Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Why do you choose to live this way
I can dig those games you play
Angels and demons and screaming saints
You're all normal and they're insane


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.12
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


The girl hung spreadeagle over the goat-headed seal. Her eyes bulged with terror as she watched someone or something move about the basement. Bringers scurried back and forth like ants, each preoccupied with their own little tasks, but the girl ignored them.

A dark-clothed figure stepped forward, but the girl paid no attention to anything but the knife in its apparently human hand. She had good reason. Though she writhed against her bonds, she couldn't evade its cool burn as the decoratively-etched blade plunged deep into her flesh over and over until eventually darkness claimed her.

---

"You took your time," Spike grumbled as Wes pushed the crypt door open, but his smile took any malice from the remark. The vampire leant back against the conveniently placed sarcophagus, only Buffy's strategically draped jacket giving him any pretence at decency as Buffy teleported away from his side with a guilty look, at the sound of the outer door opening.

"It takes time to arrange a cover up for a murder... especially when the witnesses wait until the entire police department is standing watching a fire fifty yards from the dead body before they tell anyone."

"We did have other problems to deal with," Buffy pointed out, taking Wes's bag from him and pulling out blue jeans and a black turtleneck. These she tossed onto the sarcophagus beside Spike along with a pair of holly-patterned boxer shorts that were still wrapped in cellophane, some sports socks and an old pair of running shoes.

Spike started to open his mouth to protest at the mere sight of the festive underwear. A sharp glare from Buffy as she unpacked swords from beneath the clothes was enough to make him change his mind. If that hadn't been sufficient incentive, the gleeful look when she found an item, which she discovered on pulling the two toggles apart was a thin, wire garrotte that rolled itself back up inside one of the handles when you let go of the ends, would definitely have made him err on the side of caution.

"Nifty. Don't suppose you have a couple of spares?"

"I'm afraid not, but I suggest that you keep a hold of that one for the time being. Now, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to what you actually need all these things to kill."

Spike walked around the sarcophagus so that it stood just below waist high between the watcher and himself and started getting dressed.

"Well, I think you've already killed my chances of gettin' a shag after the match," Spike responded waving the boxers he had been about to put on.

"How tragic!"

"Look," Buffy took over as her mate did that rapid dressing thing that she still found fairly amazing. "It was some sort of gnarly lookin', ugly-ass vampire, but Spike staked it dead centre and it didn't go poof."

"Like with Kakistos?"

"Ka-what?"

"The one eyed vampire that you and Faith killed together..."

"You mean he just needed a bigger stake?" Buffy asked.

"Hey!!!" Spike was obviously offended by any implication that his equipment wasn't up to scratch. "That vamp was not like Khaki-sots, or before either of you say it, The Master. They were just old bastards. That was a whole different species."

"What are you saying, Spike?" the watcher asked.

Spike fastened his belt buckle a couple of notches tighter than the hole where it obviously normally sat on Wes. "I'm saying that what we faced tonight was a Turok Han."

"And believe me, I don't want to meet Two Rock Luke or Two Rock Chewie."

Two male heads swivelled to look askance at the slayer.

"What? That was funny... Xander would have laughed."

---

"You really believe it was a Turok Han?" Wes asked as he passed out cans of beer that he had recently liberated from his fridge.

"Trust me." Spike's head tilted forward as he looked at the watcher, that scarred eyebrow raised.

Marie beat Buffy to the punch. "What's a Turok Han?"

Spike let Wes field the question. "From what I can remember, as humans are to neanderthals, so vampires as we know them are to the Turok Han. Up until now, I've never heard of them as anything more than a myth, the vampire equivalent of a campfire story."

"Me neither," Spike admitted, "but that thing fitted every damn story I've heard about the buggers."

"Do we know if there are more?" Wes asked.

Buffy shrugged. "I'd just as soon not take any chances... And let's not forget our mysterious Southern friend."

"Who?" asked everyone... including Spike.

"We really need to get that whole package upgraded for sound, you know. I can't believe I was the only one to catch the whole Whore of Babylon bit."

