Deja Vu

A Highlander/Buffy crossover

by Jennifer Campbell

Methos was dreaming. Strange, half-formed images of vampires and immortals mixed with each other and attacked him from all sides. Angel was there with Spike, grinning like the demons they were. At his back were MacLeod and Kronos, standing side-by-side, advancing on him with swords unsheathed. Methos turned to face them, his sword magically appearing in his hands, but before he could swing, he felt a sharp pain at the base of his neck. Vampire teeth clamped down hard, and Methos felt the life drain from him through two impossibly small holes. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a desperate gasp for air.

Methos bolted upright in his bed and almost panicked when he didn't recognize the room. He closed his eyes and slowed his heavy breathing, willing himself to remember where he was. Watcher training ... a tiny hotel room ... Sunnydale ... Angel.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was 1 a.m., still the middle of the night, even though he felt he'd lived a hundred lifetimes since he drifted to sleep earlier that evening. His heart returned to a normal, calmed rhythm, and then someone pounded on his door, almost sending him through the ceiling. Gods, I'm jumpy tonight, he thought as he stood and pulled on a T- shirt. He felt no presence, which meant his late-night visitor at least was mortal, so he carefully opened the door and peeked into the hallway.

"It's about time. You are way too deep a sleeper."

Methos recognized the teen-age girl who forced her way into the room, which was the only reason he let her in. Buffy was dressed all in black, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and her body language indicated she was all business. Methos shut the door and met her intense gaze with his own expressionless eyes. She was here because of Angel, and Methos wasn't about to give her an advantage by acting off-guard.

"All right," she said, "I want to know who you are and how you know Angel."

Methos allowed himself a small smile. The girl was tough, but she lacked finesse. She had followed him to the hotel, barged into his room and demanded an explanation that would probably result in her trying to punch a stake into his heart ... just to assure herself he wouldn't turn to dust. But maybe, if he played his cards right, he could get more information out of Buffy than he gave.

"Is something funny?" she asked.

He broadened his smile. "You are."

"Oh, really. Care to explain, doctor."

OK, time to push a little. "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine," he said casually, leaning back against the door.

He watched Buffy consider the offer, and he could almost see the pros and cons she weighed in her mind. Finally, she nodded curtly and folded her arms in what Methos recognized as an subconscious, protective gesture. Buffy was nervous because she'd suddenly lost control of the situation, and she wasn't hiding her emotions well.

"Angel is an old friend," he said carefully. "We once worked together on a project to help the community." He paused. "What happened to break the curse?"

Buffy smirked, but Methos noticed the faint, tell-tale signs of pain and guilt flicker across her eyes and vanish in a heartbeat. "He had a moment of complete contentment," she said.

"That's not an answer."

"Neither was yours," she said.

Then it clicked. The pain in Buffy's eyes, her words the night before ... "Hello, lover." He shook his head in disbelief at the complete stupidity both Buffy and Angel apparently had shown. If I were that careless, I'd have lost my head centuries ago. Maybe she deserves whatever she gets.

"You slept with him," he said quietly. She looked startled and sat down on the bed. He'd guessed right. "He loved you, and you turned him into a monster."

"It wasn't supposed to be like that," she protested. "It just happened, and then he was gone." She recovered and stood, facing Methos with determination in her eyes. "I can't change the past, but I can fix my mistakes. I want to kill Angel, and I want your help."

Methos laughed at her bluntness. "Why would you want my help?"

Buffy suddenly turned thoughtful, her voice losing its angry edge. "I've faced just about every supernatural thing out there," she said. "Vampires, witches, a teacher who turn into a praying mantis -- you name it, I fought it. And I know when I encounter something that's not human."

Methos narrowed his eyes and said nothing. Any denial he could make would only confirm her suspicions. Maybe I've underestimated this girl.

"Besides, you carry a really big sword, and vampires don't like swords," she half-joked, releasing some of the tension that had built between them. "So, will you help me?"

