Deja Vu

A Highlander/Buffy crossover

by Jennifer Campbell

Thanks to my sister Katie, who helped me through the finer details of Buffy characterizations and offered some great suggestions. Couldn't do it without you, Kate.

The characters of Methos, Joe Dawson, Angel, Buffy, Spike and Dru don't belong to me. I promise to return them all to their respective owners no worse for wear when I'm done. I make no money off this, unfortunately.

Please keep in mind while reading this that at the time I wrote "Deja Vu," the Buffy Powers That Be had not yet explained much about Angel's past: When he was cursed, who he sired directly, what he was up to between the time when he was cursed to when he met Buffy. Based on all the things Joss shared with us later, some of the facts in this story are woefully out of date.

Methos woke as lamps lining the passenger cabin of the airplane switched on, flooding his closed eyelids with light. He groggily opened his eyes and looked around at the other passengers preparing to disembark. Once again, he had managed to black out most of the unpleasantness of flying by sleeping through 90 percent of it.

A stewardess stood at the cabin's head and spoke into the intercom. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Sunnydale. We will be disembarking in a few minutes, but please remain seated with your seat belt on until the seat-belt sign turns off ..."

As her speech turned to the normal airplane drabble, Methos turned his thoughts to more important matters, like what to do next. A hotel room is in order, I suppose. But first, to find Joe and buy a good, stiff drink, he thought. Bloody watchers. Why did they have to choose a city on the other side of the world for their training session? It's not like I need training anyway.

But Methos knew why he had come, and why the watchers chose Sunnydale for their happy weekend getaway. Despite Methos' extensive experience with following immortals -- or avoiding them -- Adam Pierson lacked the same advantage. And, as his superiors had so forcefully pointed out, Adam might someday have to cover for a field agent and needed proper training. So, here he was, a watcher researcher forced into a weekend retreat in a city known for its unusually large population of immortals.

Perfect for Adam; bad news for Methos. He was more likely to find himself unmasked as an immortal here than in any other city on earth.

And MacLeod says I don't take enough risks, he thought ruefully as he stood and unloaded his bag from the overhead compartment.

At least he had Joe to turn to in an emergency. The watchers had talked the poor guy into helping run the funhouse -- 30 untrained researchers chasing immortals around Sunnydale with only a handful of veterans to keep them in line. Methos knew no matter how bad his own situation got, he wouldn't exchange places with Joe for anything short of losing his head.

Because of the late hour, the terminal was almost empty. Methos slung his bag over one shoulder, claimed his sword from baggage check with surprisingly little hassle and left the terminal in search of a taxi. When he found none, he settled for a bus that would take him within a few blocks of the hotel.

He watched the nght-time scenery pass by for the next few miles. Few people walked the streets, and those who braved the warm night glanced behind them frequently, as though afraid of being followed by someone, or something. Sunnydale was not a city living in peace.

I left Palm Beach for this. Bloody watchers.

Methos continued to stare out his window until he saw his hotel on a side street, and he got off. The bus had not driven one block away when he felt a presence, but the sensation prickling up his spine didn't originate with an immortal. It felt ... different. Methos ducked into an alley, drew his sword and waited.

A few moments later, the culprit came into view at the alley's mouth, stopped and looked around. Methos loosened his grip on the sword's hilt as he recognized the figure. This was a man he hadn't seen since the Civil War and one he'd often thought about. Maybe this trip would not be a total loss if he could catch up with an old friend.

In an unheard-of display of blind trust, he called out only after a moment's debate. "Angel. Over here."

The figure turned, revealing his pale skin and burning eyes. A slow smile crept across Angel's face, and he laughed in delight, sending a chill down Methos' back. I think I've made a mistake, Methos thought.

He looked around the alley to check for exits and found that his choice of battlefield was not ideal. It was a dead-end, and Angel blocked the only way out.

"Now this is interesting," Angel said, inching toward Methos. "I do believe I am looking at the good Doctor Adams, but that's impossible, isn't it? Doctor Adams was alive a century ago and should be dead. But here you are."

