The vampires were definitely stalking the man. Buffy, hidden among the trees, nodded grimly to herself.

Knowing their hunting habits, she knew when they decided to jump him, and she jumped first. She landed on her feet behind them, was about to do something to distract the vampires, then abruptly reached up and knocked their heads together.

"Always wanted to do that," she grinned.

Hissing, issuing low growls, the two creatures turned on her. The Slayer sidestepped their advance, kicking one into the other so that they tumbled into a heap. She crouched and staked them, then, as the vampires dematerialized, she heard a clear whistling sound behind her.

She bobbed her head and felt a chill wind pass over her, stirring her blonde hair. A glance confirmed that it was a steel sword, gleaming with starlight, and it had been aimed at her neck. By the man she was supposedly saving.

Buffy sighed. How many times had they tried this lame setup? "Stupid vampire trick," she murmured.

She reacted almost without thought, and slammed another stake into the sword-wielder's chest.

"At least I hope you were a vampire."

But the man just looked annoyed. He suddenly swung the sword again, and Buffy had to backflip out of its deadly reach. Then it seemed to hit him all at once. His face contorted in pain and rage. His body doubled over...

...and he grasped the protruding stake with both hands and jerked it free of his chest. He threw the bloodied piece of wood at her, clasped both palms to himself in a vain attempt to stifle a sudden fountain of gore, and stumbled away.

Buffy was so frozen in shock that the new vampire who lunged at her from her left side almost had his fangs in her throat before she kicked him away. He leaped back, snarling, and they tussled for a moment until she put the red stake into him. At least this vamp knew the drill: he fell into dust and ashes instantaneously.

But when the Slayer looked up, the wounded one was gone.

*****

She was weary in body and it hurt to think when she arrived at Sunnydale High the next day. She smiled when Willow appeared and fell in step beside her. Buffy was tired of mysteries, and she was glad to have such an intelligent and inquistive friend to help Giles in the solving of them. Then the two of them could just point her at the hellspawn of the week and let her go.

"Did you have a hard day's night?" Willow asked.

Buffy sighed. "I hate it when they change the rules."

"Which rule did they change?"

"Staking. You know, I stake vampires, they dust out. Last night one yanked the stake out of his heart and threw it at me."

"That's not good."

From opposite directions, Xander and Cordelia came up. Their eyes met, then immediately separated. Still, being between them felt like being between polarized electrical fields to Buffy.

"Look, Buffy. Major babe alert!" Willow stood still, staring down the hall.

"Where?" Xander blurted. His head swivelled back and forth, not unlike a radar receiver. "Where?"

"Not your kind of babe," Willow said. "Our kind of babe."

"Oh. A guy. You know, things have really gotten confusing since you women co-opted the term 'babe'."

"And then there was that pig movie," Willow added soberly.

"Xander," Cordelia said sarcastically, "Did I just hear you say that you are experiencing sexual identity confusion?"

"No," Xander said. "That is not a thing that I am confused about. At all." He caught up to Cordelia and said low into her ear, "Neither were you confused about my sexual identity, yesterday in the closet."

He braced himself for her retort, but none was forthcoming. Cordelia had caught sight of the object of Willow's babe alert.

As had Buffy.

Buffy said, "Suddenly I feel tingly all over."

Willow said, "I'm tingling in places where I shouldn't tingle. At least not during school hours."

"You call that a babe?" Xander muttered. "What qualifies him for that? I mean, besides the shoulders, the tallness and the girly boy pony tail?"

"The shoulders," Cordelia said.

"The tallness," Willow added.

"And the pony tail," sighed Buffy. "Y'know, I'd better go see if he needs me. I mean, any help. Directions. Like that."

"Umm, Buffy? ...Angel?"

"Oh. Right. Angel." She grinned at Willow. "Okay, Will. You go get 'im."

"Yes. Right. Willow will get him. Willow the Babe Slayer, that's me." "I'll go," Cordelia cut in.

Xander could have protested but he and Cordelia weren't ready to come out of the closet.

Cordelia was back in a few momoents and addressed Buffy. "High weird factor. More up your dark alley. And, he was looking for Giles."

"Me, too."

"About what?" "A stake. It wasn't well done."

They filed into the library. Giles was deep in conversation with the tall, ponytailed man. They had one of Giles' old books opened and were poring over its musty pages intently. A research consultation, Buffy thought, although it was hard to imagine such a hunk as a librarian.

"Giles," she said, sharing a quick smile with the tall man, who didn't seem so weird to her; but then, she dated vampires. "We have to talk."

"Uh, certainly. Um, would you," addressing the other man, "mind if this student and I spoke in, uh, private?"

"Late books," Buffy said lamely.

The tall man nodded. He receded to a neutral position.

Giles frowned. "Buffy, you have never checked out a book in known history."

"We have a situation. I stuck a vampire with a stake last night. He pulled it out."

"Are you certain you had it in all the way?"

"As the cheerleader said to the gym coach," Buffy finished. "Yes. Right through the heart. It's totally slimed, see?" She partially withdrew the bloodsoaked wood from her schoolbag, concealing it from the stranger's view.

"Well," Giles mused. "Since neither a human being nor a vampire can survive a stake through the heart, this, um, person, must have been something else entirely... "

"I'll go with Something Else," Buffy said.

"Entirely," Willow agreed. "Umm, what happened next?" Giles prompted.

"He just reached up," She pantomimed the action. "Grabbed the stake and pulled it out. Oh, and he tried to get a little head. Mine. With a sword."

"A sword. Interesting." Giles turned to his tall visitor. "Uh, come here a moment, please?"

The big man strode back.

"This is, uh, Buffy Summers, the Slayer. Buffy, this is-- "

"Giles! What part of 'secret identity' don't you get?"

"Please, Buffy, relax. Mr MacLeod is familiar with Slayers."

"I've known a few," MacLeod said.

"Oo-kay," Buffy said sourly. "The rules are changing way too fast. You're telling the world that I'm the Slayer, and he knows several Slayers but I thought there can be only one-- "

"Interesting phraseology," smiled MacLeod.

" --And vampires can laugh at wooden stakes now. Wait, I get it. This is the mirror universe episode, right?"

"Oh, joy," Xander put in. "Do we get to meet Cordy's good twin?"

"Excuse me," Cordelia asked him. "Why are you breathing?"

"It helps carry oxygen to my red cells. It's a life support thing."

Giles had turned the old book around so that Buffy could see it. He pointed at a century-old rotograveure photo of two men.