Methos knew that if he agreed, he would go up against an evil he'd tried to forget for more than a century. But he also knew Buffy would attack Angel with or without his help and that no matter how strong this fragile-looking girl might be, she probably would die. He couldn't help but like Buffy for her fire and passion, something Methos sorely lacked at times and always regretted the loss of. He couldn't stand to see that flame snuffed out, especially not by Angel -- not when he could prevent it. Here I go again.

"If I help, you forget that you ever saw me," he said.

She nodded. "Deal."

Buffy then proceded to tell him the plan. Methos had to admit that it just might work.

New Orleans

In addition to his sword, Methos carried three wooden spikes, one beneath each sleeve and one in his coat pocket. They poked uncomfortably into his arms, but he ignored the slight discomfort and focused his attention on the deserted warehouse before him. It's not too late to turn back. I can turn around, walk away and be 30 miles north of town by daylight. But for some reason he would never understand, he didn't move.

"There it is," Angel said, pointing toward the building. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

In response, Methos unsheathed his sword. He held it lightly, enjoying the soothing feel of its weight in hands, and swung it couple times for show. He glanced at Angel, and walked purposefully toward the warehouse.

Methos felt Angel follow him, and the vampire's voice was quiet, reaching no farther than the immortal's ear. "When this is over," he said, "you have to explain to me why you carry a sword under your coat."

Methos smiled thinly. "If we survive," he said.

They reached the warehouse and made their way to the back door without even the sound of a footstep. As Methos reached for the door knob, Angel's hand closed firmly around his own and pulled it away.

"Before we go in, there's something else you need to know," Angel said, unable to meet Methos' eyes.

Don't surprise me with anything new, Angel, he thought, but he said nothing, waiting for the vampire to continue.

"Spike's not the only vampire in there," Angel said finally.

Methos felt an uncontrollable, irrational wave of anger wash over him at Angel's words, which hit too close to a betrayal of trust. The immortal set his sword against Angel's throat with a snarl and pressed just hard enough to cause pain. Angel tried to pull away but found himself pinned against the warehouse wall, and part of Methos almost retched at the savage feelings of power and control that threatened to overwhelm him. But the dark part of him loved to watch the vampire squirm, and he fought with himself for one eternal second to keep from severing Angel's head.

The immortal wretched the sword away, scared at his violent reaction to Angel's unwelcome information. He leaned his forehead against the warehouse and slowly regained control, pushing Methos the Horseman back into the hidden depths of his soul. Normally when he lost control like that, someone lost their head. That was too close, he thought.

Still, Angel's words planted the seed of distrust in Methos. Not for the first time, Methos considered the possibility that Angel was luring him into a trap. He looked into the vampire's eyes searching for any trace of evil, but all he saw was torment.

"How many?" he asked, his voice sounding harsh to his ears.

"Three. Spike, Drusilla and Richard." A slight edge of panic crept into Angel's voice.

"And how many are your creations?"

"All three. Spike and Richard are brothers."

With some semblance of control, Methos nodded and reached for the door knob again. It turned with a soft click, and Methos pushed the door open, directing the last traces of his anger toward whatever was waiting on the other side.

"There's something I need to tell you before we go in."

Methos turned his attention from the warehouse to Buffy. She looked worried, but the immortal already knew what she would say. Too much during the past couple days had been an echo from the past, and the scenario wouldn't be complete without two missing players who had yet to make their entrance.

"Let me guess," he said. "Angel isn't alone. We're also fighting Spike and Drusilla."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What is this? Some kind of trick? Are you in league with them and plan on sticking your sword in my back the first chance you get?"

Methos sighed dramatically. "If I were going to betray you, do you think I'd give myself away?" he said. Buffy scowled, and Methos knew more explanation was needed. "Let's just say I have a past with all three of them, and it's a past I would rather forget. You have to trust me, or neither of us will walk out of there alive."