"You sure it wasn't just The First playin' with you?" Spike asked.

"No... maybe... No, someone had to hold that knife and I don't think it was one of the bringers... less light absorbent black wool and more slightly reflective black cotton."

Spike cast his mind back to their most recent shared vision. "The lady's right."

"Ladies are always right," Marie pointed out. "Now, shhh. The game's started."

---

Marie perched on the sofa next to Wes with her knees drawn up in front of her, as if she could hardly bear to watch as the the ball slipped past the Mexican keeper and into the net. Her bitter "No!" was followed by a stream of rapid Spanish that Buffy suspected was mostly curse words as Wes tried only partially successfully to calm her. This was a side of the fiery Latina she had never seen before.

"S' alright, pet. S'offside. See, the flag's up." Spike's voice echoed up from the floor where he was sprawled, lying propped up on one elbow with his other arm around Buffy's waist, his fingers tracing intricate and unfathomable patterns on the flesh of her abdomen. The vampire lowered his voice, whispering into his slayer's ear. "See, told you it wasn't just a guy thing."

"Okay, okay... And I know I'm going to regret this, but what's offside? The ball went in the net, didn't it?" Buffy's sense of failure over the girl's death was swamped for a time by the waves of contentment that rolled off the vamp as he quietly clarified the intricacies of the offside rule and how it could be exploited by disciplined defenders.

The way Spike had explained the situation with the potential, it seemed logical that the fault really lay with the council for not contacting either of Buffy's watchers sooner. As ever, though, Buffy's emotions bore little relation to what was logical. Wes or Giles could have got in touch with the couple via cell phone. From what Wes had gleaned during his dealings with the other watchers, the girl had even been missing before they had started their evening patrol. With some warning... Even Xander could have told them that there had been no overtime scheduled for that evening. Spike, however, wasn't big on wallowing in regrets for what might have been. In the morning proper, they would discuss what needed to be done, what steps needed to be taken to safeguard the remaining potentials from a repeat performance. Tonight, the vampire had his woman in his arms, a beer by his elbow and an international football match on the telly. Everything else could wait until the far side of sleep. It took a little while before his enthusiasm caught up Buffy in its wake, but it did, preventing her from dwelling on a non-existent failure on her part.

"Mommy?" Rosa appeared in the room doorway, Tigger in tow as usual.

Marie patted the cushion next to her. "Come here, honey. What's wrong?"

The girl climbed onto the seat and then into her mother's lap before she answered. "The dreams woke me up and then I could feel you were upset."

Marie could tell that, despite the toll the dreams had taken on the little girl, her mother being upset caused her more concern. "Shh, honey. It's nothing to worry about... Oh, look, sweetie..." She turned her daughter on her knee and pointed as the ball hit the net again, this time at the opposite end of the pitch.

Wes had no idea how it happened but suddenly he was being showered with little girl kisses, and the mother of the aforementioned little girl was straddling his lap in a most provocative manner. He wasn't about to complain one little bit.

---

The match was finally over, ending in a draw that allowed both teams to move forward into the second round. Wes's guests quietly deposited as many empty beer cans as they could spot into the bin before Spike bent over to press a kiss to the beauty curled up at one end of the sofa where her mother and Wes had been sitting.

"Night, night, ladybug."

Buffy would have followed suit but she was too afraid of waking the little girl.

The adults made their way through to the front door, their voices hushed.

"I'll check with the council in the morning. Their texts are starting to arrive, now. They may have something pertaining to the Turok Han legends."

"And, then, Scooby meeting at our place around eleven?" Buffy suggested. "Well, mini-Scooby meeting. Giles can tell Anya the latest and Xander can catch up after he gets sorted out at the site."

"Or we could hold it at The Magic Box before your drivin' lesson an' before Harris sees what we've done to his pride and joy, an' that way demon bint doesn't get left thinking she doesn't get a say..."

"I just thought it'd be easier. Sunlight, you know?"