"Do you recognize this person?" he asked Buffy.

She did.

"It's the guy who performed the stakeotomy on himself last night. But I thought vampires didn't photograph." She stared harder. "Wait," she said. "The other guy in here... it's you." She looked at the ponytailed MacLeod. "How old is this photo?"

"Turn of the century," Giles told her. "It was taken at the 1878 World's Fair."

"Explain, please."

"Duncan MacLeod isn't a vampire. He is an immortal. He was born in the Scottish Highlands in 1592. His entire clan is immortal, as are a few other human beings about the world. Even they aren't entirely sure why."

"So, my stake-remover last night was one these immortals?"

"Not just any one. His name is De Bromfort. He's a notorious rogue immortal. He is known to have slaughtered at least eight others of his kind."

"I thought they couldn't be killed. God, I hate it when the rules keep changing."

MacLeod took up the thread. "There is only one way to kill us. You must take our head."

"Your singulars and plurals are all mixed up," Willow said brightly.

"Sorry. The only way to kill an immortal is to take his head. When another immortal does so, he takes the life force of that person through a process called the Quickening."

"So why is this guy here, now?" Xander wondered.

"I beleive that he heard rumors of people like the Master and Spike here-- " Giles began.

"You use the word 'people' loosely," Xander said.

" -- and is unaware that they are vampires. He's investigating the possibility that they are immortals whose life force he can steal."

"He's in for a surprise," Willow said.

"No," said MacLeod. "He's had dealings with vampires before. Some of those very ones in fact." "And you're here after him," Buffy said.

"Yes. He's a dangerous killer. My Watcher sent me to-- "

"Whoa. You have a Watcher?"

"The Watchers of the immortals are a branch of the Slayer Watchers, " Giles told her.

"Hmm," murmured MacLeod. "Mine says that the Slayer Watchers are an offshoot of our Watchers."

"An obvious error. Vampires and Slayers existed long before-- "

"Um, guys, can we not launch into what I suspect is a very old and never to be resolved debate?"

"Indeed," Giles said. "We have a much more famous scientific debate to resolve."

Buffy looked warily at her friends. "Dare I ask?"

"I know," piped up Willow. "We're pitting a Slayer against an unslayable. It's the classic question of-- "

"If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?" Xander inquired.

"No," Willow frowned. "It's the one about the irresistable force meeting the immovable object!"

"Oh, that one!" Xander and Cordelia chimed simultaneously. They glared at each other.

"So, you mean this sword guy isn't dead yet?"

"Obviously not," Giles replied, and with a perfectly deadpan delivery added, "Buffy, what part of 'immortal' is it that you don't understand?"

MacLeod hung back as the young people and Giles went to work. The Watcher plunged into his books, the girl Willow into cyberspace, while the other three helped as much as they could, or sat around and brainstormed and traded quips. The Highlander was amused at the way the tall girl Cordelia kept finding excuses to wander over and talk to him.

The fourth time she did, Xander gave her dark looks.

The fifth time, he scraped back his chair and openly stared. "She's a big help," he grumbled. "She should be over here, helping with our plan."

"And Cordelia would be helping us how?" Buffy asked. "Discussing the rogue immortal's fashion sense? Making up a cheer? 'Gimme an S, L, A, Y?'"

Buffy considered Cordelia and the tall man for a moment.

"No, actually I think she may have the right idea."

"You too?" Xander choked.

"Will and Giles are studying books and Highlander websites," Buffy said. "We could be pumping the real thing for information."

They walked over and interrupted the pair. MacLeod looked like he welcomed the relief.

Xander took Cordelia by the elbow and steered her aside. "You really think he's attractive, huh?"

"I could be his love slave," Cordelia said.

"You're too young."

"Xander, Nancy Reagan is too young for Duncan."

"First name basis? It's been like fifteen minutes."

"I'm fast."

"This I know. I read it in the boy's locker room."

"Maybe I'll take him in the closet."

"So," Buffy asked. "You've met the rogue guy before?"

MacLeod nodded. "We've clashed a few times."

"Maybe if you tell us something about his past we could find something to use against him... or at least why Spike and his deadboys plan to use him against us."

"We immortals aren't prone to talking about ourselves. You're a Slayer, though... I'll talk for your ears alone, and your Watcher's."

"Works for me. Xander, Cordelia," she said. "Duncan and I have to talk."

"Why you and not us?" Xander protested.

"Yeah," Cordelia echoed.

"I have a need. To know. You don't, sorry. You guys go hide a closet or something." Xander and Cordelia exchanged looks.

"Right," they said in unison.

MacLeod heard the sounds of combat as he entered the great castle. They came from a distance.,echoed down the long passageways and fluttered through the vast main hall like a cloud of bats. He could not determine their source.

But that didn't last long. The flambeaux in the huge hall were all out. The entire castle seemed in darkness. Then, suddenly, he saw leaping flames and rearing shadows from the corridor on the right.

He unsheathed his sword and ran toward the light. Entering the passage, he almost immediately came upon stone steps leading downward. The fight was down below, he heard plainly now. The Highlander decsended the stairs at a run and came upon an amazing sight.

At first smoke from wall and handheld torches smudged his vision. Then he discerned what was going on.

A horde of armed men were attacking a lone defender. Yet, though they bore down with blades, clubs, and maces, they were being held back. The lone defender was successfully throwing them off, although outnumbered three to one.

But this was not what astounded MacLeod.

The defender was unarmed!

And was a girl!

Without thinking MacLeod hurled himself into the fight on at her side. She was not at his side long. In the first few seconds he'd run two of her attackers through. When he whirled to voice encouragement to her, she wasn't there.

The young woman had leaped forward, careening into a knot of men in a series of somersaults, deftly avoiding their slashing blades and dealing them telling blows with her bare hands and feet.

MacLeod had never seen such a fighting style before, but he had to admit it was effective. Then he felt cold steel score his face and side, and turned to face his own opponents.

He did realize who he was dealing with at first, but when he skewered a man, and that man laughed as the blade punctured his heart, he knew that these were the same pair he thought he had just killed.

Immortals? MacLeod saw no other explanation, but from his experience not even one of his own kind could take a sword in the heart --twice!-- and laugh it off, keep attacking. One way to find out. MacLeod swung his sword in a vast gleaming arc and severed the man's head.

Another, even worse shock followed. Like an immortal, the man died on decapitation. But there was no Quickening. Instead, there was a... crumbling. The man instantly turned to a cloud of charcoal-colored ash, and was no more.