She glared at him for a few more seconds and then nodded, a wooden spike seeming to materialize in one hand. "Let's do it," she said.

Even in the dark, Methos could see that something weird had happened to Angel's face. He looked more like a monster from a child's nightmare than a self-tortured human. But Angel had warned him this would happen. It was all part of the show.

Methos felt the other vampires just as Angel set a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. Angel signaled around the corner, and Methos nodded before peeking around into a large open space. Two vampires - - a man and woman -- sat at a table lit by several candles. The woman was obsessed with situating the dress on a small doll; she carefully smoothed the doll's long blonde hair with a soft touch. The man read a newspaper and periodically looked up at the woman in a familiar way. The pair looked so human going through their morning rituals that if not for their presences, Methos might have thought Angel had led them to the wrong warehouse.

He held up two fingers to Angel, indicating that the third vampire was somewhere else. Angel nodded. Time for plan B. Angel disappeared into the dark recesses of the warehouse in search of the missing vampire, leaving Methos to deal with domestic pair.

Charles, this is for you. Methos took a deep breath, raised his sword and stepped around the corner.

The woman glanced up from her doll, and a serene smile slowly crossed her lips. "Spike, look," she said, her voice soft and dazed. "We have company."

Spike carefully folded his newspaper and set it on the table. The eyes that met Methos' were amused but not worried. Methos knew this creature would be a formidable opponent.

"So, you finally decided to drop by," Spike said, leaning back in his chair. "I was wondering how long it would take."

"You sent me an invitation I couldn't refuse."

"Ah, yes. The bartender." Spike made a face of distaste. "He tasted like fish, you know. That's the only problem with living in a town by the ocean -- everyone eats fish. What did you have for dinner?"

"You'll never know," Methos said, pointing his blade's point at Spike for emphasis. This bastard deserves to die, he thought.

Spike laughed. "I think you have a little problem there because there's one of you and two of us. Get ready to die."

Spike launched himself at Methos, who automatically raised his blade to meet the vampire in the chest, but Spike changed direction at the last moment, ducking around behind the immortal. Methos dropped to the floor before his opponent could grab his neck and rolled to his feet again next to the table. He pressed the tip of his sword against Drusilla's neck, just hard enough to draw a thin trail of blood. If the vampires wanted to play rough, he'd give them a good fight.

"Team up against me, and she dies right now," Methos said harshly. "Unless you give me a fair fight."

After centuries of practice, the lie came easily to his lips. Methos, of course, had no intention of playing fair. He intended to make Spike pay for the blood he'd spilled, no matter what it took.

"Spike?" Dru said, not taking her eyes off the blade. "Spike, help me."

"It's OK, love," Spike said. Then he turned his attention to Methos. "You want to fight me one-on-one? Fine. Let her go, and we fight."

Methos gave Spike his most chilling smile and pulled the blade from Dru's throat. She sighed deeply and almost glided out of range. All right, one problem solved. Now the fun really starts.

Spike attacked again, and Methos went on the defensive, holding his ground and testing his opponent. More than half of the vampire's blows snaked under his guard and connected painfully with his ribs and face, but Spike also was taking his share of cuts.

The vampire pulled back to catch his breath for a moment, and Methos tried to think of something that might stall Spike from pressing the attack again until his wounds had healed. Then he felt it: A wave of power swept through the room like a shockwave, so evil in nature that Methos felt his stomach churn, and then it was gone. He knew the vampires felt it as well because Dru wailed from her hiding place in the corner. Spike narrowed his eyes and growled deep in his throat, a horrifying effect when combined with his vampire features.

"You bastard," Spike said. "You were here to distract me while your friend fought my brother. Who did you bring? Is it Angel?"

So that's what that was. The death of a vampire. Interesting. Methos considered thanking Angel for distracting Spike when this was over but changed his mind when he saw the murderous hatred burning in the vampire's eyes. Gone was the last trace of civility, replaced with death. Now I'm in trouble.

