OoSooM-Ch.7

It had been three days, and no one was doing anything about getting back home to fight and take it back.

“Luv, if you don't stop pacing, you'll wear a hole in the floor,” Methos told her. “And I'm sure falling twenty feet to the forest floor would smart.”

Buffy gave him a glare that had sent many demons shrieking into the night.

The Slayer gave him a predatory look. “Oh, yeah. Killing you a few times sounds like fun.”

Retrieving her katana from beneath the bed, Buffy smirked. “C'mon, Old Man. I've been itching for a good fight.”

Picking up his Ivanhoe, Methos smiled. “Well, that's a wish easily granted,” he said. “After you, luv,” he told her, sweeping his arm in a gesture for her to precede him out of the house.

“And you say romance is dead,” Buffy shot over her shoulder as she walked outside, heading for flat ground.

Legolas' curiosity piqued as he watched Buffy and Methos stride past him, swords drawn.

What on Middle Earth are they up to? He wondered, setting aside the arrow he had been sharpening to follow them.

He gestured for Cordelia and Angel to follow him, smiling slightly as the two Immortals' conversation wafted back to him on the slight breeze.

“I can take anything you can dish out, Old Man,” Buffy teased as they stepped into a clearing.

“Age and experience always beats youth and exuberance, Buffy,” Methos rejoined.

“You just keep telling yourself that, Methos. Maybe one day, you'll believe it,” she quipped, dropping into a fighting stance, sword held ready.

Methos laughed, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it well out of the way, then gave her a mocking bow. “After you, milady.”

Buffy gave him a predatory grin. “Why, thank you!” she chirped, then moved so quickly her body nearly blurred, her sword slashing toward Methos' unprotected torso.

Methos' sword met hers in a shower of sparks and he gave her a feral grin, his eyes turning cold as Death spilled into them, the Horseman in him awakened by the prospect of a battle in which he didn't have to pull his blows.

The two warriors remained frozen for a moment, staring into each others' eyes over their locked swords, then broke apart and threw themselves full-force into the fight, swords flashing in the sunlight, the sound of metal on metal ringing out loudly in the otherwise quiet afternoon.

The fight raged for over half an hour before first blood was drawn, a shallow slice across Methos' chest that healed almost as quickly as it appeared, bluish-white sparks chasing over the wound and closing it even as the battle continued.

In a stroke of pure luck, Methos knocked Buffy's katana from her hand, disarming her. A slow, deadly smirk spread over his face. “Do you surrender?” he demanded, panting harshly for breath.

Methos thrust his sword out in a lightning-quick move aimed at Buffy's heart.

The Slayer didn't even blink as she caught flat of the blade between both hands, halting it with barely an inch to spare. “That wasn't very nice,” she mock-pouted, then shoved the

Ivanhoe back at Methos' face, the hilt slamming into his nose and cracking the bone.

The fight degenerated into hand to hand combat, fists and feet flying in a deadly dance of destruction that broke bones and drew blood.

An hour and a half after the sparring match first started, Buffy and Methos stood out of reach of each other, hands on their knees as they panted in exhaustion.

“Not even close,” he managed, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “Truce?”

Buffy nodded, wiping blood from her nose. “ `Kay,” she said.

They looked at each other for a few more moments, then collapsed in tandem to the grass, falling dead as the injuries to their bodies proved to be more than Immortal healing could handle all at once.


	Middle Earth the Golden Wood three days after the End of Days Buffy was about to go stir crazy. It had been three days, and no one was doing anything about getting back home to fight and take it back. “Luv, if you don't stop pacing, you'll wear a hole in the floor,” Methos told her. “And I'm sure falling twenty feet to the forest floor would smart.” Buffy gave him a glare that had sent many demons shrieking into the night. Methos just grinned. “Want to spar?” The Slayer gave him a predatory look. “Oh, yeah. Killing you a few times sounds like fun.” Methos arched an eyebrow at her. “I feel so loved.” Retrieving her katana from beneath the bed, Buffy smirked. “C'mon, Old Man. I've been itching for a good fight.” Picking up his Ivanhoe, Methos smiled. “Well, that's a wish easily granted,” he said. “After you, luv,” he told her, sweeping his arm in a gesture for her to precede him out of the house. “And you say romance is dead,” Buffy shot over her shoulder as she walked outside, heading for flat ground. Methos just laughed as he followed her. Legolas' curiosity piqued as he watched Buffy and Methos stride past him, swords drawn. What on Middle Earth are they up to? He wondered, setting aside the arrow he had been sharpening to follow them. He gestured for Cordelia and Angel to follow him, smiling slightly as the two Immortals' conversation wafted back to him on the slight breeze. “I can take anything you can dish out, Old Man,” Buffy teased as they stepped into a clearing. “Age and experience always beats youth and exuberance, Buffy,” Methos rejoined. “You just keep telling yourself that, Methos. Maybe one day, you'll believe it,” she quipped, dropping into a fighting stance, sword held ready. Methos laughed, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it well out of the way, then gave her a mocking bow. “After you, milady.” Buffy gave him a predatory grin. “Why, thank you!” she chirped, then moved so quickly her body nearly blurred, her sword slashing toward Methos' unprotected torso. Methos' sword met hers in a shower of sparks and he gave her a feral grin, his eyes turning cold as Death spilled into them, the Horseman in him awakened by the prospect of a battle in which he didn't have to pull his blows. The two warriors remained frozen for a moment, staring into each others' eyes over their locked swords, then broke apart and threw themselves full-force into the fight, swords flashing in the sunlight, the sound of metal on metal ringing out loudly in the otherwise quiet afternoon. The fight raged for over half an hour before first blood was drawn, a shallow slice across Methos' chest that healed almost as quickly as it appeared, bluish-white sparks chasing over the wound and closing it even as the battle continued. In a stroke of pure luck, Methos knocked Buffy's katana from her hand, disarming her. A slow, deadly smirk spread over his face. “Do you surrender?” he demanded, panting harshly for breath. “Not now, not ever,” Buffy said, barely winded. Methos thrust his sword out in a lightning-quick move aimed at Buffy's heart. The Slayer didn't even blink as she caught flat of the blade between both hands, halting it with barely an inch to spare. “That wasn't very nice,” she mock-pouted, then shoved the Ivanhoe back at Methos' face, the hilt slamming into his nose and cracking the bone. The fight degenerated into hand to hand combat, fists and feet flying in a deadly dance of destruction that broke bones and drew blood. An hour and a half after the sparring match first started, Buffy and Methos stood out of reach of each other, hands on their knees as they panted in exhaustion. “You tired?” Methos asked her. “Nope. You?” Buffy asked. “Not even close,” he managed, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “Truce?” Buffy nodded, wiping blood from her nose. “ `Kay,” she said. They looked at each other for a few more moments, then collapsed in tandem to the grass, falling dead as the injuries to their bodies proved to be more than Immortal healing could handle all at once. Their audience was too shocked to speak.