MacLeod's mind raced. He instinctively knew what he faced her, but had no time to muse on it as his second erstwhile victim came at him again. Now he saw the demonic, unhuman face on the thing. Even as his instincts were confirmed, the vampire slashed the sword from MacLeod's hand and bore him backward, hideous mouth agape and sharp fangs seeking his throat.

MacLeod used the undead's own impetus against him and pulled them both to the rock floor in a struggling heap. MacLeod's right-handed iron grip was enough to hold the vampire's gnashing, snapping maw away from his neck as the Highlander desperately quested about the floor with his left for something to use as a weapon.

His fingers closed on a straight, sharpened stick of wood. He plunged that into the demon's breast. The vampire stopping wrestling, and, yet again, MacLeod's foeman turned into black dust.

Of course. When he'd come here hunting vampires, his Watcher had tried to tell him to use stakes. Not believing, he had ignored them. He should have listened.

No time for regret, for thought. The girl was still in peril. MacLeod hurled himself to his feet and saw her take out two more of the hellspawn. She used wooden stakes. The one he'd found she must have dropped.

The girl fought resolutely, the vampires slowly, reluctantly giving ground. She was forcing them back below. She still fought without weapons, using the stakes only for the killing blow. She dressed like a peasant or a gyspy, leaving her feet as well as her hands bare for the punishing, lightning-like strikes she delivered, and all amid a fascinating flury of vaults, backflips, handsprings and kicks.

Yet good as she was she didn't see the vampire rearing behind her, shifting the weighted club in his hand for a deadly blow.

And neither did the vampire see MacLeod.

The Highlander had retrieved his sword. It whipped through dark air, flinging the demon's head from his shoulders. Again, the vampire dispersed in a flutter of ash.

Then, silence. The girl was facing MacLeod, panting, breasts heaving under her shoulderless peasant shirt. The vampires were gone.

"All dead?"

"Or fled," she breathed. "Of course, they were dead to begin with." She looked at him warily. "Who are you?"

"Duncan MacLeod." He bowed. "And you. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Oh, that." She smiled a secret smile. "It is my wyrd, you could say. I am the Slayer of Vampires."

MacLeod raised an eyebrow, but made no further query. They were still in danger. "Not that I mind the help," the Slayer said. "But why are you here, MacLeod?"

"I was hunting vampires."

"Well, you've found 'em. Congratulations." She straightened her shirt, covering her breasts decorously. "And thank you. That's a nice way you have of beheading them, but you should've brought some of these." She held up one of her stakes. "Or holy water. Or at least a crucifix."

"Aye, so I was told. But I didn't truly believe. I thought I was up against... something else."

"Else?" The girl mused. "That could be. They say there's a Hellmouth 'neath this castle." She regarded him with hands set on saucy hips. "Still, you did well. Takes great skill and swiftness to take their heads, it does."

"I'm used to it."

"Glad I am of it. You'd been a moment late, and I'd've been one of them, attacking you too."

MacLeod winced. It seemed that all the fanciful tales he'd heard of vampires seemed to be true.

"Well, you'd best be gone. I've a nest of bloodtakers to roust. I can't do that and protect you, too."

"No. I can't let you go down there alone. It's too dangerous."

She shrugged. "Nobody lives forever."

"Hmm."

*****

Since the girl would not leave with MacLeod, his only recourse was to go with her. Borrowing some of her stakes he struck them into his swordbelt. Down drafty, darkened tunnels they went to a wide place where sickly white lichen covered the walls. Save for the scuffling of their own feet the stillness was absolute.

The unlikely pair finally came to a blank wall. Wherever the entrance to the vampires' domain was, it was well-hidden. They searched for seeming hours and came up empty.

Emerging into a night fair spattered with stars, the girl sighed.

"I will have to consult my Watcher, and see if he has any notion of how to uproot them now."

MacLeod started at the term.

They came to a large mountain-hid town after several hours walk. Dawn was tinting the distant peaks red. The Slayer led MacLeod through streets where early cocks crowed and people just began to stir.

She knocked upon the door of a rundown-looking apothecary shop. A guant man in spectacles cautiously let them in.

"This is Sperry, my Watcher," the girl said.

MacLeod peered about. For a pharmacy, the place seemed to hold more books than vials and bottles. A second, rotund man in merchant's attire perched upon a stool at one table.

"Ah, Duncan," he said with slight sarcasm. "Do you believe now?" MacLeod scowled. He looked at the girl and waved a hand at the merchant. "Peter," he said. "My Watcher."

The girl was suddenly wary. "Your Watcher? What are you?"

"No Slayer," grinned Peter. Eyeing the lass's dishelved bodice and revealed ankles, "He doesn't have the equipment."

She blushed.

"There are two sects of Watchers," Sperry told her. "Those who watch the Slayer, and those who watch the... immortals."

"Immortals?"

"Suffice to say that MacLeod, here, is... older than he looks."

"Yet not a vampire or demon," MacLeod's man added. "The immortals are human beings who cannot be killed. Generally they don't bother ordainary folk, being content to duel each other for the dubious priviledge of being the only one left. At least, they don't bother people since we Watchers organized ourselves to keep a rein on them."

"Actually, the immortal-Watchers are an offshoot of the Slayer-Watchers," Sperry began.

"It is exactly the other way around," Peter insisted.

"No. There were vampires before there were immortals, so obviously we were first..."

"Nonsense." Peter again took in the girl's obvious charms. "I'll not argue that you have the more enviable duty. Care to trade?"

This time the girl did not blush. She straddled a chair facing the two men.

"Look. We can fuss all day about who's the chicken and who's the egg, or we can get down to business. Sperry, we need answers. Why are the vampires here and what do they want? Why is MacLeod here?"

MacLeod admired the girl's firmness. In more ways than one, he noted to himself. "Yes. I need to know what's going on."

"The vampires are here because there is a Hellmouth. They are here now because they are gathering to plan something very evil and very dangerous."

"More evil and dangerous than usual?" the Slayer wondered.

"Much. A vampire leader has called them to plan... a pact. A legion of the undead. Vampires are bad enough operating alone or in small satrapys. If he succeeds we will have for the first time an organization of vampires to deal with. Perhaps worlwide."

"And still only one Slayer," she muttered. "And MacLeod?"

"Peter is tracking a rogue immortal. A man named Rivalino de Bromfort. We belive that the vampires are consulting with him to learn what they can from the immortal community."

"I've heard the name," said MacLeod. "He must be mad to ally with the undead."