Before Methos had time to react, Spike lashed out with his open palm, smashing the immortal in the face. The blow dazed Methos for only a second, but it was enough time for Spike to grab him and sink his teeth into Methos' bared neck. The immortal gasped in surprise and pain. He dropped his sword and used both hands to push the vampire away, but Spike didn't budge. Methos began to feel lightheaded and knew he had only a few seconds before he lost consciousness.

He quickly ran through what Angel had told him about killing a vampire. Wooden stake through the heart, beheading ... and fire. Methos reached for a candle still burning on the table. He dashed the flame into Spike's right eye and almost collapsed in relief when the teeth left his throat. Spike screamed and clawed at his eye as if he could rip the burn from his skin.

"Spike!" Dru cried, forgetting her own safety and running to him. She wrapped her arms around her companion, who had lost all interest in everything except his wound, and shot a dark glare at Methos. "Another time, deary," she snarled.

Both vampires vanished around the corner just as Methos' last reserve of strength gave out. His last thought before darkness overwhelmed him was that he hoped Angel would find him before Spike and Drusilla returned.

"Angel's not there," Buffy whispered, leaning over the railing that overlooked the warehouse's interior. "You stay here. I'm going to find him."

A quick glance over the ledge confirmed her words. Spike and Dru were there, but Angel was no where in sight. Still, as soon as the fighting started, he'd show up momentarily. Buffy would be foolish to go searching for trouble when it would come to her -- just another extension of her inexperience. Besides, Methos couldn't shake the memories of what had happened last time he'd split with his partner. He'd barely escaped. Those who forget the past ...

He grabbed Buffy's forearm, ignoring her stiffled gasp. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that spliting your forces is not a good idea? We stay together, or I leave now."

He knew throwing that ultimatum in her face was unfair, but he didn't have time for subtlety. He had to exert some control now, or he knew the whole raid would fall apart around their ears.

Buffy glared at him, but she stopped pulling away from his unrelenting grip. He released her, and she rubbed her arm. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to play nice?"

"Are you ready?" Methos asked, ignoring her comment. She probably wouldn't react well to a truthful answer anyway. For her response, Buffy climbed over the railing and dropped to the warehouse floor.

"Hi, guys," she said to the vampires, who went rigid as she pulled a stake from her sleeve. "Hope you don't mind if I drop in."

Bloody impatient slayer, Methos thought as he lept over the railing and landed next to Buffy. "Your mother obviously never taught you the value of patience," he said to the girl.

She shrugged.

Unlike Buffy, Methos understood the importance of well-timed drama, and he also knew that right about now, Spike and Dru were stunned by the appearance of an enemy who should be long dead. He played the situation to his advantage by granting them a chilling smile and slowly drawing his sword, letting its soft hiss echo throughout the room. The effect was not lost on the vampires.

"I love what you did to your hair, Spike," he said. "Blond suits you. But the wheelchair just doesn't go with the image."

Spike recovered first, masking his tension with a smile that never reached his eyes. "I knew there was something different about you the last time we met. I'm not too upset that you turned up, really. You still have to pay for this." He traced one finger over a scar on his right eyebrow. "Dru, be a dear and find Angel. I know he wouldn't want to miss the party."

As Drusilla smiled coldly and slipped out a side door, Methos went on his guard. Spike was not stupid enough to send away his backup when faced with two enemies, so he had to be planning something. Now I just have to find out what.

"That's not very wise, Spike. Two against one aren't good odds."

"One against one, actually," the vampire replied, coming awkwardly to his feet, almost as if his knees were about to collapse on him. But whatever ailed the vampire, Methos didn't have time to speculate. Spike's words had sent a chill up his back. He glanced to his side and silently cursed. Buffy was gone.

"You see," Spike said, walking carefully, slowly toward Methos, "I know Buffy a lot better than you do. She's obsessed with Angel. At first she was trying to get him into bed, but now, well, she just wants to kill him. I wouldn't mind so much if she succeeded, so I'm letting Dru lead her straight to him." He paused, turning his full attention on Methos. "That gives us a chance to finish what we started 130 years ago."

