Sam and Drew go upstairs in the Old Salem Brew Pub to find a quiet place to talk. The room is a parlor decorated in eclectic modern, with some classical accent pieces. There are influences from every decade of the 20th century somewhere in the room, but the teens are oblivious to the Art Deco statuary and Nouveau teapots that sit on individual shelves. Drew folds himself up into a ball in the corner of a burgundy camel-backed sofa and draws his knees up under his chin. He stares into the middle distance, avoiding looking at Sam, who sits down in an adjacent claw-footed wing chair and stretches out her legs. For a couple of minutes, they just sit in silence. Drew, who'd been so insistent earlier in the evening that they needed to talk, now seems at a loss for words.
In the end, it's Sam who start the ball rolling. "Tell me what happened. In your vision. You attacked Dracula, and hit him, and that's cool, but I want to know what happened between... us. Or between you and the person who looked like me. Because she wasn't me, but she obviously had an effect on you."
Drew laughs a little, although without much humor, and shakes his head. "It wasn't like that. It wasn't even a vision, really. I mean, I wasn't just seeing it, I was living it. For an hour and a half, I was Donovan Kavanough. I was in control of what he did, what he said. But, I had none of his memories. It was like Quantum Leap." He glances at Sam for just a second and gives a little half smile. "Except without a holographic Dean Stockwell trying to get me to sleep with everybody."
Sam gets the reference. "Well, that's a relief!" Her humor is also a tad forced.
"We were all there, Sam. Donovan's team... they were us. You, me, Tori, Erik, Kevin, Hartsdale, Michael, and Melina. It's not just that they looked like us. They were us. Tori was still a Potential, you were still a mechanic, Hartsdale was still a dork. Kevin was even a Vastarley. It's like... our souls are bound together somehow. Encountering each other, living out the same roles in every lifetime. Twice that we're sure of. I have circumstantial evidence of at least one more. Probably a lot more." He trails off there, staring off into space, focused on something only he can see.
Sam clears her throat. "Bullshit." She raises one hand to forestall any squawk Drew might make. He doesn't say anything, but his head jerks up and he actually meets her eyes for a moment, before going back to staring at his knees.
"If what you're saying is true, that we just repeat everything that has happened before, then there's no such thing as free will. And I don't believe that. God didn't make human beings to be automatons. We may not control what happens to us, but we can choose how we react to it... So, let me see if I've got this right -- you were Donovan. And we already know Donovan was with Melina, so he couldn't have been with the 'me'," she makes quote marks in the air, "that was four hundred years in the past. But you come back, and the second thing you say to me, after breaking Melina's spell is that you're scared you'll lose me. Okay, maybe that's the third thing... But you were freaked when Erik saw you as me... so am I right that the 'me' in the past was hooked up with the Erik in the past, and you're afraid that means that I'm going to dump you now, and start dating him?" Sam shakes her head. "Boy, are you dumb! I cannot believe you! What kind of stupid slut do you think I am that I would do something like that?"
Drew flinches as if she'd struck him. "It's not like that. I mean, it's not like we live the same events over and over again. It's not like we don't get choice. You think Donovan and Sophia ever had a conversation like this? You think Donovan and Sophia were ever even together? You think we were together in any incarnation before Donovan went and messed things up with Melina? This," he waves his arm around vaguely, the gesture encompassing the two of them, or maybe the entire brew pub, "isn't Fate. This is just... us."
He shakes his head. "And, no, I'm not expecting you to dump me for Erik right this second. But you will. You have to. He's your soulmate. I'm...," his voice catches, "the bad guy in some Julia Roberts movie. The pre-existing boyfriend who gets dumped so that the hero and heroine can be together for the romantic happy ending. That's Fate. Fate is that I'm going to lose you to him. Over and over and over again, in lifetime after lifetime, down to the end of time."
He buries his head in his arms and starts crying.
Sam is honestly taken aback. She expected, was even prepared for, a yell-fest. She wasn't prepared for this. After an uncomfortable moment when it looks like Drew isn't going to stop crying by himself, Sam rises and comes to sit next to him on the couch, and pats him gently on the shoulder. She keeps her voice low and soothing, but she's still not taking any wooden nickels.
"Drew?"
He doesn't really say anything. He just sniffles, mumbles something indistinct, and leans against her. Sam lets him, and gently puts her arm around him.