"He is relatively safe," put in Peter. "No one is certain what a effect a vampire's bite might have on an immortal."

"And no one, especially the vampires, is anxious to find out. It might create an invincible new breed of demon from which not even they would be safe."

"This gets better and better," said the Slayer dryly.

Ignoring her, Sperry continued, "If we can break up this gathering, discredit this would-be vampire king, we can stop them from organzing. Or at least delay it, perhaps for centuries."

"Aye." the Slayer tossed her head. "I'd rather face 'em now, than once they've massed."

"And MacLeod is here to take out de Bromfort."

The girl grinned at MacLeod. "Oh, he can help with the bloodsuckers, too. He's keen on taking their heads."

"Well, of course he is, girl. That's the only one one immortal can kill another."

The Slayer looked at the Highlander with shock, and then new respect.

"Well, MacLeod," she smiled. "Let's get a breakfast and then we can get laid. Get our plans laid."

"Aye, our plans," said MacLeod. He enjoyed the beautiful way she blushed.

*****

Darkness was falling. MacLeod awoke. He gently caressed the raven hair of the girl nestled in his arms and smiled. The blankets were strewn about and MacLeod watched the soft rise and fall of her pink-nippled breasts above his bare arm. He tried to arise first but their legs were hopelessly tangled. He would have to wake her.

He kissed her brow, brushing aside stray strands of her lovely hair. Then his mouth again found hers.

"Duncan?" She murmured into his kiss. "Mornin' a'ready?"

"No. Night. It's time to be up."

"Oh. Sacred virgin! I've got to get out of here."

"You're safe," he said.

"Aye, from vampires. From demons. From Satan himself I'd reck, but not from Sperry."

"What'll your Watcher do? Your personal life is not his domain."

"Then your Watchers aren't like my Watcher. What he will do is punish me."

"Punish you how?"

"He'll lecture me for hours. Days. Take away privlidges like shopping the village mall. I must get abed, my own bed, before he finds me."

She scrambled to her feet, no longer the least shamed by her nakedness in front of MacLeod, and shrugged into a long nightshirt. Then she was out his window and into her own.

Sperry was standing in her room, looking nonplussed.

"Ah. G'day, Sperry. I was just outside, practicing my striking and kicking. I feel ready to slay scads of vampires."

"You may have to. I'll call MacLeod."

"Oh, he's awake. Naked still.... "

"Hmm?"

"Naked. Steel. He's got naked steel. Vampires beware."

"Ah. He is good at taking heads?"

"Taking?"

"You are acting most strange this evening," Sperry noted. "Nervous?"

"Anxious. Eager." She shrugged. "You know me. I really love slaying. The more to slay the happier I am."

"Then you will be ecstatic tonight," her Watcher said.

"I was."

When they were seated around the table, Sperry and Peter began arguing about strategy. MacLeod and the girl exchanged dismayed looks.

"Here's a plan," she said. "Duncan and I go in. We kill everything in sight. Then we emerge, go home and get in bed." She glanced at the Watchers. "I in... mine and he... in his. As we did this morning. No more vampires, no more vampire king, no more legion."

"That isn't a plan," Peter said. "It's suicide."

"Yes. We need to have a detailed order of attack... " "If we go with them, we'll still be planning while the bloodsuckers are overrunning the world," the Slayer told MacLeod.

"Aye."

"I'll distract 'em," she grinned. To Sperry, "Let Peter plan it. After all, his Watchers came first."

"Our Watchers came first!"

"Not so," Peter asserted. "We were old when-- "

"That'll keep 'em busy," the Slayer whispered. "Let's go."

They rose and made for the door.

"Wait," said the girl. "Who is the rabble rouser?"

"Hmm?" Sperry wondered.

"The vampire who would be king, Do we know his name?"

"Not certain. He is known only as the Master, or the Vampire King. There are many notorious vampires present. Angelus is one, but he hasn't such delusions. There are rumors that a very old, very powerful vampire is here as well. I've been reading up on him and he does fit the description. He is here with his new protege."

"And this leech's name is?"

"You haven't met him before."

"Spit it out!"

"His name is LaCroix."

Alone together, MacLeod and the Slayer had crept to the crest of a hill overlooking the site of the castle.

"Are there any innocents inside?" MacLeod wondered.

"No. Sperry says the bloodsuckers took over the castle and killed or brought across everyone within."

"So your plan's sound. Kill everyone within."

"Aye. Save deBromfort for me. I made need the strength I'll take from the Quickening to fight our way out."

"Fine. Save the Craw guy for me."

They had descended to the level where they'd met the vampires the previous night. There was still no sound or sign of life... or unlife.

Then something rustled behind and above them. A form was descending the stairs.

The Slayer drew a stake from her bodice. But MacLeod gripped her wrist and placed a finger to his lips.

"Take to the shadows. Let him pass."

"And he'll lead us to the Hellmouth," she agreed. "Sensible."

A young-looked man with wavy blond hair, dressed in a dark suit and a long, red-lined cloak, went down the steps, pausing only momentarily, as if to sniff the air, as he neared the couple's hiding place. Then he seemed to dismiss his doubts and went on.

Soundlessly, Highlander and Slayer unwrapped themselves from deeper darkness and followed. In the huge, lichen-lit vault the vampire did not hesitate. He strode straight up to the impenetrable-looking wall, then crouched and placed a palm against a small identation near the floor. Stone ground like a giant millwheel and a crack opened. The vampire slipped within. After a beat, MacLeod and the Slayer followed. He peered into the hole and saw dim reflected torchlight from deeper down. They entered, found yet another rank of netherward-winding stairs and went down.

When they made the ground level all was still dark. The firelight reflected from somewhere beyond, from down a narrow tunnel. A sudden movement startled them. They hid behind a natural pillar of stone and waited.

"DeBromfort," MacLeod mouthed silently.

The rogue immortal stepped out of the tunnel and walked purposefully toward another opening in the wall opposite. He was alone.

When the man was out of sight within, MacLeod said, "I'll take him first. Wait for me. Don't start anything without me. The Quickening will lend me power and then I'll help you destroy this rathole."

"Okay. But if a horde of vamps comes up from that tunnel I can't promise I'll twiddle my thumbs."

He started away.

"MacLeod. Duncan." The girl ran to him and held him. She looked up and planted a deep. passionate kiss upon his mouth, her body yearning against him.

"Maybe there can be only one of me and only one of you," she stuttered. "But maybe there can be one of the two of us. I mean," she finished, confused. "Come back."

