Things That Go Bump in the Night

**********
Chapter 34
**********


Xander dropped bonelessly down onto a chair, and Richie couldn't stifle a small laugh. He *did* have to admit that Xander had worked hard this session, however. Once Buffy had joined them, he seemed to work harder, and Richie wondered how much of that was to impress Buffy. He mentally shrugged. He'd probably never know, but certainly wasn't above taking advantage of anything that helped his student. His student -- and wasn't that something that was still freaking him out. He was only 25. Wasn't there, like, some Immortal rule that said you had to be older before he started trying to teach?

Buffy sat down on the couch beside him, and even she looked a little tired from their work out. He grinned. Suddenly, her hand snaked out and popped him on the arm.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his arm. "What was that for?"

"You don't have to look so smug, you're looking a little worse for the wear too."

"Oh, I am, am I?" he asked. Trying to hide his growing grin, Richie rose slowly and stalked toward Buffy.

With an 'eep', and with far more speed than he'd have credited to the tired Slayer, Buffy rolled over the back of the couch, landing easily on her feet. Grinning ear to ear, she backed up warily.

Suspecting he didn't have a chance in hell of actually catching her -- unless she let him -- Richie jumped the couch and lunged forward, hoping to catch her before she really got moving. She dodged him easily, squealing as she ran to the other side of the room.

"Hey guys, I don't know where you got your energy from," Xander complained, not moving from his slouched position, "but could you hold off the sex games until your alone?"

Both Richie and Buffy froze, the blood rushing to their faces.

"It's *not* sex games, Xander!" Buffy declared hotly, glaring at the clearly unrepentant Immortal.

"Unh huh," Xander remarked.

"I guess we now know a little something about the games you play," Richie threw back at the younger man.

Xander blushed, Buffy 'ewwwed', and Richie almost laughed. It was just too perfect.

"That was just too much information," Buffy said, shaking her head. "Now I've got the mental image of Xander and Anya chasing each other around the bedroom."

Xander blushed deeper red, but didn't deny the accusation. Richie did laugh then.

He'd missed this -- the easy camaraderie that built up among friends who shared so much. He wondered if he'd, eventually, be considered 'part of the group'. Was he planning on staying long enough for that 'eventually' to happen? He glanced over at Buffy and thought, yeah, he just might.

Richie stiffened, feeling the telltale tingle that signaled the arrival of another Immortal, and immediately reached for his sword. He was glad to see that, tired as he was, Xander followed suit. He relaxed a little as Giles, and the two witches came through the door. He frowned, however, as he noticed they seemed -- less than enthusiastic.

"How'd it go? Where's Adam?"

"Here," Methos replied, stepping through behind the other three.

Richie eyed him closely. He looked tired, but had answered from his own body. Richie immediately headed toward him. "What happened to you?," he asked, glaring at the others. "You were supposed to protect--"

"It's just from the ritual, Richie," Methos interrupted, laying a calming hand on the younger Immortal's arm. "Not much they could do about that."

Richie's eyes widened. "Damn, that must have been one hell of a spell then."

Methos nodded slowly. "Yeah, but at least I'm back in my own body without Spike having done anything to call attention to me, so that means--"

Joe cleared his throat uncomfortably, drawing the immediate attention of everyone in the room. Richie hadn't even heard him come in.

Methos slowly turned to face the Watcher, wary eyes narrowing dangerously. "What?" he asked shortly.

"I got a call from headquarters while you were gone. Ricardo saw Richie's challenge."

Hope fading from his eyes, Methos stiffened slightly. "And?"

Joe looked down at the floor a moment before once again looking Methos in the eyes. "He heard Spencer challenge *you*, and then Richie intercept."

Methos slumped. "Which means my secret isn't secret anymore."

Joe nodded. "I'm afraid not."

"Secret from who?" Buffy asked.

"Whom," Giles corrected automatically.

Buffy simply rolled her eyes. "Who's Ricardo?"