"Have you completely forgotten everything that's happened in the last two years? You've been watching too many movies. Or the wrong ones, I think. In the first place, I'm not Julia Roberts, who is a ditzy red-head. I am an athletic blonde motor-head, super-powers extra. Second of all, you're not just some random schmoe who happens to be dating the heroine when the hero shows up. I asked you out first. I even tried to break up with you first, and you talked me out of it. So, what, now it's my turn?" Her ironic chuckle is self-directed as she looks at a spot on the floor, ordering her thoughts. "Thirdly, I honestly don't know who might be, or if I even have, a soulmate. I mean, I couldn't even make up my mind under the Actaeon curse... Maybe we don't have just one soulmate, but a number of possible ones... Maybe I was channeling the lovers of previous Slayers... It's possible, or... maybe I'm just confused." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. Look around, Drew! Does it look like we're in the middle of some third-rate soap opera? If we're in a movie at all, it's a war movie. Love is great, love is important, but it's the B-plot. The A-plot is the struggle against evil and saving the world, remember?"
She waits, but there's no answer, except that his sobs quiet, and he seems to be listening. She goes on. "So, how about trying this alternate story on for size: You, me, Erik, Tori, Hartsdale, Kevin, Michael, Melina, even Joshua, even though he doesn't believe in reincarnation, we're all together now, and we've been together before, because we're a team, and a damn good one. We fight together and depend on each other to get through the bad times. Sometimes we love each other, other times we're just really good friends and partners in the struggle to keep the demons from over-running our home. Does that make sense? I hope so, because six months ago, you were telling me that we were fated to be together, no matter what, because we were together in Dark Solomon. Now, you think we're fated to break each other's hearts because we weren't together in fourteen-something-or-other. I wish you'd make up your mind." She smiles to try and take the sting out of those words.
Drew doesn't see it, because he's still got his face buried in his arms, but maybe he can hear it in her voice, because he's not crying anymore.
"That's why it hurts so much, you know?" He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I used to be... When we first started going out, I never understood why you picked me instead of Erik or Joshua. I used to be afraid that some morning you'd wake up and realize what an idiot you'd been and... correct your mistake. And then there was the dream demon and you guys told me about Dark Solomon and how, even when the whole world had gone wrong, we were still together. And, yeah, I thought that meant we were destined to be together. And, for the first time, I wasn't afraid, anymore."
Drew gulps and swallows. "And, yeah, when Erik saw me as you, I was a little freaked. It was kind of scary having that obvious a reminder of how easy it would be if you ever wanted to change your mind." He finally raises his head and looks at her, but only for a second before looking away again. "But I was only a little bit freaked. Because I thought we were destined to be together, so what does it matter who else has a crush on you? And then fifteen-eighty-two and I get bitch-slapped by destiny. Again. Because we're not together in every reality. Maybe we're only together in the ones gone horribly wrong. And suddenly, I'm not your soulmate, Erik is. My soulmate is some psycho, murderous, wolf bitch." He gives something that's a cross between a laugh and a sob. "I like your theory better, though."
Sam sighs. "That's good. Because that's the one that I'm going to go with." She murmurs... "So many places, where to start?" Then louder, "How about with this Destiny thing? Why are you so convinced that the sole purpose, or soul purpose, if you will, behind all this, is for us to hurt each other? Why not think that the reason we're together, is to help each other? I mean, if God does recycle souls in reincarnation, a karmic cycle and all that, and groups of souls do travel through time together, why is it so tragic that sometimes they're lovers, and sometimes, they're not? Sometimes they're friends, or fellow-soldiers, or even parents or siblings. Or enemies. Or some combination of the above. Why limit the possibilities to just one?"
"But, that's..." Drew starts, but Sam's not done. She goes on resolutely, cutting him off.
"Second..." She gently brushes Drew's bangs out of his eyes. "There. That's better. Because you're obviously not seeing things clearly. Which is strange, given that you're 'The Seer,' right? Let me tell you what I see... what I saw that night a year ago... I saw a young man who was dealing with a situation so far beyond the call of duty... his best friend had been kidnapped, and there were icky sewer-monsters, and siren-demons and an evil Druid who was trying to kill everybody and open a portal to let the evil Fey in to take over Solomon, at the very least... You had a vision that led us to the right place to find the Druid, and you shot the siren that was kneeling over Erik, singing away his will in preparation for sacrificing him and Jonathan to open the portal... Everyone fought the sirens and monsters, and Tori sacrificed her first pair of shoes to the cause." Sam smiles. "I held the Druid captive, and Hartsdale dispatched it with an iron bracket that he pulled out of the wall. We rescued Jonathan and Erik, and we all got out of there alive... We were alive, but you -- you were glowing. Drew, before I met you, I'd never known anyone with such... enthusiasm for life. And the way you looked at me, like I was... pretty." She blushes, but goes right on. "It was different than the way anyone else had ever looked at me... ever. So, I took a chance. I wasn't even sure you'd say yes, but I asked anyway. And you said 'yes.' That wasn't a mistake. It was a choice... two choices. You're right that at any point, I could have chosen differently. But I didn't. And you didn't. I asked you. You said yes. And I've never regretted it for a moment."