"I will. Some of us do live forever, you know."

The Slayer waited while the Highlander faded into the black. She pulled a stake free and played with it grimly.

A Slayer's senses are unusually keen... usually. But this one must have been distracted by thoughts of MacLeod. When the vampire tapped her on the shoulder she never felt it coming. She was so surprised she almost lost her weapon. Still, she recovered, raised the stake above her head.

"Go ahead," she told him. "Try something."

He held up a hand to quiet her. Mistaking it for an attack, she brought the stake down hard. The vampire ducked, caught her, and wrenched it from her fist.

No problem, she thought, preparing to fell him with a kick while she dug for another stake. Then something in his eyes stayed her. She did not know how she knew, or why she cared, but he wanted to talk to her and she listened.

"I won't hurt you," the vampire said. "I haven't much time to talk. I need your help. Some of us don't want this legion of the undead thing to go ahead."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. The Vampire Slayer. My name is Nicholas. I haven't been undead for long compared to most of them. LaCroix himself brought me across, but I can't agree to his plan."

"Why not?" She let her suspicion flare. "You drink blood too, don't you?"

"Yes," he said. Was that... was that remorse she saw in his deep eyes?

"A united front of vampires is not good for anyone," Nicholas told her earnestly. "It's not good for humanity, and it's dangerous for us. We must move by night, in secret, in the shadows. This would put us out in the open. Mankind would rally against us, hunt us down, destroy us."

Trying to still her anxious heart, the girl said sarcastically, "Not good for us Slayers either. I'd be out of a job."

"I can help you. I, and some of the others, want this thing stopped here, now. I can take you to the ringleaders, help hold off the rival faction while you take them out."

"How noble. Are you a vampire knight, then, Nicholas?" But after a beat, "I may be a fool, but I believe you." His eyes.... "But one wrong move, you even bare your fangs at me, and you're dust."

"So be it," Nicholas said. "I'm not even sure that would be a bad thing. But I do ask one thing of you, Slayer."

She shot him a dark, questing glance.

"Let LaCroix go. He is with their master, but he is my Sire. He brought me across. I would have you spare him."

"No compromises." She was stubborn. "Slaying is what I do. I'm a Slayer, not a Vampire Sparer."

She planted her hands on her hips and stared at him.

"In fact," she added, half-teasing, half-serious. "When all else is done, look to yourself, Nicholas. You act like a good vampire, but the only good vampire is a dead one."

"Very well. Follow me. girl. I'll take you you the command post."

"My companion... "

"Will find you. He is not a Slayer. Let him take out the other."

They entered the tunnel from which issued the torchlight. It came from around a bend ahead. Nicholas pulled her aside. She felt a draft that issued from a thin fissure in the tunnel wall. "This leads directly into the private chamber of the King's council of vampires. You go in and I'll engage the leader of the masters' faction."

"And who would that be?"

"Angelus," Nicholas said. "That is one who will never be a good vampire."

She squeezed her slim form through the narrow opening and found rock pressing against her body from all sides. She grunted and squirmed forward. Only someone as slender as a Slayer, or as gaunt as a bloodsucker, could force her way through here.

Was it a trap? Somehow, against all reason, she trusted Nicholas despite her strongly honed Slayer senses.

Or because of them? A Slayer was supposed to have an unerring sense that led her to vampires and sharpened her in battle. She depended upon her senses. Should she doubt them now, when they told her that this Nicholas was not the enemy?

She saw light ahead and held her breath. Still, her heart sounded like thunder in her breast as she leaned forward and peered into the empty council room.

Empty. No vampires were there, no one, nothing. Only some low-burning candles that guttered toward extinction.

Had she been after all a fool to believe in Nicholas?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. An empty room was not a trap. She squeezed out of the wall-crack and stood in the quiet and deserted room, one hand on her knee, one on her heaving bosom.

The door opened.

It was Nicholas.

"Damn," he muttered. "I should have known."

"What?" the girl asked, newly wary.

"They're gone. They're all gone. I bypassed a couple of vampires standing guard outside, but the main mass has gone. Hunting."

"What are you pulling, Nicholas?" The Slayer looked at him with darkly blazing eyes. "Luring me here so your masters would have free run of the town? How many people are dying because I followed you?"

To her surprise, pain flared in his sad, soft eyes. All her senses told her that he was not acting. He felt real grief, real horror. Real guilt. Things she'd never hoped to see in a bloodsucker.

"I didn't know," he began.

"I know. I... believe you." She strode to him, placed a hand on his sleeve. "But what do we do now? I can't chase hordes of vampires all over the countryside."

"I know how helpless you must feel. Still, this is only the beginning of what an organized society of vampires will be like. Human beings herded like cattle."

"I have to stop it."

"We. You, me and MacLeod."

She glanced at him. "How do you know his name?" Suspicion reared again.

"I met him. After he almost beheaded me, we spoke. His quarry, this immortal deBromfort, is gone too. Your Highlander took after him once I'd explained that you were safe. He'll be back."

"Okay," she decided. "What's the plan?"

"You hide in my quarters. When the vampires return, we go back to square one. That, at least, works to our advantage. They'll... be gorged and lazy, and even though we can live underground during the day, they'll be somewhat weaker than by night."

"Aye," She tried to keep her mind off of what, whom, they would be gorged on. From the sorrow in his voice when he said that, she realized that Nicholas was as apalled as she. As they entered his quarters, she also understood that each of they two bore their own guilt. She, because she could not save the victims; he, because he was one with the killers.

"What about you?" she asked. "Don't you have... to feed?"

Nicholas looked at her. "As infrequently as possible."

"But you... do."

"When I can hold off the, the bloodlust no longer."

She saw how it hurt him to admit it, and was satisfied that at least he was not going to feed tonight, so she dropped the subject. She wondered if slaying Nicholas were doing him a kindness.

"Get some rest," he told her. "You'll need your strength, and it's a long night... "

A long killing night, neither said aloud. A forever night.

Not believing what she was doing, she climbed into a vampire's bed and drew the sheets over her. Nicholas sat on the side of the bed, prepared to watch the night through and awake her before danger returned.

The girl turned toward him and ran a hand gently down his back.

"What's it like," she asked him. "Being a vampire."

"Lonely. There is power, there is eternity. But for some there is remorse and helplessness and longing."

"For?"

"Real death? Real life? I don't know. What's it like, being a Slayer?"

"Lonely," she said.

Nicholas turned to her. He bent his mouth to her warm, alive neck, and she did not struggle in the least. She knew she was safe in his arms.