Richie shared a look with Joe and Methos. Joe shook his head no, but Richie decided to go ahead anyway.

"My Watcher," he said, not quite wincing at the glare he got from Joe.

"Watcher?" asked Buffy and Giles in unison.

Buffy turned to look at Giles questioningly, but he just looked confused.

"They're a group of mortals who watch Immortals, recording our lives.

"No way!" Xander exclaimed, just as Joe began *his* protest.

"Damn it, Richie. Watcher's are supposed to be a secret . . . especially from Immortals!"

"Actually," Methos said, "I think in this case, it's actually good that he knows. With the life he leads, he might be a danger to his Watcher if he didn't know the person wasn't out to harm him."

"What do you mean by that?" asked two different voices.

Methos merely gave Xander a nod, then turned his attention back to Joe. "How would you react to someone you discovered following you, if you spent your life avoiding/fighting both other Immortals *and* demons?"

Joe's eyes widened a fraction, and Richie had to admit, Methos had a good point. Better than the one he was going to use -- at least more convincing from the Watcher's point of view. He just believed Xander had a right to know.

"I see your point, Adam," Joe replied, turning to face Xander. "Just don't spread it around, okay? *No one* is supposed to know about us."

"I don't think I like the idea of being watched. It's creepy."

Joe just shook his head. "Most people don't," he admitted, "but think of how much history would have been lost over the years, what with the secrecy Immortals have to live with, if no one recorded their lives?" Joe took a step forward, his excitement, and belief in what he did for a living showing in his face, coloring his voice. "Once an Immortal dies, there's no one to *know* like there is with most people -- except Watchers."

"Wow, I didn't think of it like that."

Methos snorted. "Of course not, when it's personal, and *you're* the one being watched, and what you do is being recorded, it's difficult to think about 'historical perspective'."

Buffy laughed. "I bet!" Buffy laughed, then frowned. "Just how 'personal' do these . . . Watchers get?"

"While some do get a little . . . over zealous, it doesn't last long. Despite what it may seem like, we're not 'peeping Tom's' or 'voyeurs'."

"Sure," Spike drawled from the entrance.

Richie had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Both Joe and Methos glared at the vampire.

Xander inhaled sharply, his eyes wide when Richie turned to look at him.

"You didn't tell them about me, did you?"

"I'm sorry, son, but, of course I did. It's part of my job."

Xander strode forward, anger radiating off of him. "You had no right!"

Richie reached out and lay a hand on his student's arm, receiving a glare in return. "If he had left something like that out, it would get him in serious trouble." He almost shook his head. He didn't know where the words were coming from. As much as he liked Joe, he didn't like being 'Watched' either. Here he was being all *mature*. **I don't want to be mature yet!** he complained silently.

"How serious?" Buffy asked, stepping forward protectively.

"Serious enough," Joe replied shortly, obviously discouraging further elaboration or comment.

"So just what did that phone call entail?"

"They're sending someone up to be your Watcher," Joe replied in rush.

"Good, so, I'll just get out of town before they get here," Methos replied, starting out of the room.

"You can't," Joe exclaimed.

"Excuse me?" Methos demanded hotly, spinning around to face the Watcher.

Joe chuckled, and Richie wasn't sure if he felt that meant the Watcher was incredibly brave or foolhardy -- friendship only carried you so far. He certainly didn't want to be the one to be pressing the boundries of friendship with a five thousand year old Immortal. That kind of thing bordered on suicidal.

"One; whoever it is, is probably already here. Besides, you can't just take off anyway -- unless of course, you can come up with some way to explain your sudden skill with a sword sans benefit of a teacher. It's not like it's a skill most 'shy graduate students' turned researcher have these days."

"Bloody hell!"

"You say that a lot," Cordelia quipped as she came down the stairs.

Methos glared at her, but she just laughed. "Well, you do."

"Think about it, Adam," Joe continued. "If you take off now, what will it look like? You know the answer to *that* as well as I do."