Drew blushes and gives a goofy sort of grin. He's trying not to seem inordinately pleased at the way Sam is complementing him, but he's not doing a very good job.
"If you weren't sure I'd say 'yes', you're not as smart as you think you are."
"Not a matter of smart. Just a matter of... nerves." Sam mutters.
"Those, I can understand." Drew agrees. "And you're not pretty... you're beautiful. Jumping through the air like gravity doesn't even apply to you, sword flashing, doing one of those triple-backflip spin-kick things... you have no idea how amazing you are to watch. If I was glowing, it was just a reflection from having spent the evening with you. I've never felt anything like what I feel when I'm with you. I mean, yeah, I used to have that crush on..." He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and pauses for several seconds too long as he gropes frantically for a name other than the one he started to say.
"Wolvesbane?" Sam supplies. "Or Britta? Or maybe Gwen? Don't worry. I knew about that. You kinda wear your obsessions on your sleeve, you know? But, like you say, a crush is just a crush."
Drew blushes furiously, "...that chick from Max Headroom. What was her name?"
"Uh-huh." Sam doesn't believe that for a minute. And Drew knows that he's busted. He hurries on.
"But that was nothing like... I didn't even know you could feel this alive until that night you grabbed my arm and stood between me and Kitty and said I was with you, like I... mattered. And I'm just petrified of losing that." He gives a small smile. "Maybe sometimes it makes me a little stupid."
"Yeah, a little." Sam tousles his hair.
"I still don't think you understand what I'm saying about the past. You're twisting my words. I never said we were meant to hurt each other. I never believed that any pain we were causing each other was anything other than the result of poor choices, either in this life or a previous one." This time, he's the one who holds up a hand. "I don't want to argue about that, anymore. I want you to be right. Sophia and Ewan are welcome to their happily ever after, as long as it doesn't mean we can't have ours."
"Right." Sam's mind suddenly takes off in a different direction. "Sophia and Ewan... do they have last names? I have a theory about them, but it would take a lot of research to prove or disprove it."
"Sophia Kernig and," Drew mimics (badly) a Scottish accent, "Ewan St. Claire of the Clan St. Claire. That's how he introduced himself, I swear, just like in Highlander. Sophia was from Munich, if that helps." He trails off and his eyes widen. "So was Britta! Your family's from Munich, aren't they? Is that where you're going with this?"
Sam tries to smile enigmatically, but doesn't quite pull it off. "Maybe. Depends on whether they went back to Munich or Scotland or whether they ever settled down at all... but, yeah. My Dad's family is Bavarian, but my mom was a Logan -- Scotch/Irish. And you're Killian. And there was a lot of intermarrying and carrying off daughters and such between the Scottish and Irish over the years, and four hundred years is roughly... a thousand generations or so... so the chances are small, but Sophia and Ewan could be blood-ancestors to one, or both, of us."
Drew suddenly snaps his fingers. "Theora Jones!" Sam gives him a blank look and he explains, "The chick from Max Headroom."
Sam groans and rolls her eyes. "Are we good again? Are you going to be okay? I need to know, because, you know, we've got the world to save tomorrow, and I'd really like to have you around for that, if you're up for it."
"Let's see... The world's going to end tomorrow, there's a homicidal werewolf downstairs who blames me for breaking her heart four hundred years ago, a vampiric Slayer somewhere out there who's obsessed with drinking my blood, my best friend won't talk to me because he thinks I think he's after my girlfriend, and I'm being stalked by freaking Juanita." He grins. "I'm great."
"Well, good!" Sam laughs. "At least one of those I intend to go clear up right now, and then try to get a few hours of shut-eye."
"No kidding. I feel like I haven't slept since the sixteenth century. Uh... which one?"
"Erik. We both need to clear the air with him, but I dibs him first."