"Then stop talking and fight," Methos said calmly, raising his sword. He sent a silent prayer to every god he could think of that this fight would end better than the last one. Spike produced a long knife from the pocket of his jeans, braced himself against a heavy crate and waited.

As if to prove to himself that the past wouldn't continue to haunt his steps, Methos went on the offensive immediately. He flicked his blade expertly, inwardly thanking MacLeod for all their recent sparing sessions in Paris. His skill had been rusty last time he had met Spike, but now he had the advantage. Methos easily brushed off his opponent's strikes, but Spike refused to back away from the crate.

This is getting tiring, Methos thought. He surprised the vampire with one swift move to disarm, and the knife clattered to the floor. The immortal raised his sword for the fatal blow when he felt smooth, cold hands clamp around his arms and pin them against his back. His attacker pried open his fingers, and his sword fell to the ground.

"Good timing, Dru," Spike said breathlessly. He picked up his knife from the floor and pressed it against Methos' neck. The immortal struggled to break free, but Drusilla's grip was too strong. "I appreciate the help, but the kill is mine."

"Spike, you're too weak for this," said the familiar, soft voice. "Go sit down, and I'll finish him for you."

"No. He is strong, and you know it, Dru. This could restore me."

After a short pause, Dru breathed softly against Methos' ear. "Yes. I feel his strength. Take him now."

Methos cried out in pain as Spike sunk his teeth into the imomrtal's neck. At first the drainage was slow, but the vampire seemed to gain momentum as the blood flowed faster and faster. Methos struggled weakly against Dru, but his strength was gone, and he felt that if Dru released him, he would only fall to the hard concrete floor.

He dimly wondered what had happened between Angel and Buffy, but even that thought faded from his mind, and he began to drift. Methos couldn't feel Spike's teeth anymore, and he floated in a strange limbo between life and death. He knew he was dying, but he didn't care, going slack against Dru's chest with a low moan. Then the darkness came, and Methos knew no more.

The warehouse was empty of vampires and daylight slipped through the windows as Methos awoke with a ragid gasp for air. He groaned and rolled onto his back, feeling at his still-tender throat with his fingertips. As he sat up and looked around, he noticed his sword lying on the floor where he had dropped it ... how long ago? Repairing blood loss as he had suffered would take hours, but no more than a day or so. Methos guessed it must be the morning after.

That meant no vampires, at least not for a while. Angel, Spike and Dru would all have hidden with the rising sun, unless one of them had died after Methos had lost consciousness. But I'm never that lucky.

Methos crawled to his sword and used it to help pull himself to his feet. His body had repaired the wounds, but only time would restore his strength. He slowly stumbled out of the warehouse, using the sword as a cane, and blinked fiercely in the sunlight. Realizing that passers-by would look strangely on his weapon, he switched it for a solid rod of wood laying nearby, sheathed his sword and headed toward the street.

The night's fiasco was over, but the fight was not. If five thousand years had taught Methos anything, it was that you can never escape your past, no matter how far or how fast you run. Methos knew he would see the trio of vampires again and again -- until they were dead, or he was.

That day would not come for a long time, though, if Methos had any control over his fate at all. And maybe I don't, but who bloody well knows? I think it's time for a vacation. No vampires, no immortals ... just a quiet, sandy beach and as much sun as I can soak in.

He smiled at the thought and walked slowly down the street. No one would miss one immortal for a few months, or maybe a few years. He chuckled softly, and with that one action he banished the ghosts of his past, living and dead, that had goaded him into such a dangerous mission.

Kronos, my brother, you were right all along. If you wait long enough, everything comes back. Ah, Fate. She is a cruel mistress, and even I cannot escape Her. But maybe I can try ... for a while.

He laughed quietly to himself all the way home.

the end