Methos moaned. "I'm *not* spending the next several years attached at the hip with Richie!"

"You're certainly not!" Richie protested, more because it was expected than because he meant it. In the time they'd spent here, he'd gotten to like the old man.

Joe snapped his cane on the floor. "You'd rather the Watcher's figure out--" he spat angrily, cutting himself off and storming out of the room. His cane sounded loud against the marble floor in the suddenly silent room.

Richie waited, watching the angry Watcher leave. "He's got a point," he said quietly, turning to face Methos.

"Yeah, I know he does," Methos snapped. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Richie tried not to take Methos' resentment personally, he really did. Richie knew as well as anyone who knew the ancient Immortal -- he didn't like being cornered.

"Well, I kinda like the idea," Spike smirked, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. "It means you'll be sticking around for a while."

"And just how do you see that?" Methos asked.

"Well," Spike drawled, pointing toward Richie, "the young brat here--"

"Hey!"

"--is attached to Buffy -- who's not going anywhere by the by. Looks like you're gonna be 'attached' to the brat."

"And again, "Hey!"

Xander laughed and Richie frowned at him.

Xander shrugged. "That's usually my line.

"So," Spike continued, ignoring the byplay, "that means you'll be staying -- for a while. Hey, maybe we could all get *attached* together like. Could be--"

Richie's immediate, vehement, "No!" came at the same moment as Methos' sarcastic response.

"Is that *all* you ever think of?" Methos asked with a roll of his eyes, but Richie could see the faint smirk appearing on the Immortal's face as well, as well as something he wasn't sure quite what meant. Concern?

"Pretty much," Richie replied, before the vampire could. "Quote -- blood, sex, and violence . . . not necessarily in that order -- unquote."

"And on *that* note," Buffy replied heading for the door. "I'm outta here. I'm sure Mom is having fits about me staying away this long, anyway, and I *really* don't want to be here for this part of the convo."

"I'll walk you," Richie replied, reaching her side as they walked out the door.

***

Cordelia waited less than a heartbeat after the two disappeared from sight before stepping fully into the room. "So, anyone want to tell me what's wrong with Spike?" she asked bluntly, and suddenly found herself the focus of every person left in the room. For a brief moment she felt like fleeing -- she simply wasn't up to this much attention. Then Cordelia Chase's fighting spirit reared its head and she took a step forward instead.

"I mean, him," she said, pointing to Adam, "I understand looking like something the caldolag dragged in. He just had himself a good -- and did I just say good? Ewww! -- blood draining. But him?" She shook her head. "He should be full of energy, bouncing off the walls, bloated on human blood."

"Hey!" Spike protested. "I've *never* eaten enough to get 'bloated', bint."

Cordelia frowned at the flash of pain that crossed through Spike's eyes -- completely missing the name.

" 'Sides," he continued, dropping his eyes "That's a female thing."

Cordelia, despite her instant rush of indignation, did not miss the new look in Spike's eyes -- the one he was obviously trying to hide.

"What's a female thing?" Willow asked from the door.

Cordelia's eyes widened at Willow's haunted look, and tear stained face. **What's wrong with this picture?**

"What's wrong, Willow?" Xander asked, hurrying over to the tiny Wicca.

Cordelia took a step forward, intent on finding out what had happened to Willow when she noticed Spike fading into the background. With one last concerned glance at Willow, surrounded by friends, Cordelia headed after the chipped vampire. He'd purposely tried to redirect her attention. Spike had wanted her mad enough to forget her question. She wasn't stupid, no matter what some people thought -- and Spike wasn't as clever as he thought *he* was. The real question now was, 'Why?'.

He stopped half-way up the stairs, his shoulders slumping. "What do you want?" he asked angrily.

Taking a deep breath, wondering where the courage was coming from, Cordelia continued moving for unt until she stood at the base of the stairs. "It stayed didn't it?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper, certainty suddenly filling her as to why Spike seemed . . . off, tired.