She looks into Drew's eyes. "Seriously, though, Drew. You shouldn't pin all your happiness on me. 'Cause you know... Speaking of destinies, there's one with my name on it. And I'm going to meet it, someday..."
Drew grumbles. "I've done the math. If we go strictly by averages, you're already on borrowed time. And maybe so am I. There haven't been enough Slayer boyfriends to come up with valid statistics. But it can't be good. I mean, all the fun and excitement of being the Slayer without the super powers." He smiles again. "C'mon, we'll probably go out together in a blaze of glory that the Watchers will be telling stories about for the next four hundred years."
"That's the plan, insofar as I have a plan... But if you'll keep saving my life, I'll keep saving yours, for as long as I can. Deal?" She holds out her hand.
"Until the day I have to choose between saving your life and saving the world." He shakes her hand, and then squeezes it.
"Save the world. That's what we do... but then you know that." Sam squeezes his hand back, very gently.
"Yeah. That's why the Watchers don't like Slayers to have relationships, you know. Because, if that decision ever comes, they don't trust us to make the right choice." He gives her a lopsided grin. "You don't think I'd ever give them the satisfaction of being right, do you?"
"I trust you." Sam stands and stretches, careful of the bandage around her left arm where a bullet scratched her during the fire-fight. "One more difficult conversation before bed..."
"Just one? I'm jealous. I've got three."
"Right. I leave Melina and Juanita in your capable hands... not literally, of course." Sam winks at him. He gives an exaggerated shudder at the prospect. "You should get some rest, too. Do you want to stay in here, or go back downstairs with the others?"
"Depends." He smiles shyly. "You coming back?"
Sam shakes her head. "We need to rest. For tomorrow. Your choice where you want to take it."
Drew mumbles, quietly enough that Sam can pretend not to hear, "I just said." He sighs tiredly and rubs his forehead. "I really need to talk to Melina, anyway. I basically bluffed my way through 1582 on a combination of bravado, educated guesses, and the fact that they were used to taking orders from Donovan. It worked, but it meant I couldn't ask too many questions. I don't know a whole lot more about what's going on than you do at this point. We can learn a lot from Melina. And, depending on how tomorrow goes, we may not have another chance. Both Michael and Joshua are out for her blood. Besides, I think they're making us dinner. It would be rude not to have something. And I don't think I've eaten since 1582, either, come to think of it."
"That's a good idea. I could definitely use some food." Sam crosses to the door, but Drew has one last question.
"You want me to talk to Erik, too? I could see where performing emotional first aid on one comic book geek could be enough for one evening." He yawns. "One morning."
"I said 'dibs.' I'll see you downstairs." Sam leaves Drew with a small, tender smile.
Downstairs, Sam gets two plates of the lasagna that Sylvia heated up, and goes to find Erik.
She finds him dozed off on a comfy couch with his feet hanging off one side. On the floor beside him lies a piece of paper -- a comic book style sketch of a man and a woman fighting vampires. The details aren't too clear, yet, but the woman has short hair, and the man's is long and unruly. They both wield large swords, only the hilt of hers drawn in sharp, bold strokes. It's the Kessler sword, biting deep into a fanged foe's neck, the 'dust-up' already beginning. They fight back-to-back, one swinging left, the other to the right, a yin-yang of lethal blades.
Sam sees him asleep, puts the plates of food on a nearby table and approaches quietly so as not to wake him, yet. She picks up the sketch, looks at it, and then looks down at Erik. There's a moment where Sam just watches him sleep, with a look of tenderness, then she firms her chin and gently shakes Erik's shoulder. When his eyes open, "Hey. You hungry? Sylvia's a pretty good cook. Just better not ask where she got the meat. It could have been walking around a nearby farm very recently." She gives him one of the plates, before sitting down on the floor beside the sofa to eat.
Erik wakes suddenly when Sam shakes him, looks around for his weapon, and then realizes it's her. "Oh, hey Sam. Is it morning yet? I mean is it still morning? Err... I don't know what I mean.
"It's still morning, still dark. You've been asleep about half an hour..."
"I was having the strangest dream. Of course, I'm not sure if I really want to talk about it since it's kind of embarrassing." Sam just shrugs as Erik rambles on. "It was like one of those bad sword & sorcery movies and all of Slayer Club were cast as cliched adventurers. I was the barbarian hero, because it my dream. Tori was the whiny princess that we had to save and you were like Red Sonja. I think Drew was some kind of wizard, which is weird because I'm certain Kevin was in the dream too. And Joshua was a priest. But the weirdest thing was that we were 'adventuring' through a Disney theme-park and kids were pointing at us as if we were the main attractions."