She knew he wouldn't bite.

Nicholas and the girl awoke with a simultaneous start. They both knew through different sets of senses that the respite was ended. The vampire legions were returning. They roused, dressed, and the Slayer took up her weapons.

Nicholas took her face in his hands and gave her one last, long kiss and caress before she ran to hide in the fissure that led to the masters' council.

The vampire walked into the main hall as the hordes began pouring in from the castle above.

They each stared at him with their faces contorted, fangs agape, chins smeared with red. The clawlike hands of many dripped with blood and gore.

A tall, blackhaired vampire clasped Nicholas on the shoulder, and laughed even as his demonic aspect muted itself into more human contours.

"Sorry you had to pull guard duty, Nick," he said. "Hope you had time to slip out for a quick one."

"Not exactly quick, Angelus," Nicholas muttered.

"Well, I've made it up to you. Two farm girls, budding and buxom, eyes like frightened does. Brought 'em both across. They'll be by to see us both presently."

Nicholas avoided Angelus' dark eyes. He, and all the other vampires, looked so satisfied with themselves that it made Nicholas sick.

"And hey, you know what? Heard there's a Slayer in town, too. Didn't see her, but I hear she is a real beauty. Maybe we should hunt her one night, huh?"

"That might be dangerous."

"No mere girl scares me, friend."

"There's a reason she's called the Slayer."

"Ha. Maybe I'll seduce the wench before I kill her," Angelus pondered. "That'd be something, eh? A vampire with a Slayer?"

"Ah, Nicholas, my boy." The two vampires looked around as Nicholas' Sire, LaCroix, came in. "What a lovely dark mood everyone is in, don't you think?"

Nicholas stared back. "I don't like it. They're all so full of themselves."

"Actually, they're full of the townsfolk," Angelus guffawed. "And so am I. I need a nap. See you this evening, Nick. We'll look up those newly-made wenches. Or maybe our little Slayer."

LaCroix stared at Angelus' retreating back.

"Truth to tell, Nicholas, I see what you mean. Angelus had better think twice about taking on a Slayer. I wouldn't advise you to play with her, either."

"Play with the Slayer?" Nicholas mumbled guiltily.

"I know," LaCroix hissed.

Nicholas looked up with terror beginning to brew in his eyes.

"Yes," LaCroix said. "You were going to go looking for the Slayer with Angelus. Don't do it. You're too new. I don't want you dead after mere decades."

"I won't," Nicholas said. "On that, at least, you have my word."

LaCroix went off toward the council room, where the master of vampires waited. Nicholas knew what was about to happen. He feared for his Sire's safety, but otherwise things could not be working out better. With most of the vampires bloated and sleeping it off, the Slayer could slay the leaders and stand a good chance of escaping without having to battle the entire horde. Especially with Nicholas watching her back. Not all the vampires would be eliminated, but the legion would be broken, the very idea of a vampire society discredited for perhaps centuries to come, and the aspiring vampire kings slain.

Nicholas felt pity for LaCroix. LaCroix was not the master here. He had no aspirations of ruling a vampire elite, only of being a part of it. With a sigh, Nicholas knew that he would end up watching both the Slayer's and LaCroix's backs.

And if the battle came down to the two of those, whom would he aid?

He hoped it wouldn't.

LaCroix went into the chamber totally unprepared for what met him. The vampire king and his fellow masters were locked in combat with a raven-haired young woman in a peasant skirt. Even as LaCroix entered she seemed to fly through the air, kicked one of them in the head and fell on him wielding a stake. It hit his heart, and the undead fell to dust.

The girl backflipped away from her victim and landed on her feet. A second one bore down on her, snarling, claws outstretched, but she threw a stake and took him down in a cloud of ash as well. LaCroix thought he knew what a Slayer was and what she could do but this wench astounded and horrified him.

He backed out the door and cried, "Nicholas! Angelus! Rouse the legions!"

Angelus tried to focus his muddled mind on the tableau. Nicholas unobtrusively moved between Angelus and LaCroix.

"The Slayer is here!" screamed LaCroix.

Abruptly, Angelus shook his head clear. He suddenly saw his chance. The Slayer was decimating the masters. If he could take her out, he'd have their respect and their gratitude. He would be a noble in the new order. He charged toward the room.

And Nicholas, too, saw things breaking his way. Angelus, attacking the Slayer instead of alerting the legion, kept most of the others unaware, out of the fray until it might be too late. And Nicholas acted as if he were protecting LaCroix, stepping into Angelus' path to seize his Sire, pretended to inadvertently collide with Angelus.

The three vampires fell in a tangle of limbs and cloaks.

Then another vampire, emerging from the sleeping rooms, stood transfixed as he saw what he was getting into. The tall, gaunt, bald form hung back, watching as the fight with the Slayer spilled out into the main hall.

The Slayer stared at the three surviving undead from the council room. One of these was the would-be king.

She feinted in their direction. Two of them moved automatically to protect the other. Ah-ha, Your Majesty, she thought gloatingly.

She flipped forward and elbowed the two lesser leaders out of the way. Her stake trembled in her hand as she drew her arm back for the killing stroke.

"Save me!" shrieked the Master-King. "A royal title to the vampire who kills her!"

This spurred Angelus to his feet.

Nicholas reached to stop him.

LaCroix grasped Nicholas by his cloak and held him back.

"Don't-- Nicholas-- You'll only get in his way!"

Nicholas wrested himself free.

"No-- Nicholas-- Let Angelus have her. You're my child. You'll have a royal post."

Angelus hissed a bloodcurdling snarl at the Slayer. He was inches from her.

Nicholas lunged.

LaCroix caught his cloak again. Nicholas tripped, fell.

He stared up, terrified.

Angelus plowed into the Slayer, fangs wide.

She casually backhanded him away and drove the stake deep into the Vampire King's heart.

The King went to dust.

Angelus rolled on the ground, barely conscious.

The Slayer sauntered over to Nicholas and LaCroix.

Nicholas moved instinctively to protect his own master.

The Slayer met the fear in LaCroix's eyes with a saucy stare.

"It's not good to be king," she said.

Then she fixed Nicholas with a sad, grim look that said, This isn't for him, Nicholas. If I tried to kill LaCroix, you'd have to stop me and I'd have to slay you. Maybe there's a reason to have a good vampire exist.

"You... bitch," Angelus was moaning, still too wounded to get to his feet. "You cost me... a lot."