Angel laughed again, and his eyes burned brighter. Some instinct told Methos that although this appeared to be his friend, the man had changed. This was not the human-like vampire he had known. This was a souless creature who would kill Methos without hesitation. Methos mourned for his friend when he understood the truth: The curse was broken.

Terror threatened to overwhelm the immortal as he realized he was staring into the eyes of a demon, but he sternly pushed his emotions down and raised his sword to fighting stance. Angel stopped his slow advance; his eyes flicked to the weapon, gleaming dully under the city lights.

Angel shook his head scoldingly. "Now, doctor, is that any way to treat an old friend?"

"You are not my friend," Methos replied quietly.

"Oh, I'm hurt," Angel said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Well, actually, I'm not. And I hope that frog-sticker is ready for me because I am kinda hungry, and you look very appetizing."

"Then come and die," Methos said.

Angel launched himself at Methos feet first, ripping the sword from the immortal's hands with one powerful kick. He landed behind Methos and raised his arm to grab his opponent from behind. Methos had no time hesitate. He ducked under the vampire's arms, summersaulted to his sword, which had flown across the alley and landed on a trash heap, and rolled to his feet, ready for the next attack. He had underestimated the vampire's strength and speed, but it would not happen again.

Angel smiled and clapped. "Very good, doctor. What did they teach you in medical school, anyway?"

"We don't have to do this, Angel," Methos said. "Walk away."

"Um, let me think for a moment. No."

Methos was ready for Angel's attack this time and slashed his sword down the vampire's shoulder. Taking advantage of Angel's surprise, he immediately followed with a cut across the chest, drawing a thin line of blood. Angel growled and swung at Methos with his uninjured arm, smashing the immortal against a brick wall like a rag doll.

Methos quickly assessed his own damage -- two broken ribs and a twinge in his left wrist -- and noted that Angel was causing more damage than he was. If he hung around here much longer, the vampire would turn him into his next feast.

Methos struggled to his feet, preparing to make a run for the street, when he heard a footstep at the alley's mouth. He and Angel both turned to see a teen-age girl standing in fighting stance, a wooden stake in one hand.

"Hello, lover," she said.

"Well, well, if it isn't the slayer," Angel said. "You're timing could have been better, Buffy. The doctor and I were catching up on old times, and you know how discourteous it is to break up a reunion between friends."

Buffy glanced toward Methos. "Get out of here," she said.

Methos didn't need to be told twice. It was obvious this girl knew how to fight a vampire. He gave Angel one last glance and walked quickly to the street.

"Leaving so soon, doctor?"

Methos looked back at Angel, trapped in the alley and looking somewhat like a cornered, rabid dog. He knew that an animal with nothing left to lose would become desperate, and desperation was dangerous. He couldn't just leave this girl to face him alone. MacLeod, you and your boy-scout morals are rubbing off too much for safety's sake.

Methos rejoined the girl, and she looked at him as though he were crazy. "Are you hard of hearing? I told you to leave."

Angel laughed. "You don't seem to realize, Buffy, that the good doctor has an overblown sense of honor, and it's gotten worse over the years."

Buffy looked from Angel to Methos, and Methos shrugged. "So, he's a bad judge of character. One of the follies of youth."

Buffy nodded slightly. "Sure. Whatever. You wanna help, fine, but let's do it, OK?"

Methos nodded, and the two slowly advanced toward Angel, who backed farther into the alley until he was flat against the wall. "Two against one, not very sporting."

"Ask me if I care," Buffy said.

"I can see you don't. Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have business elsewhere." He looked directly at Methos with his burning gaze. "Another time, doctor."

The vampire faced the wall and began climbing it's sheer face, and memories of another Angel came to Methos as he watched. That incredible strength had once destroyed an evil being -- and almost caused Methos' death. Spike had been so angry...

After Angel vanished over the top of a tall building, Buffy slid the wooden stake into her coat sleeve and glared at Methos. "OK, what gives? How do you know Angel?"

Methos sheathed his sword under his trench coat and headed for the street. "It's a long story."

"I've got the time."