Sam swallows a bite of her lasagna. "Wow. Sorry I woke you, then, if you were having a dream that cool. Any dream that doesn't involve bloody death and dismemberment is a good dream in my book." She gives a thumbs-up. "Bonus points if it doesn't really come to life."
Erik smiles, but then remembers that other people (like Sam and Drew) have darker dreams. Then he gets embarrassed and looks down. "No thanks for the food, though, I'm not really hungry."
"Then, allow me." Sam reaches over for his plate and starts eating the second portion too. "I'm famished. All that running around, fighting..."
"I'm more sleepy than tired. I guess you don't need to sleep as much since you're the Slayer and all. But I'm beat."
"I don't know if it's having Slayer-strength, or having Slayer-nightmares, but I'm getting used to sleeping less. I thought, after checking on you and Drew, and eating something, I'd get some rest... if I can."
"How's Drew doing? This must be ultra-weird for him."
"It's weird for everybody..." Sam sighs and swallows again. "He's the one who was hit by the Actaeon curse, but it affected all of us."
Erik rubs his eyes blearily. "Did I mention that I'm really tired?"
"Yeah, you did." Sam finishes the lasagna and stacks the plates together. "I'm sorry I woke you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Drew's going to be okay. We talked. I just... I want all of us to be ready for whatever happens tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm kind of weirded out too, but what do I have to complain about? My life's not anywhere near as complicated as yours or Drew's. Drew's curse made me see some things, but I know better than to think that it changes anything with you. You guys are my best friends. No way I'd want to change that. So, yeah, I'll be ready for tomorrow. I've got your back, as always."
The look of gratitude on Sam's face is almost embarrassing, but then she gets control of herself again. "Thanks, Erik. That... means a lot." She smiles a little. "You're like a... brother I never had. You know? A brother in arms... You might have thought I didn't notice all that you do, all the hard work you put in, but I do. I always know that with you guarding our backs, I don't have to worry about something nasty sneaking up on us, 'cause I know you can handle yourself, and you'll let us know about it. And then I'll come running, 'cause I've got your back, too." Sam sighs. "I so didn't want any... bad feelings between you and Drew, or either of you and me, but especially between you two, because you've been friends since, what, kindergarten? Sometimes I feel like I'm the crasher at your party... But it's a blessing beyond all understanding to have you and Drew beside me. I'm glad you are here."
Sam holds up the picture she'd put down beside her while she ate. "It's good, you know?" She turns it sideways to look at a different angle. Erik realizes what it is, and blushes furiously, grabbing at the paper, but Sam holds it out if his reach. "Very pretty. Balanced, left and right. I especially like these arcs here, where the vampire dust sprays along the same path that the sword takes... But you know, in about two seconds, while you're dealing with this one," She points to the vampire that Erik is fighting, I'll have dealt with this one, and that one, and probably that one, too..." Sam blushes. "Nothing against you. You're a good fighter. Just Slayer-quickness, you know." She goes on. "But, because you're behind me to my left, I wouldn't want to get in your way, I'd turn to the right. But that opens up a blind-side, here." She points out the angle where a hypothetical enemy could get between them. "We could use someone, maybe with a crossbow, to cover that opening for us..." She hands the sketch back to him with a gentle smile. "It's a good picture. You should finish it, draw in Drew and the others. Everybody on the team has a place."
Upstairs, Drew takes a few minutes after Sam leaves to pull himself together. Mostly that's just a matter of making sure he can wipe the big, goofy grin of relief off his face. Once he's reasonably sure he can maintain his composure, he gathers up his sword from where he left it by the door and wanders downstairs to scare up a plate of whatever dinner turns out to be and look for Melina.
He finds her with Sylvia in the kitchen, chatting like old friends. Sylvia leans against the counter, her silk kimono barely covering her enough to maintain a PG rating. On the table are the remains of the lasagna, and a half-empty bottle of red wine.
The two see him come in. Sylvia ties her robe tighter and says, in her Italian accent, "Ah, Drew, we were just talking about you. I heated up some lasagna... are you hungry? How 'bout some vino?"
Drew flops down in a chair across the table from Melina. Now that he's not freaked out about losing Sam, the adrenaline crash is starting to hit.
"Starved. I feel like I haven't eaten since the sixteenth century. Vino... I'd better not. Tired as I am, one sip would knock me out. Caffeine actually appeals more right now, but that's probably not smart, either. I'd better just stick with water... or herbal tea, if you have any. Something warm would be nice, now that I think of it. That and someplace Melina and I can talk without being disturbed."