"I'm walking out of here," the Slayer said. "Your little sewing circle is shut down. But I'll be around. When you're out hunting innocent people, I'll be right behind you. The Slayer will be breathing down your backs."

She turned away, then spun back and said merrily, "You remember breathing, don't you?"

While her back was turned to the entranceway, a dark and silent form had slipped in, some latecomer from the hunt. He lunged out of darkness for her even before Nicholas saw him.

His head went spinning across the vault before it, like his body, turned to ash. The Slayer turned to see the Highlander.

"A little slow that time?"

"I knew you were going to do that."

The gaunt bald vampire slipped unnoticed out of the room. That idiot, he thought. He didn't deserve to be master. Letting himself be slain by a mere girl. I'd make a better leader. Someday I'll find another Hellmouth. Then they'll follow me. Then I'll be the Master.

"Revenge... " Angelus cursed again. "Get you... Bitch."

"You're getting boring. Hey, Highlander, shall I slay just this one more before we go?"

"He's pathetic. Let him live." MacLeod was not interested in sparing vampires, but he was interested in getting himself and the girl out of here before the entire vampiric legion realized how badly they outnumbered the pair.

"We-ell," she sighed. "Just this once. But we'll meet again. All of you. I'm the Slayer and you'll meet me again. When you least expect it."

"Get you," Angelus mumbled again. "Get you. All your family, all your friends. One by one. Then you."

"Get over it," the girl said. "You'd better think twice before you come after Drusilla, the Vampire Slayer."

Buffy was silent when MacLeod finished. She had learned things she'd never have wished to learn. Things she wanted to forget but never would.

"So, um, what happened to deBromfort? I guess he got away."

"When I left the castle that night I never found him, but I did encounter several vampires. I... urged some of them to talk before they died, and what I pieced together told me that deBromfort had learned that there were both a Slayer and another immortal active in the area, and he fled, giving up on the vampire legion as a lost cause. I've run into him since, but he's always managed to escape."

"Cowards are good at that. Escaping," Buffy murmured, not really listening. She just wanted to get away, to be alone.

"Uh, Buffy, it's, um, dark."

Giles stood behind her.

"We were unable to figure out what the rogue immortal wants in Sunnydale," he apologized. "But, uh, it seems fairly obvious that he's seeking some sort of power from the Hellmouth. Something to do with your sort's, " addressing MacLeod, "uh, obsession with being the only one."

"I've found some of his notes in personal journals, over the years," MacLeod said. "It's something he's been considering since that first alliance of his with vampires. He may be ready finally to try it."

"And that would be what?" Buffy asked.

"No immortal has ever been brought across by vampires. As I said, both sides were afraid of the result. But deBromfort has been rogue for centuries. And from your description of this Spike, he may be just mad enough, and deBromfort just desperate enough, to do it."

"That would not be nice," Willow said.

"No. That would not."

"So we need to stop them before he turns into Superdemon," Xander agreed.

"It may already be too late," said Giles.

"Or, after," Xander amended.

"How do we find them?" asked Willow.

"What, there isn't a Superdemon website yet?" Buffy bit back.

Willow looked crestfallen.

"Sorry, Will. You're invaluable. But I'm afraid that this time there's no substitute for good, old-fashioned vampire hunting."

"You've told me about Spike," MacLeod asked Giles. "Are there any other major vampires in the vicinity?"

"Well, there's-- " Willow began. Buffy gave her a poke. "Not too many," Willow finished brightly.

"I'll explain later," Buffy mouthed to Willow.

"Good," MacLeod grunted. "Then Buffy and I will take opposite ends of the town and meet in the middle."

"Cordelia and I will look in every closet," Xander nodded.

"And Giles and I will... Stay here and sit on our thumbs. As usual," added Willow. "Or not. Maybe I'll search for the Superdemon website. You can never tell."

*****

"I've never felt more alive!" deBromfort crowed, strutting ahead of Spike, Drusilla, and a small knot of vampires through the park.

"Well, you're not," Spike said sourly. "So get over it, will you?"

"Am I not? I am an immortal, I cannot die. Now that I've been brought across, I don't know what I am. Not dead, because only losing my head can kill me, and I haven't. Not alive, because I am a vampire with all a vampire's power. Not undead, because pointy wooden sticks can't kill me, nor holy water scald me, nor sunfire melt me. Perhaps not even decapitating can kill me."

"It kills vampires, don't it?" Spike said. "And it kills immortals. It should sure as hell kill you, if you're both."

"Am I both? Or either? I am more!"

"If you keep up this damnable gloating, I'd be willing to try the experiment and see if severe head loss does you in."

"Do it, darling," Drusilla begged in singsong tones. "Do it for me?"

"That would defeat the purpose," Spike told her. "Which is," He turned to deBromfort. "To slay the Slayer. I do wish she'd show." To Drusilla, "After that, perhaps we'll do the decapitation thing."

"You can try," DeBromfort growled. "Who knows what I'll do then? Make myself Master of vampires, humans and immortals if I wish. Who could stop me?"

Spike eyed the immortal warily. He hoped he hadn't gone too far with this thing.

One of his vampire scouts came hustling up.

"Mortals up ahead. Three people, sitting on a blanket in the wood, enjoying the night air. What do they call it, a midnight picnic?"

"I call it a picnic," Spike said. "Perhaps their screams will bring the Slayer. Go do it."

"But I thought," cooed Drusilla, "That we were supposed to present the image of a normal family out for a late stroll?"

"Image," said Spike, "Is nothing. Obey your thirst," he told the vampires.

They massed ahead of the three and scurried after the scout. "Oh, and bring something back for Dru, will you?"

The vampires strode up to the picnickers boldly. As they advanced they let their faces transmute into demons. The three victims turned and saw them.

"God!" Cordelia screamed.

"Okay, bait's outta here," Xander yelled.

"Slaytime!" Buffy snarled.

She was a flurry of fists, feet and stakes as she plowed through the vampires' ranks. She did not intend to waste time. There was bigger game tonight.

In seconds the vampires were dusted and Buffy stood, arms cocked for further fighting.

"Come out, come out, whatever you are," she sang.

DeBromfort roared out of the blackness, huge, overwhelming, terrifying. He gave a wordless "Aaarrghhh!" of rage. His arms, legs and torso seemed to swell, shredding his seams.

"I don't like you when you're angry," Buffy commented. She kicked him in the gut.

At least it looked like a gut. It felt like an anvil.

As, she decided, would that fist if she let it hit her. She backpedalled out of its way.

