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Angels and Demons by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 1.01
 

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The story so far...

Okay, everything went the same way as the show at least as far as Entropy, except for one slight difference. When Buffy had her magical clear out in Gone, instead of throwing everything out, she gave the box to Spike for safe-keeping.

This resulted in a rather different set of events when Spike hit "rock-bottom". By the time he reached the Magic Box, he already knew exactly what spell he wanted and was sobering up in preparation for casting magic. He took some time out to comfort Anya, and while they were indulging in some innocent mutual consolation, Spike wished that Buffy and Xander had the courage to follow their hearts rather than always worrying about what could go wrong all the time. As Anya would say, "wish granted".

Xander got all splotchy and possessive when he saw them dancing at the Bronze on the nerds' cameras, so much so that he whisked Anya off from the Magic Box the next day for a Vegas wedding. (Anya gave her power centre to Xander as a wedding gift, on the proviso that he didn't break it.) Spike cast the "Will Be Done" spell and made three wishes, that Buffy would be honest about her feelings, that she would work out exactly what she really wanted and that she'd really understand his feelings for her.

Before the first two wishes could have too much effect, the third one kicked in, and Buffy found her consciousness hitchhiking in Spike's body for a while, leaving her body conspicuously vacant. Eventually everything got sorted out but not before Buffy found out she'd been jumping to conclusions over the demon egg affair.

This, the insight she had into Spike's feelings and the wish Anya granted, led her to actually give him a decent chance. One thing led to another, and the "ripples" caused by that first change continued to spread outward. The nerds were captured and subdued before they could follow through on their plan for the armoured car heist, so neither Buffy nor Tara were ever shot. Willow never went on a rampage. Instead of the orbs being destroyed, Spike managed to take them from Warren and gave them to Xander as a wedding present. That sort of takes us up to the end of 'Spike's Will Be Done'.

Buffy and Spike are now engaged, something most of the Scoobies have come to accept. Xander, however, is caught up in some inner turmoil about the whole thing. He knows he has to come to terms with the relationship if he wants to remain friends with Buffy. However, he still doesn't trust Spike, and he keeps putting his foot in it.

Things in LA also turned out just a bit differently after Buffy and Spike decided to pay Angel a visit. Spike managed to point out to Connor - Buff and Spikey were introduced to him as Stephen - that Justine's attempt to fake something that looked like a vampire bite wasn't really very convincing. Though he still wouldn't let Angel help with burying Holtz, things certainly weren't so bad between father and son as they would have been. Buffy managed to come to terms with her feelings for Angel, and Spike and Angel managed to part on neutral terms.

Buffy also talked Giles into offering Wesley a job at The Magic Box. Though we don't yet know if he'll take up the offer, he and Spike seemed to get on quite well with each other. Buffy was intending to invite the LA gang to the wedding, but then Dawn pointed out that Angel's presence might be distressing for Giles, so now she's not so sure. Preparations for the wedding, which by then was about two months off, were and still are ongoing.

On other fronts, the gang began to put two and two together from Riley's earlier visit and decided that he must have access to some sort of surveillance on the Scoobies. They also knew, thanks to Buffy being in Spike's head, that the vampire wasn't the Doctor. Once Buffy remembered Sam's comment about working in an infirmary, they began to have their own suspicions. Anya confirmed from Buffy's description that the hatchlings weren't suvoltes, but a relatively harmless scavenger species and that the only reason they would have swarmed was if they were using a pheromone signature to find their mother. As Spike pointed out, the smell wasn't coming from Buffy's underwear, so that only left the clothes Riley had supplied. All things considered, Iowa Boy and Wonder Wife weren't exactly popular, and Spike was getting a bit paranoid. He was even suspicious of Dawn's new boyfriend, a new arrival in town. He also thought that the government knew about Dawn being the key and he was worried that if she showed any sign of being anything more than a normal teenage girl that they could view her as a threat to national security.

Buffy got to meet some of Clem's family, his mother Lily, who is an extremely gifted empath, his niece Rosa and her mother Marie, who is human. When Clem said that it was nearly two years since Rosa's father was killed, Buffy began to suspect that he was a victim of the Initiative. She was also forced to reassess her own actions and who she had become.

Spike also got Giles to investigate any possible occurrences where a vampire and a slayer made a mutual claim, or where a human and a vampire were bonded. At this point Giles' research had been inconclusive, and he warned the pair against making Spike's claim on Buffy (which happened in the heat of passion) mutual until he could research further. Buffy never really was that good at following the watcher's advice, though. As True Colors drew to a close, the couple had done just that and experienced a number of shared flashbacks to scenes of them together, topped off with a seemingly prophetic vision of their wedding reception. The overall effect was similar to what happened when Buffy tasted Dracula's blood.

