at least not doing so where the kid's Watcher could notice.

Ricardo hadn't been willing to confront Adam, while the ex-Watcher was around his Immortal assignment, but was dying of curiosity. The air was fairly humming with it. Joe almost chuckled at the youth crouched next to him. He couldn't do it himself, but he'd be happy to watch Joe jump into the fray. Of course, it was well known -- to the dismay of the Watcher's council -- that Joe had actually befriended several Immortals, and was known to talk with even more of them. Joe wasn't sure if he was becoming famous, or infamous, but if Ricardo was anything to judge by, he certainly wasn't anonymous.

His rumination interrupted by the arrival of three different cars pulling up the mansion's drive, Joe stepped further back into the shadows. He didn't want to be discovered until just the right moment. He almost laughed again, however; he could almost feel the excitement coming off the young Watcher beside him. Laying a hand on the youth's shoulder, he smiled gently when Ricardo turned to face him. The man's face fairly glowing.

Waiting until the groups containing Methos and Richie had all piled out of their vehicles, and had nearly reached the front door, Joe whispered instructions to Ricardo, then stepped out of the shadows, leaving Ricardo on his own.

"Joe!" a blond and Richie exclaimed, nearly in unison.

Joe half nodded at Richie, but was more interested in the bleach blond who knew his name. "Do I know you?" he asked in confusion. He wasn't bothered by Methos' lack of greeting. He was sure the old Immortal had a reason for it -- one he would discover sooner or later. Probably later.

The stranger sighed, his lips curling into an awfully familiar smirk. "Yeah, you could say that," he said, but the rest of his reply was cut off when Richie jumped back into the conversation.

"You could say he's not himself right now," the young Immortal quipped.

Joe frowned at the giggles and stifled laughter that comment produced and began to wonder just what in the world was going on here. He was about to ask, when the oldest looking member of the group stepped forward.

"Perhaps it would be better if this conversation were taken inside," he suggested, extending a hand toward Joe. "Giles, Rupert Giles."

"Joe Dawson," he replied, accepting the handshake. He wasn't altogether certain he should accept the invitation, however, until Methos and Richie both headed toward the door. Apparently, he wasn't going to find anything out unless he did, and he had to admit, his own curiosity was beginning to surge. He followed, hoping Ricardo stayed far enough out of sight until they were all inside. Beyond that, he hoped the younger Watcher followed his orders and went back to the motel to wait. There *really* wasn't any sense in both of them being out here.

*

Joe blinked at the remaining members of the group, Willow, Tara, and Rupert having gone off to complete some research they were in the middle of. "And you *really* expect me to buy this line of malarkey?" he asked. This was something straight out of a science fiction novel. It was insulting to believe they really expected him to fall for it.

"Joe, have you ever known me to lie to you?" the stranger claiming to be 'Adam' asked, then, to Richie's obvious amusement, continued before Joe could respond. "About something important?"

"Well, since I don't know you, that would be difficult to say, wouldn't it."

Methos, or the man claiming not to be Adam, rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of-- Why don't you just ask him something that only he and you know, that he wouldn't have told anyone just to 'pull this off'. *That* ought to settle it."

"Not so fast! Something I wouldn't have revealed on my own, I sure as hell don't want revealed now. I can think of only a couple of things that would fit, and neither of them get said or asked now, period."

"I've got one," Joe said, looking down before actually asking. "What does my daughter hold against me?"

The eyes of the man claiming to be Adam widened in surprise.

"You've got a daughter, Joe?" Richie exclaimed his voice heavy with his own surprise.

"Well, among more personal, semi-legitimate reasons," 'Adam' began delicately, "she doesn't approve of your close association with Immortals. Of course, her one, up-close encounter with two probably left a slightly bitter aftertaste."

Joe slumped against the back of his chair. Both what 'Adam' had said and what he had very carefully hadn't said were very compelling evidence that he really *was* Methos. Neither one of them had ever revealed exactly what had happened when his daughter had been kidnapped by her Immortal assignment, nor the discussion he and Methos had following their rescue of her.

He sighed, reluctantly turning to face the man that, until now, he'd stubbornly believed to be Adam. "So, who are you, again?"

"I'm Spike."

"Spike," Joe repeated tonelessly. "Just Spike?"

"Well, I used to go by the name William the--"

"And we *so* do not need to go there," Xander quipped. "Let's just say he earned the nickname Spike because of his creativity with railroad spikes, and leave it at that."

"How do you get creative with railroad spikes?" Joe asked, his Watcher curiosity for the story behind the boy's eagerness to cut off Spike's story running rampant. 'Spike' grinned at him, leaning forward with an eagerness that made him just a touch nervous about hearing what the man had to say.

It was with something akin to horrified shock that Joe listened to Spike recounting how he'd earned his nickname. Certain he was *now* being put on, he turned to look at the people sitting around him. Blond Adam's face was completely neutral, no help there. Richie looked faintly horrified, probably wasn't much different than the expression *he* was wearing, Joe supposed. Whereas, Xander was beginning to look a little green around the gills.

Suddenly exploding, Joe struggled to his feet. "And you are *associating* with this . . . this . . . " Joe's voice trailed off as he couldn't come up with a suitably vile epithet without becoming vulgar. **William the Bloody, indeed!**

"There are extenuating circumstances, Joe," Methos explained, "as well as the fact that relatively speaking, it happened a long time ago."