He turned to look at her -- this killer in the body of a teen-ager. Like so many people, she was more than what she seemed. What had Angel called her? The slayer? She killed demons with wooden stakes and probably would fare better against Angel than he did. But that didn't matter. Whatever she was, she could never handle the truth.

"I don't," he answered, and turned away, leaving her alone in the alley.

"Vampires? That's just a story."

"Your mouth is hanging open, Joe."

"It's just hard to believe. Are you sure about what you saw? I mean, that guy could have just been some wacko off the street. There are a lot of those in Sunnydale."

"Why is this so hard for you to accept?" Methos gulped from his beer bottle, sighed and leaned across the table. "Look, Joe, if there is such a thing as immortals, why not vampires?"

"OK, well, what about the girl?"

"What about her?"

"A vampire slayer? Come on, Methos. It's crazy."

This is getting annoying very quickly. Stubborn and pig-headed -- that's what you are, Joe Dawson.

"If there are vampires, then why not a vampire slayer? All good stories are based on reality, and this one just happens to be closer to the truth than most. Angel is a vampire. Buffy is a vampire slayer. And somehow I've managed to tangle myself in a situation that is none of my business to be involved in."

"You got that right," Joe said. He drained his glass and signaled the waitress for another drink.

Joe wasn't taking this well. Methos didn't understand why a man who spent his life watching immortals was so bent out of shape when he found out that there was more than one type of immortal. Maybe he was just disappointed to discover he didn't have the monopoly on supernatural beings. I suppose now would be a bad time to bring up leprechauns and witches.

"All right, Methos, let's say that you're right and there are vampires in Sunnydale. What's next?"

Methos finished his beer right as the waitress brought Joe's drink. He smiled at her in his most charming manner and shook his empty bottle. "Would you be so kind as to bring me another one of these?"

She smiled as she took his bottle. "No problem, cutie."

As the waitress walked away, she swayed her hips and glanced over her shoulder at Methos. He grinned broadly. "Now that is an attractive woman. Do you think she likes me?"

The display had no effect on Joe, who had seen Methos' barroom antics before. "Don't change the subject."

Joe just doesn't know when to leave it alone. Methos couldn't stop an edge of annoyance from creeping into his response. "The truth? I don't know what happens next. With any luck, I avoid Angel and Buffy and the whole mess, and then I go back to Paris."

"That's it?"

"What do you want? I'm not going to hunt down Angel just so he can turn me into a blood cocktail. He's not my problem anymore."

The waitress returned with his beer and a suggestive smile. Methos smiled back, but he really wasn't in the mood to pursue any conquests tonight. Too much had happened, and he just wanted to rest. Bloody vampires.

"Thanks," he said dismissively. She gave him a confused look and went on to the next table.

"So," Joe said, sipping from his glass, "exactly what was it between you and Angel? Were you friends?"

Methos looked around the bar and remembered another saloon in New Orleans 130 years ago. He remembered the young-seeming man sitting at the corner table, in the dark, suffering from the guilt of past crimes he had never had the power to prevent.

"Yeah. He was a good friend. And I'm sorry he's gone."

New Orleans, July 1863

Dr. Benjamin Adams entered the saloon and walked straight to the bar. He needed a drink, and he needed it fast. Losing patients was never easy, especially when he didn't know what ailed them in the first place. His mind methodically worked its way through all he'd read about the human body, sickness and cure, trying to find a logical answer, but there was none. I really need a drink.

The bartender, Charles, looked up from wiping the bar as Benjamin entered. He filled a mug with Benjamin's favorite beer and set it on the counter; the doctor gratefully grabbed the mug and drained it contents without a word. "What's wrong, doc?" Charles asked.

"You know Jonny Gaither?" he asked, waiting for Charles' nod. "He died about half an hour ago."

The bartender's ever-present smile fell, and he smacked the bar with his open palm. "Damn. He was a good man. What killed him?"

"Extensive blood loss through two small holes in his throat. His boy found him in the street earlier this evening, and he swears there was no blood at the scene. It's damn well impossible."

Charles shook his head in disbelief. "So, the bloodsuckers are back."

"That's a myth, Charles." Benjamin set the mug on the bar and signaled for a refill, which Charles granted.