"Well, help yourself to the food here. It's still warm, mostly. There's tea in that cabinet, mugs in that one, and the microwave works. I'll just leave the two of you alone." On the way out, she teases Melina, "He's a little young for you, isn't he?"
Drew hauls himself up out of the chair and goes about the motions of making lemon tea and serving himself a square of lasagna before sitting down again.
Melina just sips her wine and waits for Drew to finish. When he sits back down, she says, "You're not really him, are you? I mean you look just like him... well, other than being younger, smaller, and with pleasant 20th century grooming. But you're not really him... I suppose I should apologize for the trouble I've caused you. It wasn't fair for me to hit you with that curse. You have to understand, I had just been held in a supernatural prison for four hundred years. I was little angry and you looked just like Donovan. You're lucky I didn't kill you." Drew detects remorse and bitterness in her voice, but he also notes a twinkle in her eye, and a hint of a smile. She leans closer and meets Drew's eyes with her big, beautiful green ones. "And if I didn't curse you then you would never have gone back to warn me. Weird, huh?"
Drew just stares into those eyes for a moment, either lost in them or just zoned from lack of sleep, before he manages to tear himself away and take a bite of lasagna.
"I thought that was why you cursed me. To make sure that I went back and, at the critical moment in Dracula's castle, you were found by a Donovan who could see beyond his anger at you. You're right. I'm not really him. And you knew that when you cast the curse. You wouldn't have used that key phrase if you didn't... And I'm not lucky you didn't kill me. I don't really know much about what happened between you and Donovan -- and I think I need to -- but the little I do know is enough to tell me that I was never in any mortal danger from you. You wanted to hurt him, to pay him back for the way he hurt you. But you were never going to kill me. Him. Either of us."
Melina's smile disappears as she furrows her brow, and then rubs her temples. "You think you have it all worked out, don't you? Believe me, I wish I could take credit for sending you back to warn myself. But I wasn't really thinking clearly when you stumbled into my cave. I had just escaped from centuries of imprisonment and I wasn't exactly ready for a rational response. I saw you and the first thing I thought was that I was being violated at a time when I was most vulnerable. The next thing I thought was that you were Donovan. All those centuries of anger and frustration welled up and started to form the beginnings of a curse. But then I heard a voice, or maybe just an intuition, telling me to hit you with the Actaeon curse. The password just came to me out of the blue and I didn't really think about it too hard. At that moment, I certainly didn't remember our little encounter in Transylvania... But I did, eventually. It all made sense, somehow. Maybe some part of me knew that it was exactly the right curse to inflict on you. Or maybe there were other forces at work? I don't pretend to understand how time works. Cause and effect are all confused, but our souls are bound together and our fates are certainly intertwined."
Melina once again looks Drew in the eyes and he sees tears welling up. "Oh D-Drew. I'm so confused. I'm still so angry but I'm also wracked with guilt... I did some horrible things that summer of 1582 and I spent the better part of the last four hundred years justifying them because of what Donovan did... or more precisely, what he failed to do. I felt so betrayed." Melina stiffs, wipes her eyes, and fights the urge to start sobbing.
Drew looks away and concentrates on his lasagna for a moment, trying not to let her tears get him.
"Warn you? Of what? I never warned you of anything. I was just making that up to get you to work with me. At the time, I had no clue why you sent me back, although I think I understand now." He looks back up and meets her gaze again. "But I stand by what I said. I don't know how much you remember of 1582, but it was just a couple of hours ago for me. I walked into a room, alone with you -- in wolf form -- when you thought I was Donovan. And I barred the door and threw away my sword. Because, you're right, our souls are bound together. And I knew -- I know -- that, however much you might want to hurt me, I can trust you with my life." He sighs. "And that's about all I know. That and that you did 'terrible things' in the summer of 1582 to hurt me." This time he doesn't notice that he forgot to say 'Donovan.' For the first time, a bit of annoyance creeps into his voice. "We have this huge history between us and everybody keeps acting like I'm supposed to know what it is, but nobody will tell me. You have to tell me why you're so angry, because the part of me that knew that is gone."
He takes a sip of his tea and, when he speaks again, the anger is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a quiet intensity. "I need to know that. Because we can't keep hurting each other like this. We need to figure out how to make things right between us again."