"Ooh," Drusilla sighed. "'E's going to splatter her."

Spike tugged her aside. "Not for your tender eyes, luv," he said, drawing into the cover of the trees. He knew he shouldn't have brought her, exposed her to danger, despite deBromfort's confidence in himself. The Slayer had a knack for turning things about, and, even if she didn't, who knew what deBromfort might do after he'd finished her?

The immortal was a loose cannon.

Buffy hit the ground in a shoulder roll, came up at the giant's feet. She slammed a stake into his chest.

"Last time, that hurt me," he said. "I spent a while healing. Scar's still there."

This time, Buffy noted, he didn't even bother removing it.

She was in trouble.

"This time there's gonna be a scar. Where your head used to be." He lunged forward and caught her in a punishing, cruel grasp. She felt his meaty fingers close on the side of her face, one of them half in her mouth. He was going to rip her head off. With his bare hands. No, he was still holding her arms pinned. With one bare hand.

"Put her down," MacLeod's voice echoed in the dark. The gleam of his lifted blade reflected moonlight.

"Who's this now?" Spike muttered. "You didn't tell me you'd invited friends." He kept Drusilla behind him, out of sight.

"Bah!" DeBromfort threw Buffy at MacLeod. The pair fell down, the bright blade arced up, then back at them. Buffy caught it before it impaled either of them.

She stood up, whirling the blade like a master.

"Huh. Didn't know I could do that," she said.

"What are you going to do?" gasped MacLeod, winded, on the ground.

"What do you think? Carve a B on his forehead?"

"Useless!" MacLeod yelled. "Only one immortal can destroy another."

"I'm a Slayer," Buffy exulted. "I can kill anything, if that's your idea of a good time. "And, " she added, "LaLaLaLaLaLaLA!" as she somersaulted into the air, slicing the giant's thick neck with the sword.

Xander said, "Battle on, Buffy." She landed, doubled over, breathing hard.

"That was rough," she said. "Okay, Duncan, here's your. Broken. Sword."

The giant stretched his impossibly muscled arms into the sky, roaring in triumph. His impossibly-still-attached head reared back with triumphant laughter. "Yes!" He said. "I cannot be killed. I am the first true immortal." He turned toward MacLeod, who rose to face him. "And the last. In the end, there can be only one."

Two new figures ran into the glen. Willow jumped as she ran past Drusilla and Spike hiding at the trees' end. Giles shouted advice to Buffy. "I think we've deduced the method," he gasped. "It requires simultaneous dual action on the part of-- "

"Buffy!" Willow interrupted. "In the end there can be only one, but it takes two to tango! Sorry, Giles. We didn't have all night."

Buffy glared at MacLeod. He looked hard at her.

Buffy slid into action, tossing MacLeod the half of his severed sword that was still in the hilt, and jerking out another wooden stake. She tumbled three times through the night air toward the raging superimmortal. "Gimme an S!" Willow yelled.

MacLeod stood and hefted what remained of his blade. There remained a goodly length. He ran at DeBromfort and swung the sword at the giant's head.

Buffy hit the ground in front of the hulk and ducked under his reaching arms. She swung the stake, paused, watched MacLeod and at the same instant that the Highlander's blade hit the monster's neck the Slayer's stake pierced his heart.

The head flung itself loose, rolling over and over after it hit the ground. Buffy and MacLeod danced back to avoid the body as it hit the ground like a felled oak.

"We should keep the head separated from the, uh, torso," Giles suggested. "He may have some enhanced healing ability even above that of normal immortals. Oh."

"I don't think that's a worry, Giles," Buffy said as both head and torso blackened and disintigrated into ash.

"He was both a vampire and an immortal," Giles said unnecessarily. "It took both a Slayer and an immortal to finish him."

"That's what I told her," Willow said.

"Are Cordelia and Xander safe?" Giles asked.

The couple emerged from the opposite side of the woods where they had been watching the fight. Xander was holding up a piece of cardboard that had 9.9 scrawled upon it.

Cordelia flashed her eyes at MacLeod, showing him a card that read, 10.

"Let's go," Xander said. "Lick our wounds." To Cordelia he low-voiced, "I'll lick yours if you'll lick mine."

"You don't have any wounds," Cordelia said. "Now Duncan, there, looks like he could use some licking."

"You guys go," Buffy murmured softly. "I'll stay here and clean up."

"But-- "

"Go," Buffy said firmly.

Spike whirled about. "That damned Slayer, she-- " He squinted. "Dru? Drusilla?"

The vampiress was not behind him.

"Oh, no." Spike backtracked the way they had come to the clearing, mad with worry.

Drusilla could not be left alone, outside. She was quite too insane to fend for herself. If the Slayer didn't get her, she'd run into the police, or wander around until the sun came up, or something.

Buffy looked up. Something white hung at the edge of the clearing. It hovered in and out of the trees.

"I knew a Slayer, once," said a sad, singsongy voice.

Buffy stared at Drusilla. Wordless, she watched as the vampire girl stepped out of the wood and hesitated.

"An' that man that was here," she sighed. "I knew him once. Real well."

Buffy could not speak, could not move. Her hands didn't even reach for a stake as Drusilla drifted up to her. She touched Buffy lightly on the head, and ran her slim fingers caressingly through Buffy's hair.

"Pretty hair. Beautiful. Almost like gold," she sang.

She put her head forward until their faces almost touched.

"You be careful, luv," she whispered. "Don't let us get you."

Then she let go and backed away.

"I knew a Slayer, once," she crooned.

Then she was gone. Buffy still made no move to stop her.

Spike sighed in relief as he saw Drusilla. She was behind him, returning from the clearing. How the devil had he missed her the first time?

"Come home," Spike told her. "It's almost dawn. You should never go off alone. The Slayer could have found you."

"The Slayer?" Drusilla said absently. She dropped her head onto Spike's shoulder, and the two walked home.

That night, Buffy dreamed about Drusilla. Only it was an odd, scary dream. Their places were reversed. Buffy found herself stalking Xander and Willow. She followed them through dark corridors, like the high school's but distorted.

When she caught up with her friends they turned and screamed.

Why? What did Buffy want from them?

Drusilla appeared between Buffy and her prey. She raised both her arms in defense. In one hand she held a long, wooden object.

Buffy awoke in a cold sweat. When she calmed down, she thought about the dream.

If their roles were reversed, she knew what she would want the other to do. She would want the thing that had taken her place to be destroyed.

She prayed that when the moment came, she would have the strength to grant another that much respect.

- FIN -