"He's an Immortal?"

"Of a sort," Methos replied.

All of Joe's anger bled away at Methos' odd reply, and he sank back down, not at all certain he could have remained standing if he'd wanted to. "What do you mean, 'of a sort'?"

"I'm a vampire, pet," Spike answered cheerfully.

"A what?!"

"A vampire," Methos repeated.

"Now I *know* you guys are pulling my leg," Joe snorted." You're telling me he's a real live vampire -- a blood sucking, night dwelling, vampire?"

Everyone nodded, except Spike. He shook his head. "A vampire yes, 'live', no."

"You look alive to me."

"This is Adam's body. That's mine," he replied, pointing to the bleach blond.

Joe rolled his eyes, but obediently looked toward Methos. "Still looks pretty alive to me."

"Give me your hand, Joe," Methos asked, holding his own out.

Warily, Joe did so. He didn't know what they were all up to, but he was certain the punch line was going to hit very soon.

Kneeling in front of him, Methos curled most of Joe's fingers into a fist, leaving only two up. He brought Joe's hand up, firmly placing the fingers against his throat. "What do you feel?"

"Nothing," Joe scoffed.

"No pulse?" Richie inquired.

Joe's eyes widened, and he immediately adjusted his fingers searching for the feel of the pulse he *knew* had to be there. After several attempts, he lowered his hand to the chest directly in front of him and tried to feel the heart pumping beneath the ribs. He couldn't.

Slumping back into his chair, he let his hand fall to his lap. "It's unbelievable."

"You should try it from this end," Methos muttered, a slight smirk curling his lips. "It's even harder to believe from my end."

"I bet!" was all Joe could manage in response. He was too busy trying to decide whether or not what he was seeing and hearing was real, or whether he'd finally lost it. He blinked suddenly. It was *very* reminiscent of the day he'd found out about Immortals. **Well, I'll be damned!** he thought, then his eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at the man he was beginning to believe really was Methos. He'd missed the signs of tension before -- not believing he knew the man. They were subtle, but they were there. He wondered what, exactly was causing them -- beyond the obvious -- because something more than was apparent was stressing the ancient. Unfortunately anything else he wanted to say was cut off by the sound of an exultant cry from the other room.

"Yes!" Willow cried out.

Everyone in the living room jumped up, and raced into the 'research' room. Joe followed behind as quickly as he could.

*****

Doyle slipped silently out onto the balcony. Cordelia stood with her back to him, staring out across the shadowed landscape. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. She relaxed back against him, laying her hands on his arms. "What ya thinkin' bout?" he asked quietly?

"I'm never sure how to act here," she replied equally softly. "They all remember me the way I used to be, and much as I've changed, it's so easy to slip back to that. None of them seem surprised when I do. It's like they expect me to be the same old Cordelia."

Doyle hugged her gently, silently letting her explain what she was feeling.

"It's easier than trying to get them to believe I've changed, that I'm not the same person I was in high school."

"Giles sees it," Doyle encouraged. "I think Xander does too, if you want my opinion."

"You think so?" Cordelia asked hopefully, turning inside the circle of his arms to face him.

He nodded, ducking his head to kiss her mouth softly. "Yes," he said, "I do think so. I wouldn't have said it otherwise.

Cordelia shrugged suddenly as he pulled back, ducking her head. "I mean it's not like I should really care. It doesn't really matter; I don't even live here anymore."

"They're your friends, Princess," he replied, tilting her head back up with one finger tucked under her chin. "Of course, it matters."

Grinning, Cordelia hugged him tightly. "I love you, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," he replied, suddenly grinning almost as brightly as she was. She'd never said it before. "I--"

"Well, come on then. Let's go back and see what they're all up to."

Doyle shook his head, chuckling as he allowed her to drag him back inside the mansion. He didn't think he'd ever really understand her. One minute she was as insecure as anyone could be, the next she was in command and woe be unto those who would thwart her.

They were halfway to the living room before he realized he hadn't opened the subject of him returning to Los Angeles, which had been why he'd gone up to her in the first place. He really wasn't comfortable around the slayer, or Xander for that matter. Both of them hated demons and had no room in their hearts to see the grey.

He tred carefully around both of them, wary of revealing the fact that he was half demon. Every time the slayer's eyes fell on him he felt . . . exposed, as if just by looking at him she could see the part of him he'd inherited from his father. It had been bad enough when he'd been worried about telling Cordelia. This was just so much worse. He didn't want her to have to choose between him and her friends. It wouldn't be fair to her. **And I'm not so sure I'd come out on the winning end of that,** he admitted to himself. It would be better for everyone if he simply left. Angel and Cordy wouldn't be here for *too* much longer, and it wasn't as if he was really needed here, after all, and he could always call Angel if he received a vision.

He sighed, watching Cordelia practically bounce down the stairs ahead of him, her hand still firmly ahold of his. She was in such a good mood now; he wasn't going to bring it up. No need to bring her back down, he thought. He could mention it later tonight. In fact, maybe she'd go back with him. . . .

"Yes!" Willow shouted gleefully from downstairs.

Cordelia whipped her head around, grinning at him again. Oh how he loved that brilliant smile. It lit up her entire face, making her beauty almost magical. "Something's gone right," she said happily as she quickened her step. "It's about time."


TBC