"That's just it, you didn't really warn me of anything. I think if I were to consciously send you back I would have had you try to warn me not to respond as I did that summer. But I'm not sure how effective that would have been since I wasn't exactly open to constructive advice. I just wanted lash out. The Beast was so close to the surface that year. I had never been really tested like that... No, you did what you had to do and at the right time. I may have killed Donovan if you didn't talk me down like that. Really."
Drew shrugs. "Believe what you want to. I know better. That's not really the point, anyway."
Melina looks up and anticipates Drew's next words. "You want to know what happened to cause all this? I'm not much of a storyteller. Should I start with how we fell in love and the wonderful adventures we had during that brief and passionate affair? Or should I just jump in and tell you that Donovan was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of witches in Leipzig? No, he didn't kill any personally. I didn't even believe that when Joseph tried to convince me of it. But he failed to stop the slaughter and I believe he had the power to. I confronted him over it, we had words, and I left him. It was stupid and rash. We both could have resolved things right there. But that summer there was a holocaust of witch-burnings that Donovan didn't stop. Didn't even try to, as far as I know. There was a war on and I thought that Donovan should have seen that we should have been fighting on the same side."
"And you want to know the worst part? I never did see him at my so-called trial before the Temple of Jerusalem. Never saw the Ottoman who trapped me either, but I didn't expect as much out of him."
Now it's Drew's turn to sound bitter. "Well, isn't that just lovely? I was figuring, you know, cheated on you with a barmaid or something. Instead, I find out I was a war criminal in a previous life."
He concentrates on finishing his lasagna for a minute, while he gathers his thoughts. Melina doesn't try to fill the silence, though her expression softens and becomes more appreciative. When Drew is ready to speak again, she listens.
"I'd like to think there was some reason for what he did, some higher purpose that Donovan was trying to serve, rather than it was just too much work to get involved. That he thought he had to let this happen to prevent some greater evil. I can understand the appeal of that kind of logic. Sam and I were just talking about how, if we ever had to sacrifice each other to save the world, we would." Drew shrugs. "But, so what? We're volunteers. Well, I'm a volunteer. She was drafted. But she accepts -- no, she embraces -- what she is. Those people... If we find out tomorrow that the only way to stop Joseph is to sacrifice the students at St. Germains, we will find another way. Even if Donovan believed there was some higher purpose to not stopping the burnings, he should have found another way. And if he didn't even believe that much, then he deserves your contempt."
Drew spreads his hands. "I don't know what else I can say. I can tell you he was wrong, but that doesn't bring back the dead or make us less of a monster. I can tell you that, whatever he did, going on a bloody rampage across Europe wasn't the answer. But I hope four hundred years in prison has already brought that lesson home."
Melina sighs. "Well, I never did discover his excuse. He seemed on the verge of telling me when our arguments caused him to get all defensive. I do know that Donovan was never evil with a capital 'E'. He always did things because he believed they were the right thing to do. But he did admit to me, once, that those were confusing times and sometimes the right thing wasn't always clear. Usually, though, he was too proud to admit when he was in any way uncertain... I can at least admit when I was wrong. And I was. Horribly so. I wonder if Donovan ever felt such guilt? Looking at you and hearing your words makes me think he must of have. For that reason, the idea of forgiveness doesn't seem quite so outlandish... "
Drew nods thoughtfully. "One thing I can tell you -- you're wrong about the trial. Michael is an honorable man. If he said that he would testify on your behalf, he did. Even if the real Donovan later tried to talk him out of it, which I can't swear he didn't. If Michael wasn't at the 'trial', it's because his superiors forbade it. Or perhaps he was there and you weren't aware of it... he's a shapeshifter, you know. But the undeniable fact is that you were imprisoned, not killed. The only reason that happened is because one or both of them spoke for you, even if they weren't allowed to do it where you could see. I know Michael did. I hope Donovan did, as well."
"Perhaps." Melina seems rather unconvinced as she downs the last of her wine. Then she looks up and catches Drew's eye. With a quivering lip, she seems on the verge of saying something... then looks away. When she turns her head back she's regained her composure. "Okay, it's late. We'll need you at your best tomorrow. Go rest if you can. If you can't, I may be able to help..."
Drew smiles, with more than a little regret. "My girlfriend's the Slayer. She'd kill us. You, literally."
Melina smiles mischievously, "She'd kill me for giving you some herbs to help you sleep?"
As if summoned, at that moment, Sam walks into the kitchen with two empty plates.
Drew blushes an astonishingly bright shade of red.