"A myth didn't kill Jonny Gaither."

"No. A vampire did," said a man behind them.

Benjamin and Charles turned toward the voice, which originated with a man sitting in the shadows at a corner table. Benjamin squinted, trying to see into the dark, but all he could make out were the man's bright eyes.

Charles pointed at the man and nodded. "See, I told you, doc. A vampire."

Only then did Benjamin notice the presence of the man. He berated himself for being so wrapped up in his own problems that he had ignored the presence of an immortal. But if this was an immortal, he radiated a sensation unlike any Benjamin had ever met -- and that was saying a lot.

Benjamin walked toward the table, his full mug left forgotten on the bar. As he got closer, he saw that the man's skin was pale, almost translucent. This was no human. Methos' hands itched to reach under his coat, grab his sword and take this immortal's head, and it took quite a bit of control to overcome the urge and school his face into a passive expression.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man only smiled sadly and stood. "Let's take a walk," he said and left the bar without looking back to see if Benjamin would follow.

The immortal exchanged a look with Charles, shrugged and went after the pale man, who stood just outside the saloon door, hunched down in his coat. Even though the night was hot, he acted as though he were freezing. As soon as Benjamin appeared outside, the man turned and walked down the street, and the doctor almost had to run to keep up.

"Enough games," Benjamin said. "Who are you?"

The man smiled coldly. "My name is Angel, and I'm a vampire."

Benjamin's eyebrows shot up and he felt inside his coat for the cool comfort of steel. If this man decided to attack him, he wanted to be ready. "Really. Did you kill Jonny Gaither?"

"No, but I know who did. He calls himself Spike," Angel stopped and looked at the doctor, "and he will kill again."

"Why should I believe you?"

Angel shrugged. "It's up to you what you want to believe, but it's the truth."

He walked down the street, but this time, Benjamin didn't follow. If this vampire had chosen to reveal himself to the immortal, he wouldn't vanish anytime soon. Benjamin knew he could find him if necessary. Vampires. Well, I've seen stranger, I suppose.

He returned to the bar and unhitched his horse without going inside. For some reason, the beer didn't sound good anymore. Angel had given him much to think about, and he needed time to absorb the information and decide what to do next. He mounted and rode toward home, oblivious to the burning eyes of an evil vampire watching from the roof of the saloon.

Methos decided that Roger Darrow, who headed the watcher bureau for the western United States, must beat most professors on how many students he could put to sleep in 20 minutes. The lecture hardly had begun, but several watchers' eyes already had glazed over. And unlike many lecturers, Darrow didn't have the experience to realize when he was losing his audience.

"The key to tracking an immortal is to avoid detection," Darrow said. "Of those watchers who get caught by their immortal, only 40 percent survive to tell their superiors."

Methos rolled his eyes and sighed. He was certain the man had never worked a day in the field. Tomorrow's mass venture into the city would turn into a circus if all the presenters were this exciting and insightive.

In the front row of the hotel conference room, Methos noticed the back of Joe's head begin to dip forward and then shoot up as he pulled himself back from sleep. Well, at least I'm not the only one who's ready for a nap. Gods, the man is boring.

"...Now who can answer my question?" asked Darrow to a sea of blank faces. "Mr. Pierson?"

Methos snapped to attention and put on Adam's most confused, wide-eyed expression. He had tuned out whatever Darrow had been talking about with the expertise of an experienced student, and now he was on the hot spot. Adam looked at Darrow with his best impression of a child who'd been caught with his hand in the candy jar.

"Um, can you repeat the question, please?" he asked.

Darrow pursed his lips and shook his head. "What should you do when you encounter a quickening?"

Any watcher who can't figure that out is too stupid to live. "You duck for cover."

"Good. Why?"

"Because quickenings can blast just about anything to bits, and running for cover might be the only way to avoid a large scrap of wood through the heart."

"Very good. And remember, safety is the first rule..."

Methos tuned Darrow out again and settled back in his chair. Wood through the heart. I guess I know what's on my mind. He closed his eyes and replayed the previous evening's events -- the joy of seeing an old friend, the terror of facing a stronger enemy, the relief of realizing he had survived.

