Sitting on the hood of his rental car, Methos glanced at his watch. Despite the sun having long since set, the oppressive heat still lingered, causing him to leave his coat in the car. He missed the familiar feel of his Ivanhoe. Begin this close to a Hellmouth, no matter how recently closed, still made him twitchy. Besides, his head still ached, and he was tired. A week ago the visions had started, again, leading him to the crater formally known as Sunnydale. However, why he had to be here, Methos did not know. Hearing the soft crunching of gravel under feet, Methos slid off the hood, and brought his gun up, ready to shoot any hostile visitors.
“Hey man, it’s just me.”
Groaning, Methos put his gun back in its hiding place, and turned to lean back against the car.
“I should have bloody known,” Methos grumbled. “I thought I was done with you after MacLeod.”
“What can I say? The bosses need your expertise.”
“And you couldn’t have just come right out and told me Tehuti?”
“Excuse me?” Methos asked, eyebrow raised and eyes narrowed.
“It’s Whistler now,” the demon said with a shrug.
“I’m hoping this little conversation wasn’t what I was dragged here for,” Methos said, his voice deceptively casual.
“No man,” Whistler said, hands held up in a pacifying gesture. “We really do need your help again.”
“And again,” Methos repeated. “I thought our bargain was finished Tehuti.”
“It’s going to take a lot longer to pay off your debt Horseman,” Whistler added harshly.
“Fine. New mission statement please.”
Eyeing the immortal, Whistler took a deep breath to calm his temper. And he had thought dealing with the Slayer had been a pain.
“Powers are sending back their new golden boy,” Whistler said as he came to stand beside Methos, his gaze raking over the destroyed landscape. “They feel you would be best suited to guide him in his new destiny.”
“Sending back? And what pray tell do you mean by that?”
“New guy is the reason for the crater. Really threw everyone for a loop. It’s not every day a soulless vampire falls in love with a slayer, ask for their soul back, and then sacrifices themselves to save the world.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Methos said, startled by the new information. “Vampires don’t change unless forced.”
“Well what can I say,” Whistler answered. “This guy is a bit of a wild card.”
“But why me?” Methos asked, confused. “Why not send this guy to what’s his name in Los Angeles?”
“Can’t man. These two are related, and would probably tear each other apart in less than a week. Besides, our champ in L.A has been compromised, and sending in the new guy would really stir things up.”
“Bloody hell,” Methos muttered. “When does he get here and what do I have to do?”
“Just guide him, and train him,” Whistler said. “He’s got a hell of a road ahead and he’s going to need all the help he can get.”
“Great,” Methos grumbled. “As if dealing with MacLeod isn’t a full time job, now I get to play Watcher to another noble champion.”
“Oh did I forget to mention you’ll be acting as his Seer as well?”
Cursing fervently, and loudly, in ancient Egyptian, Methos pulled out his gun and aimed the barrel at Whistler, or he would have if the balance demon hadn’t disappeared on him.
Standing before him now was a man with unnatural blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. He was dressed in a long black leather duster, and a black t-shirt and jeans. His combat boots were scuffed and well worn, as was all of his clothing, telling Methos this guy was used to getting his hands dirty. His head was tilted to the side and a lazy smirk graced his lips. If Methos hadn’t been so pissed, he might have checked him out. He’d have to remember to ogle his new charge later. It wasn’t as if MacLeod was going to be putting out anytime soon. Besides, right now, he had a balance demon to kill.
“Sorry to disappoint mate,” came the new champion’s amused voice. It slid over Methos, causing a slight shiver to crawl up his spine. He was already imagining what that voice would sound like full of lust, and promptly smacked his libido and locked it away. Whistler had said the guy was in love with the slayer. “But Whistler has already buggered off, though if you want to go hunt him down I’d be more than happy to help. Seems a bloke can’t die in peace anymore.”
“Tehuti has been that way ever since I had the misfortune of meeting him,” Methos sighed. Holding out his hand he said, “I’m Methos by the way and it looks like I get the wonderful job of being your seer.”
“I know,” was the amused answer. “And the name‘s Spike.”
His grip was firm and cool, devoid of any signs of life.
“Spike? Interesting name.”
“Got it by torturing people with railroad spikes,” Spike said with a shrug of his shoulders. Soon a mischievous light entered his eyes. “Or would the man formerly known as Death prefer William the Bloody?” Spike asked, his eyebrow raised and his voice laced with sarcasm.
Feeling slightly more relaxed, Methos grinned. Maybe this new assignment wouldn’t be all bad. Spike certainly seemed to be much more fun than MacLeod.
“No, I think Spike will work just fine.”
Tehuti: possibly meaning “he who balances” in Ancient Egyptian. Besides, who’s to say Whistler was the only name he ever went by? ;)