The day after the claim was made mutual, while on an LA shopping trip Buffy, Spike and Dawn ran into Drusilla. Spike pushed the two girls into a taxi before he left with his former paramour. Unlike Dawn, Buffy believed that he was trying to protect them both and that Spike was in danger. Before events reached their climax, she was proven right, when they discovered that Dru had turned Lindsey McDonald as a gift for Darla, and the lawyer had been turning A list former clients... granting them immortality in exchange for a percentage of their wealth. Dru wanted to get her family back together. Lindsey wanted Spike around to take care of Dru but Angel was not part of the deal so far as he was concerned, though stripping away everyone Angel cared about one by one might have been.

Buffy roped in the AI team (minus Lorne who went missing later the same night as Spike) to help, and Clem and Lily made the trip from Sunnydale to LA to help out getting Spike back.

Lindsey arranged for Spike's chip to be removed at the clinic where they gave the former lawyer his "evil" hand. Dru subsequently tortured Spike.

Thanks to the claim, Buffy suffered from pains similar to but not as intense as those inflicted upon him and at one point when she tried to use meditation to focus on the bond between them, she seemed to be bleeding and passed out, though she didn't actually suffer any physical wounds. The couple also later discovered that the claim allowed Spike to be aware of what was happening from Buffy's point of view if she became involved in a fight, and vice versa, so that one mate would know if the other needed their aid or if they were already together they could fight even more effectively as a team than they ever had, almost thinking as one. They found that when they were both asleep together they would share dreams. They discovered that when they are in physical contact i.e. skin to skin, they can sense each other's emotional state. They also continued to share prophetic visions whenever the claim was renewed... but they didn't find out most of that until some time after Spike had been kidnapped.

His captors held Spike in the same place where Lorne was being held, along with several homeless kids that the vamps had picked up as food supplies. Spike refused to renounce his claim on Buffy, even after Dru burned away the scars with holy water, but she had one more trick up her sleeve. Using a Tabula Rasa spell, Spike was made to forget all his sire's slights and sins. With no memories of anything after he tried to cure Dru and with the chip removed, Spike reverted to his S2 self.

Spike, Dru, Lindsey and the other vamps arrive at The Hyperion ready for all-out war, but Angel had arranged to have the building enchanted with a sanctuary spell that prevented demon but not human violence. Despite the loss of memories, Spike still recognised Buffy as his mate and was half way up the stairs with her when he felt Drusilla's death and, since Dru had been wearing the crystal that was used in the Tabula Rasa spell and it crumbled to dust with her, the return of his lost memories.

Buffy, Spike, Angel, Gunn and Willow borrowed a helicopter from David Nabbitt and saved Lorne and the kids in the nick of time. Spike and Angel bonded over Drusilla's death (at least a little).

Wes came back from LA with Tara and Willow, thinking he could stay for a week or two and decide after that if he wanted to make the move permanent. Spike temporarily moved into Revello so that Wes could have his apartment. Things went a little more smoothly for a while and the biggest problem was having Dawn's boyfriend over for dinner, and dealing with some of Spike's issues, both from his past and from Buffy's treatment of him earlier in their relationship.

Making the most of her new boyfriend, Brandon, Dawn went out for a night at the Bronze with him when she was meant to be at home. Soon she suspected that she'd been drugged and as she tried to get away from Brandon, she was picked up by a military team led by Sam Finn. Brandon, who had also been drugged, was badly injured trying to protect Dawn and if Willow hadn't intervened using magical healing, he would have died in hospital.

As Buffy and Spike returned home from a trip up the coast, Spike was shot at (with bows) by another team, led by Riley Finn, who thought that Buffy needed rescuing from the vampire's thrall. Fortunately, after some previous trouble Spike had borrowed the orbs of invulnerability from Xander and when he discovered that they protected him from the sun's rays he had been reluctant to rush to return them.

Finally, once the soldiers had been overpowered and the two groups compared stories, they worked out that, unknown to Riley, Sam had been the Doctor all along and her most recent experimentation subject was a Key. Appalled at the idea of his wife experimenting on a little girl, Riley, along with Graham and some others, helped Buffy, Spike, Wes and Willow to get her back, though Angel and AI crowd were first to get their hands on Sam.

Fumbling Towards Ecstasy picked up as Dawn began her recovery from the kidnapping ordeal and the Glargh Guhl Kashmanik venom that Sam had injected her with. Sam had reasoned that this would prevent her from being able to tell her story, and also ensure that Buffy would be too busy looking after Dawn to investigate either this or any future dealings she might have in the area.