The logical part of his mind rationalized that he never was in any real danger because Angel didn't know how to kill him, but he had been frightened nevertheless. No, not frightened ... terrified ... haunted by the imagined feel of fangs closing around his vunerable neck. Other parts of his body were quick to heal but not the neck, the Achilles' heel of immortality.

Methos lifted one hand and moved it slowly from his chin down to the sharp collarbone as if to assure himself the skin was still smooth and unbroken. It wasn't, as he already knew. His fingers stopped when they glazed over two scars, tiny circles of rougher skin at the base of his neck -- a gift from an old foe.

"Mr. Pierson, you seem to know this material well enough that you feel comfortable ignoring me, so maybe you would enjoy teaching this class instead," Darrow said.

Methos sat up in his chair, his eyes snapping open. He recovered in an instant and once again became Adam Pierson, annoyed that Darrow had intruded on his thoughts. This man must be every student's worst nightmare. OK, old man. Time for another acting demonstration.

He smiled sheepishly and allowed an embarrassed blush to crawl up his cheeks. "Sorry, Roger. My mind seems to be elsewhere today."

"Well, bring it back here, and maybe I won't make you share your obviously important thoughts with the rest of us."

"Yes, sir."

Mehos sighed and focused his attention on the lecture. It was promising to become a long afternoon.

New Orleans

After returning to his home, a small flat above his doctor's office, Methos found that he couldn't sleep. He stared out the second-story window until dawn, his mind racing through all that had happened, trying to decide on the least painful course of action.

Fighting a vampire was out of the question, of course. If he were killed, he'd have to leave New Orleans the next morning. I'd have to give up my patients, and there would be no one to look after the slaves. I can't do that.

He realized what he had just thought and mentally kicked himself. Staying and waiting for disaster to strike sounded a lot like suicide, something that Benjamin Adams might consider but Methos never would. He rubbed his tired eyes and walked to his bed, abandoning the golden sunrise just peaking over the city. I'm beginning to think like Benjamin. Very dangerous, old man. Maybe it's time to abandon the good doctor and start over as someone with a larger sense of self-preservation.

He lay down and fell into an exhausted sleep. It seemed only minutes later that he was dragged back to consciousness by someone pounding on his front door. He looked out the window and was greeted by the last rays of sunlight vanishing to the west. He'd slept all day.

Methos groaned as he surfaced from sleep and rolled to his feet, barely noticing that he hadn't changed out of his wrinkled, sweaty clothes from the night before. He stumbled downstairs and opened the door to a panicked young man. James worked for Charles, and if he were here, that could only mean something was wrong with --

Oh, gods.

"James, what's happened?" He was fully awake now and found himself shaking the boy's shoulders. He forced himself to let go and adopt a calmer appearance, even as his mind sorted through what might have befallen his friend.

James rubbed his shoulders and tried to catch his breath. Only then did Benjamin notice the boy's face was flushed and he was panting. He must have run all the way from the saloon. The doctor pulled on every ounce of his control to keep his patience in check.

"Doctor Adams," James finally said. "You have to come to the saloon. I think Charles is dead."

Benjamin needed no more urging than that. He ran to the back of the house, unhitched his horse and mounted without bothering with saddle or bridle. Even if Benjamin did not have a reputation as an expert rider, Methos could guide the animal with only the pressure of his legs. Haste was needed now, whatever the cost to his assumed identity. He galloped away from the house, leaving James standing at the front door.

As he approached the saloon, he vaulted from the horse and ran inside. There he found his darkest thoughts come alive. Charles lay on the floor surrounded by a crowd that simply watched without a clue of what to do. Benjamin pushed his way through to the bartender and dropped to his knees, feeling for a pulse. There was none. Charles was dead.

He buried his emotions and examined the body. No visible wounds, no blood. He pulled down Charles' collar and, as he expected, found two small puncture wounds at the base of the neck.

Vampires. Angel probably had something to do with this, or his buddy Spike. Ordinarily, Methos would supress his regret and catch the next train heading north, but he felt responsible for Charles' death. He'd known what was going on and had walked away, leaving his friend to the mercy of monsters. He couldn't leave -- not until he had avenged Charles.