Sam looks from one to the other of them. "Don't mind me. I'm just on the way out." She keeps her back to Drew and Melina at the table while she washes the plates clean, dries them and then puts them away in the cabinet. Just before leaving, she catches Drew's eye, gives a little half-smile and rolls her eyes upward. "You keep talking. Erik is fine. I'm going to go rest, and pray."
Only on the last word is there a slight crack in her facade. She leaves the kitchen.
Drew starts to gather up his own dishes to give himself something else to do, but then, a thought catches him off-guard and he sits back down. "One more question. Two, actually. Stuff I have to know and that there may not be time for tomorrow."
"The box. The spell that sent me back to 1582 was on the box. That box has been sitting in a mafia warehouse for the last four hundred years. They couldn't open it. I don't remember, but reading between the lines, I'm guessing we enchanted it so that only you or I can. Which is why I assumed you put the spell on the box to send me back, because I don't see who else could have. And you opened it to retrieve the orbs and nothing happened to you. But it sounded a minute ago like you were saying you didn't? In which case, how did I end up in 1582?"
"When you reach the level of magical mastery that I have attained, sometimes you can cast spells without even realizing you're doing it. I have little doubt that I sent you back... I'm just not consciously aware of it. With time and effort that I'm not really prepared to expend, I could probably analyze the box to find out. Perhaps that would be a good academic exercise once this is all over?" Melina pauses thoughtfully. "Of course, it is possible that you sent yourself back. Donovan had an undeveloped talent for psychometry. If you had such a talent, you may have projected yourself into the past through the strength of the psychic residue. But that's just a theory."
Drew yawns. "Okay, last question, then sleep." He reaches down to the floor next to him, picks up his sword, and drops it on the table between them. "Do you know where Donovan got this?"
Melina's eyes widen when she sees it. She hadn't noticed it before.
"You have his sword! Extraordinary! Would you believe that he acquired it while we were gathering the last of the Orbs? We had it created by Lorenzo Stellanera, Europe's best weaponsmith, to defeat the demon who possessed the Mars Orb. Donovan couldn't have done it without that sword. I imagine that demon is still feeling the pain of its sting."
"Really? How do you mean, he couldn't have done it without the sword? Is it just the quality of the craftsmanship or did the pair of you put some sort of additional enchantment on it? I'm afraid I didn't exactly get an instruction manual, or even much of a pedigree, when I acquired it."
"It's made of a special alloy, not technically magical, though it is not of this world. Certain demons are rather vulnerable to such materials."
"Cool. Given where I got it from, I knew there had to be some sort of history behind it, but I couldn't figure out how to learn what it was. Then, when I woke up in Donovan's body, I just knew that when I drew his sword it would be this one. And it still didn't help, because nobody else on his team knew where it came from. It was the first thing I asked them. Thank you for telling me."
"Where did you get it?"
Drew smiles enigmatically, "From someone I think I once gave it to because she reminded me of you."
While Melina ponders that, Drew finishes gathering up the dishes and carrying them over to the sink. Unlike Sam, he doesn't wash them himself. He just rinses them off and sticks them in the industrial dishwasher in the corner. "I do want to hear the rest of it, you know. How we fell in love and all the wonderful adventures we had during our brief and passionate affair. That's the good part of the story." He yawns."But not tonight. Right now, I just want to sleep."
He walks back over to the table and picks up his sword. At the door he pauses and turns back.
"Don't do anything stupid tomorrow, Melina. I know you're not going to let them take you back. That's okay. I'm not, either. I'm pretty sure I can get you out of this and get the Temple off your back for good. Not that you've made it easy for me. Using vampires for minions, blowing up the Temple field office, killing Joshua's mobster friends. You haven't exactly been a poster child for Not Evil."
Melina shakes her head and avoids Drew's eyes. "There's not much I can do about the evil that I've done in the past. I'm sorry for that, I really am."
She looks up. "But I promise to you that, tomorrow, I will be on the side of 'good' once again. There's work to be done, a mad wizard to be stopped, and a world to be saved. I'm with you, my captain. It will be like old times... well, for me anyway."
Drew nods. "I never doubted that. That's not what I meant. I meant... No sneaking off when nobody's looking. No faking your own death. No heroic sacrifices. I promise you, I will not let you fall into Temple hands again. Just, please, trust me."
Melina meets his eyes. "Like old times."
Drew shakes his head. "I'm not him, Melina. I'm not."
And he turns away and goes upstairs to find Sam.