Dawn knew recovery was not going to happen overnight, but she also knew that Spike had been through a similar ordeal and would be there for her if need be.

Anya tried to induct Wesley into the world of The Magic Box, but it turned out that Clem's widowed sister-in-law, Marie, a lawyer with the DA's office, had a better proposition for someone with a PI licence.

There was a need for an investigator who was aware of Sunnydale's demon population, and Wes found that he should be able to make a living determining the real stories behind the local court cases.

Willow meanwhile decided to help Dawn's healing process, by making it like nothing ever happened. By the time the other Scoobies realised what she planned to do, it was almost too late. However, her efforts to summon a demon who could turn back time were spoiled when the puppy she was using as a sacrifice had a puppy-type accident and washed away part of the circle binding the demon. The freed demon cursed Willow for her arrogance, before going off to have a few drinks and catch up with her old friend Anyanka. Buffy, meanwhile, had Spike using his vampire senses to track down the puppy, partly to salve her conscience and partly as a gift for Dawn to help take her mind off what had happened to her. Enter Rogue as the latest member of what was about to become the Summers/McClay/Giles (the name on Spike's fake papers) household.

The spell was the final straw for Tara as far as her relationship with Willow was concerned but, with only a little nudging from Spike, Buffy asked Tara to stay and threw Willow out instead, saying that the witch had endangered them all again.

Thanks to Anya's catch up session with her friend, the Scoobies discovered that the curse on Willow was such that for each of her actions that failed to meet the Wiccan ideals the witch claimed to espouse, Willow would age so that her decrepitude matched the decay of her soul. However, it was completely reversible. If Willow had actually studied the Wiccan teachings and put them into practice, eventually, she could have atoned for the sacrifice of the doe when she raised Buffy and returned to looking her own age.

Willow, however, preferred to try to use magic to defeat the curse, thereby making it worse, and doing herself no favours when she used magic to keep up her end of term averages despite not having studied. She found herself back home, living in her parents' basement.

Wes moved into the house opposite Buffy's, where the bug man from the Order of Taraka had attacked Buffy's neighbour back in S2, which in this 'verse had been vacant ever since, using it as both his home and the offices for his new business. By the time he found his own place, Giles had arrived to help out with wedding preparations, so Spike stayed in Revello and Giles moved into Spike's apartment.

Lily threw a "Welcome to Sunnydale" party for Wes where she blatantly tried to matchmake between Wes and Marie, though both of them give the outward appearance of being rather gun-shy and Wes was still more than a little in love with Fred. We also got to meet Bee, who lived in the apartment block Marie owns, a ditzy blonde, seldom seen without her Siamese cat, Rupert, following close behind, someone who had a better knowledge of demon languages and demon history than Giles, and a rather low opinion of the council and its lackeys.

Spike fell ill in the way that vampires don't, and Bee was drafted in to help with the research. Wes later tempted her to join him as a junior partner since income from her career as an artist was unreliable.

Spike was convinced that his symptoms were those of a vaudaun curse he'd seen used before, but in the end it turned out that Robin Wood, freshly arrived in town in time to recruit staff for the new high school, had been poisoning all the blood supplies at the various butchers in town, using poison supplied by none other than Quentin Travers.

Willow was first to realise what was going on but she was still smarting from the humiliation of being asked to leave Revello and she decided not to tell the others what was wrong. She did magically alter all the poisoned blood, however, so that it smelled off.

When Tara and Wes performed a spell to see magic they found her "mark" on all the blood but also they discovered that the orbs which Spike has been using for UV protection contained the soul of a famous champion of the Nezzla demons, from whom they were originally stolen by The Trio. The poison was identified as the same one used against Angel back in S3 and Bee enlisted a demon doctor (disclosing to Wesley in the process that she was half demon, her mother being from another dimension while her father was from a family of prominent LA mages) to carry out transfusions to Buffy, Faith (who Angel brought down from LA) and Dawn after they each donated blood for Spike to drink - since the episode on the tower with Glory showed that Dawn's blood and Buffy's is to a certain extent interchangeable - thereby eliminating the risk of Spike draining any of them.

Unfortunately, before they could get that far Spike had disappeared. He had insisted that Buffy should take the orbs when she went to interrogate her former friend about her mark appearing on all the spoiled blood, in case Willow turned out to be dangerous while in her unbalanced state and meanwhile, despite being barely ambulatory as well as delirious and/or seeing The First, he had gone off to have a one-on-one meeting with Wood.

For his part, Wood was under the influence of The First and planned to use Spike's blood to open the seal under the high school construction site. Buffy et al. arrived in the nick of time but only just.