He shook his head at the unnecessary risk he knew he was about to take. Benjamin is rubbing off too much. After this is over, he goes into quick retirement.

Methos stood and left the saloon without a word, ignoring the dozen or so people who were waiting for his diagnosis. They would have to figure out on their own what had happened to Charles because Methos wasn't about to explain. He had a more important task; he needed to find Angel.

He didn't have to go far. As he strode into the street, he felt the unmistakable presence of what he now knew was a vampire. He turned, reaching for his sword before he realized he'd left his weapon at the house, and relaxed as he recognized the dark figure leaning against the outside of the saloon.

"Relax, doctor. I won't hurt you."

"We need to talk, in private," Methos said, dropping all pretenses as Benjamin Adams. The doctor has gotten me into enough trouble for one night.

Methos could barely make out Angel's nod. He mounted his horse and signaled for Angel to get on behind him, which the vampire did almost as smoothly as Methos. The immortal tensed at the feel of Angel's breath on his neck. Those teeth were too close for comfort. As if reading his thoughts, Angel chuckled quietly.

"Don't worry. I broke that habit years ago."

"Well, don't get any ideas." Methos swung the horse around and, after assuring himself that his passenger wouldn't fall off, galloped back to his own house. It was the only place he could think of where they wouldn't be disturbed.

Methos walked inside and began searching through the dark for a lamp. He heard Angel clear his throat and turned to see the vampire standing outside.

"You have to invite me in," Angel said. "It's one of the drawbacks of being of vampire."

Methos gave up on finding his lamp -- they'd just have to talk in the dark -- and returned to the door. "I invite you in," he said. Angel entered and walked across the room. Before Methos' eyes had time to adjust, the vampire had located the lamp, lit it and set it on the table. Both men sat down.

"Killing Charles was a warning, wasn't it?" Methos asked. "Spike is telling me to stay away."

Angel nodded. "Did it work?"

Methos decided not to share his thoughts of revenge quite yet. The two of them shared a goal in wanting to hunt Spike, but first the immortal needed to know Angel's motivations. The vampire had one shot to convince Methos, so he better make it good.

"We'll see," Methos answered carefully. "First, you tell me how you know Spike."

Methos met Angel's eyes in a battle of wills to determine who would be the first to show some trust, and Methos was damned sure it wouldn't be him. After a few tense seconds, Angel dropped his gaze to the table.

"I'm Spike's sire," he said.

"His what?"

"His sire, his maker. I turned Spike into a vampire."

Methos hissed in surprise. He almost grabbed for his sword right then but drew on his self-control and forced himself to stay seated and calm. There was more to this story, and Methos intended to find out what it was.

If Methos' sudden change of mood surprised Angel, he didn't show it. He just traced the lines of the wood grains in the table with one pale finger as he spoke, meeting the immortal's gaze once again. "I was as evil as Spike once. Worse. I killed and tortured, and I felt no regret. But then a gypsy family cursed me for killing their daughter. It restored my human soul."

This time it was Methos who looked at the table. He understood better than most the overwhelming guilt that came with a change of heart, the pain of living with an empty space inside for all the people who were dead for no reason except the pleasure of killing. He remembered those first tortured years after the Horsemen, wanting to hunt Kronos and lacking the courage to judge his former brother. He felt a strange connection to Angel through his empathy for the vampire.

"So why come to me?" he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

"You're different, stronger than any mortal I've seen. I think you have the power to ..." his voice trailed off.

"...To kill Spike," Methos finished, and Angel nodded. Well, who better than a vampire to judge the strength of a vampire killer. He made his decision. "Will you help me?"

Angel looked up and smiled slowly, sadly. Methos pitied the vampire but not enough to back off his request. He didn't stand a chance without Angel's help.

"Help me," he said quietly.

This time, Angel nodded, and Methos relaxed. "So, what do we do?" Methos asked.

"I have a few ideas," Angel said after a moment of hesitation. Then, the vampire began to describe his plan, and Methos had to admit, it just might work.

End of part 1