Spike spun around suddenly, his eyes flecked with gold, and it was all Cordelia could do not to step back.

"What stayed?" he demanded. "My demon? Wasn't that the point? Get Spike's demon back in his dead bo- wh- where it belongs?"

Cordelia's eyes narrowed, but before she could respond Spike strode down the stairs, circling behind her so fast she was sure that if she'd blinked she'd have missed him moving.

"What's the matter?" he drawled. "The half-demon not enough for you? Did you wear him out? Want a bit of *real* demon now?"

Cordelia spun around, her hand snaking out to slap Spike across the cheek before she could stop herself -- before she could think about it. **I'll have a nervous breakdown later,** she thought, staring Spike stubbornly in the eyes. **I just slapped a *Vampire*.**

Spike lifted a hand to the imprint on his cheek rubbing it lightly. "What? Trying to give the Slayer a run for her money? You're going to have to hit harder than that to even be in the ballpark, Pet."

"Stop it, Spike."

Shrugging, Spike took a small swaggering step back. "Stop what? Stop being a demon? Stop being myself?"

Cordelia shook her head, sighing. "No, Spike. Stop trying to make me angry. It's working, by the way. But you're *not* going to distract me." She smiled, and allowing a touch of vindictiveness to show, she stepped toward Spike again, this time purposely invading his personal space. "Just remember, I'm not the physical type. Violence isn't my thing."

Eyes narrowed, watching her closely, Spike snorted. "And that's supposed to what? Scare me? Oooo! I don't like hitting. Be afraid."

Allowing her smile to grow, Cordelia shook her head. "I couldn't win a physical fight with you, Spike. I know that, but, do *you* know what that means?"

Spike shook his head, grinning now. "You'll run?"

"Nope. It means I won't play fair. It means I'll strike from a distance. It means--" Cordelia paused, tilted her head, then continued questioningly. "I know drugs, alcohol, tranquilizers -- that kind of stuff -- affects vamps. I wonder what a scorpion's sting would do? No, maybe one of those venomous snakes -- you know the kind that have flesh decaying poison?"

In front of her, Spike shuddered. "Point taken. Don't piss off the bitch."

"Right!" Cordelia replied brightly, smiling broadly. Dropping herself down onto a step, she patted the space beside her. "So, now that we've established that, how about you answer my question."

Spike blinked, and burst out laughing. "You're a right crazy bint, you know that don't you?"

Cordelia shrugged, refusing to be put off. "Maybe I am," she conceded. "But you're still avoiding my question."

"Stubborn, too," Spike muttered, finally dropping down next to her.

"That's a Chase trait. If you think *I'm* stubborn, you should meet my mother."

This time Spike's shudder was more dramatic. "No thanks!" he replied. "Meeting one of your all's mothers is enough for me. That meeting was like to have ended my life as it was."

"You'll adjust to it you know."

Spike frowned, confusion fluttering across his face. "Adjust to what?"

"Your soul, Spike, your soul."

Spike let out a moan and dropped his head into his hands. "Not possible," he mumbled, completely unaware he'd confirmed her suspicions.

Cordelia felt uncertainty wave through her. He was crying. She knew it. He wasn't making a sound. His shoulders didn't move, but she knew that if he were to look at her she'd see the tears. She bit her lip, worrying it. **What on Earth do I do with a crying vampire?** Sighing and reaching out, Cordelia put her arm across Spike's back, laying her head on his shoulder. She almost started rocking -- the age old comfort of being rocked was nothing to be scoffed at, but she feared Spike might resist *that* overt an attempt.

Surprise flooded her when, after a few moments, Spike leaned back into her, letting her hold him. She did begin to rock him then, tentatively at first, ready to stop should he be affronted. When he made no move to pull away, Cordelia began to hum. Quietly, low in her throat, and without thought, came the sounds of her childhood -- a half-remembered lullaby her mother used to sing to her.


TBC