Buffy closed the door to Methos' apartment with a definitive thud and threw herself onto his couch, eager for the softness the cushions had promised to provide. After she had started training with Methos as her sparring partner it had been infinitely clear to her that the party was over. Also made clear to her was the fact that Methos had indeed let her win the night they had fought each other.

She had forgotten how exhaustive training could be, not to mention painful. When she became the slayer, her first watcher Merrick had been a better fighter than she, despite her strength and had no qualms about physically defeating her to teach her a lesson. She remembered going home night after night with numerous bruises and sores, resolving herself to do better, to use her newfound strength to her advantage. Because that's what slayers did. It's why they were given their powers.

She had eventually grasped this concept and learned to harness her strength to the point where Merrick's training was no longer of the painful variety. It soon became largely theoretical, even though Giles attempted to re-introduce physical training. The problem was that her strength was no match for his and as physical as the matches may have been, they were never difficult, nor painful and she always had the upper hand.

This was not so with Methos. Despite the fact that she was far stronger, he was far older and far more disciplined. He knew methods of fighting, that she did not even think were physically possible and yet he continued to defeat her, despite her obvious physical advantage.

It didn't help that she still did not feel comfortable wielding the weapon that had destroyed Angel. She wanted to do what needed to be done, to stop this immortal/vampire hybrid from completing the final step, but her heart could still not fully commit herself and there were still so many unanswered questions in her mind.

Methos had told her that until she felt like the sword was a part of her body that it would never be something useful to her. He had said this time and again as he disarmed her and aimed the weapon at her neck. And even though she had committed herself to the training and fully intended to meet Klossen on the field of battle, part of her wondered if she was holding back and dooming herself to fight unprepared on purpose. Every time Methos' sword had touched her neck, ever so lightly, she felt a small stab of relief at the idea that maybe, just maybe this time he would finish the job Angelus and so many other creatures had started. Then, he could take whatever strength her quickening would pass on to him and finish the job himself.

But that would never happen and it saddened Buffy to know that. It wasn't the thought that she wouldn't die that upset her. To be truthful, her own suicidal feelings had begun to frighten her. No, it was the knowledge that she would never be able to escape this life, no matter how badly it beat her down. The only way out, was death and it looked more and more likely that that end could come at any moment. She didn't want to fight this guy and she couldn't seem to muster the killer instinct that the slayer needed. She knew that and Methos seemed to know that. She desperately wished he would just tell her not to bother, that he could kill Klossen himself, but he wasn't capable and even if he were, she knew he wouldn't do it. He wanted her to. He needed her to.

She couldn't condemn him for his lack of initiative. It wasn't his job to kill the vampires and demons. It was hers. He had his own problems as an immortal and no doubt more than one skeleton in his closet, apart from Celine. Buffy respected him and understood him.

The fight must be her doing. But could she fully commit herself to winning? That was the question that plagued her after the exhaustive training session.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Methos was asking her as he sat down next to her on the couch. She grimaced and rubbed her right shoulder in pain.

"How 'bout a bed filled with soft marshmallow-y goodness. I ache all over buddy and it's all your fault!"

"I warned you I wouldn't be easy." Methos replied blandly. "How would me letting you win be of any help to you?"

"Well for starters I'd have full use of my right arm back," she muttered.

"You'll heal almost as quickly as an immortal would, so quit whining." Methos' tone was unconcerned.

"Yea, yea, slayer healing I know." She finally conceded with a sigh. "Still, some part of me thinks you enjoyed using me as a piñata today."

"Well I can't pretend it wasn't a little therapeutic." Methos admitted with a smile. "You caused me more than a little bit of distress ever since I met you, so I think I deserved a little revenge today."

"Made your hair go grey, did I?" She shot back seeing the humour in the situation and managing a small smile.

"My hair isn't grey!" He feigned shock, then looked towards the kitchen mirror as if to reaffirm his statement. "Why I don't look a day over…"

"Five thousand?" She put in. He shrugged.

"Give or take."

"Can I ask you something?" She said hesitantly.

"Let me guess, you want to know what it's like?" Methos supplied knowingly. "Or how it feels? Or what I've learned?"

"I'd never ask anything that cliché." She stated. Methos suppressed a grin as he remembered the first thing Mac had asked him. "Besides, if you had those answers you would have given them to me already. No, my question is…what was Duncan hinting at before when you made that crack about him being drawn to evil immortals? I mean, I know you've probably done some unsavory things in your past…"

"You know all the things Angelus did before he became Angel?" Methos said seriously, but with a gentleness for Buffy that had been thrown to the wayside when he had explained his past to Duncan. "All the atrocities he committed, all the horrors he visited?"

"Yes," her voice was slightly hoarse as she said it, no doubt remembering her own personal encounters with Angelus in vivid detail.

"Well the things I've done have been far worse and I committed those acts with my soul in full existence." Methos told her heavily. "I killed, tortured and maimed for the sheer pleasure of it. I can't tell you why I started, or why I stopped, I can tell you that I've changed….that people can change. Mac doesn't believe that even now I think, but he will someday. I wish I could have told you this in a better way. I understand if you no longer feel comfortable staying here."

"Why wouldn't I?" She asked him, quietly searching his eyes for something he wasn't sure even she could define.

"Because I just told you I'm a mass murderer, possibly worse than this Klossen fellow, the one you are planning to kill." He shrugged. "I figured that might change your opinion of me."

"I can't say that this isn't wiggy at all." She admitted. "Discovering that someone you trust has been a murderer in their past doesn't get easier, no matter how many times you hear it. And I don't know the man you were then. I do know the man you are now. And I like him. And I can't judge him. Because that would be the pot calling the kettle a murderer."

"You're not a murderer." Methos assured her gently, seeing the all too familiar ache in her eyes. "You did what had to be done."

"Same diff," she said lightly. "He was Angel when I killed him, not Angelus."

"Well I know this isn't much of a comfort, but Angelus is suffering eternal torment as well." Methos reminded her. "He's getting what he deserves, believe me." It suddenly occurred to her, that he sounded fairly familiar with the name Angelus. Staring at him in puzzlement, she asked what was on her mind.

"Did you two ever meet?"

"A few times." Methos said with a nod. "I sort of made it my mission to terrorize them. He was traveling with three other vampires, a bleached blonde named Spike, and two women…"

"Darla and Drusilla." Buffy finished for him.

"You encountered them then." It was not a question, but Buffy felt the need to answer anyway.

"Spike and Drusilla were no picnic in the park." She admitted. "But Darla wasn't too difficult. Angel actually killed her. I guess she was trying to convince him to renounce his soul and rejoin the Master, but of course he said no. I mean why she would even think that he…"

"The Master?" Methos echoed her words in a slightly dazed voice. "You know about the Master?"

"Really old vampire, trapped in an earthquake, really bad taste in leather jackets?" She questioned. "Yea, let's just say he made an impact on me. We killed each other."

"What do you mean?" Methos' voice was almost tentative now.

"He's the one that killed me." She finally said after a few minutes of thinking of an easier way to form the sentence. None came, so she went right for blunt. "He killed me, then Xander saved me, then I killed him. Then there was a dance. Why? Who was the Master to you?"

"To me?" Methos echoed once again. He blinked a few times before speaking. "He was the creature that paralyzed Celine."