"I know, pet, but it won't exactly be the first time I've taken the blanket express. Come on. We best get you to bed. You've had a long day." Spike held Buffy's jacket over his head to shield against the early morning sun as they crossed the street.

"Yeah, and I'll get a whole hour's sleep at most before we head for the meeting."

Spike's laugh was deep and seductive. "Who said anything about sleep, little girl?"

---

"I thought they were very fetching," Buffy taunted as she reclined against Spike's chest, the vampire's earlier innuendo having proven to be a bluff. It wasn't that he wouldn't easily and willingly rise to the occasion should that have been Buffy's desire, but by the time they had reached the privacy of their room and Spike had witnessed the bruises that bloomed all over Buffy's skin, he had prescribed a relaxing hot bath to ease some of the stiffness that was inevitably going to pay her a visit.

"I looked a right prat... wearing kegs that even a watcher wouldn't be seen in."

"I've seen you look worse."

"Yeah? When?"

Buffy's head tilted to one side and she surreptitiously watched his face out of the corner of one eye. "Oh. say... Randy... and your Hawaiian period."

Water splashed in the direction of her face and she collapsed into giggles at the vampire's mock petulance.

"I'm sorry about your duster, though," Buffy offered by way of an olive branch.

"Not the only one, pet, but, like you said, it's just a damn coat. So long as you're okay, nothing else matters."

Buffy twisted her head back until she could claim his lips in a tender kiss. She knew he had loved that coat and for him to bear its loss with such magnanimity made her feel cherished and proud.

As they slowly drew apart, Buffy changed the subject. "Rosa looked like a little angel tonight."

"Christ, love, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, never mind a gorgeous kid that I actually like. 'Sides if she was such a little cherub she wouldn't be pretendin' to be asleep when she wasn't."

"Very funny. Angel with a little 'A' and how d'you mean?"

"Her breathin' was right but her heartbeat gave it away a mile off."

"But why?"

"'Cause Little Miss Matchmaker is as bad as her grandmother an' if her mum had known she was awake then her an' Boy Watcher wouldn't be doin' the horizontal mambo as we speak."

"You don't know that?" Buffy half protested and half asked.

"Well, if I really concentrated I could probably hear, but I'd give 'em 70:30 on the body language alone."

"That is gross... and freaky and if you ever start applying that intuition of yours to anyone Giles' age or older, I don't want to know. Okay?"

Buffy didn't even realise the corollary of what she had just said.

---

Wes carried Rosa in his arms, following Marie as she made her way upstairs. The child failed to stir as the couple tucked her back into the bed in the spare room. However, when Wes followed Marie into his own room and made to remove the blankets he would need to make himself comfortable on the sofa downstairs, her hand came to rest on top of his, preventing him from pulling them out.

The watcher's gaze drifted from the french-polished nails, over the lithe yet petite arm that rested over his, lingering on the tantalising golden curves of her shoulders and neck before searching her face. Brown eyes sparkled back at him, alight with happiness and excitement, but behind those surface emotions there lay a certitude that he had been waiting to see.

Almost of its own volition, his hand reached out to cradle the base of her skull as his lips lowered to meet hers. He tried, at first, to take things slowly, only his lips and one hand touching her. He wanted to allow her every opportunity to change her mind. Her decision finally made, Marie had other ideas. Her arms twined about Wes's neck and with a jump she wrapped her legs around him. Wes deepened the kiss as impatient hands tugged the hem of his shirt from his pants and set to work on the buttons. Once the cotton was pushed from his shoulders, Wes was entranced to find her hungry mouth pressing kisses all over his torso, wherever she could reach. Every scar, every mark of the battles that had ultimately made him the man he was today, received special attention as Marie nibbled, sucked and licked with teasing efficiency.

Wes deftly stripped her T-shirt over her head, awed anew by the sight of her breasts, golden skin contrasting sharply with the pristine white lace that encased them. They weren't large. On so petite a frame, large breasts would have been out of place. They were full and well-rounded, though, and he ached to cradle them in his hands. Walking over to the bed, he rested one knee on the mattress and leaned gradually over until he could lower Marie to lie among the pillows.