Before Angel went back to LA, Spike was appointed to act as mediator between Giles and Angel. Buffy wanted Angel at the wedding, but not at the expense of ruining the day for Giles. Spike made up a drinking game, the idea behind which was to get Giles and Angel to be honest enough with each other to work out where the true problem between them lay. When it became apparent that Giles blamed Angel for the fact that he was never able to heal the rift between himself and Jenny, Angel suggested that Giles should curse Spike with Jenny's soul.

Meanwhile when Faith, Fred and Gunn walked in on Wes and Marie having a business lunch a friends-pretending-to-be-more-than-that kiss, that started out to spare Wes his obvious embarrassment at seeing Fred, persuaded both Wes and Marie that maybe they wanted more than just friendship.

Back at Spike's apartment all three participants were more than a little worse for wear, and despite Spike's protests the plan was enacted. Once Spike agreed to come out the bathroom (he was a little unhappy at the physical effects that Jenny's feelings for Giles were having on his lower anatomy) the rest of the Scoobies got involved. Giles hypnotised Spike so that he would remain dormant, leaving Jenny's soul in control of his body until either midnight or until Jenny left. He also hypnotised Jenny so that when she heard the town clock strike midnight she would experience true happiness, on the assumption that there was little chance of her reaching that state without that sort of assistance (especially as Spike had insisted that everyone's clothes should remain on at all times). Tara provided a glamour to make Spike's body look and feel like Jenny's and enabled the couple to have one last evening together.

Spike came to on the beach with Giles' tongue in his mouth about an hour before midnight. Fortunately, Tara and Dawn were able to lend a hand talking Spike round when he began to sulk about not being a proper vampire any more and when Buffy got back from patrol she did an even better job of convincing him.





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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.01
Friday, May 24th, 2002


"Hurry up!" Dawn insisted. "He's here."

"You want me to hurry up or you want it done right?" Spike snarled back as he used one hand to turn Dawn's head back towards him and hold it steady, while in the other he held a felt-tip style eyeliner. "Look up."

As he swept the pen under her right eye, leaving a thin line of pale, iridescent blue, Faith's voice echoed up the stairs. "Spike, phone. Angel."

"Tell him there's only me, Buff, Bit an' the mutt comin' an' we weren't plannin' on takin' the mutt to the restaurant."

He'd just moved on to Dawn's other eye when Faith shouted again. "He says that's not why he rang. He says he needs to speak to you." Spike frowned at the interruption to his concentration.

"Tell him I'll ring him back, unless... Buffy? You want to go speak to him?" Spike asked his fiancée, who was posing in front of Dawn's mirror, holding up the teenager's prom dress in front of her.

Her lower lip dropped into a pout. "But I've gotta help with her dress."

"Play with her dress more like, an' you won't be doin' anything till I've finished with her make-up, an' since I'll be vacatin' the room before she takes her robe off, I'll can swap with you then. So... bugger off an' see what Grandpa wants like a good girl."

"Buffy," Dawn interrupted. "If you don't go, my eyeballs are going to dry out from all the looking up while I wait for him to finish."

He managed to complete Dawn's eye shadow and mascara before Buffy came back into the room holding the handset.

"He wants to know if you know anything about breaking into places with hi-tech security," she said.

"Ye-ah... when you bust into places with hi-tech security, alarms go off," Spike replied, as he applied a tiny hint of blusher, before moving on to pick up a brush to outline Dawn's lips in a pale almost neutral pink.

"So, you don't know anything about planning how to break into one of these places without setting all the alarms off?"

"I'd lay odds I know at least as much as Mr Straight an' Narrow... Blot." He passed Dawn a folded tissue and waited for her to finish before he applied a second and final coat of lipstick. As he did so, he relayed a question via Buffy. "We talkin' about goin' after his bird or after that horseshoe whatchamicallit?"

"He says the axis and I say why?"

"'Cause the security on summat as is expected to raise thirty-three million is gonna be more than the security on some bint, even if she does have a direct hook-up to The Powers That Want to Screw With Our Lives." Spike took the handset from Buffy, nodding at Dawn as he did so. "All yours. Time I went an' intimidated her date."

"Like you don't, anyway?" Dawn shouted after him as he left the room.

"Talk to me, Peaches." Spike paced at the top of the stairs. Brandon cared about Dawn, he knew, but there were times when he was just a bit too much of an upright citizen for Spike to trust him completely. He listened as his grandsire explained how Fred had managed to track down the photographer who had taken the pictures for the auction house brochure. Some judicious breaking and entering had revealed the location where the shoot had taken place and Fred had then been able to find the shipping company which had delivered it there. If it had been moved again since, then it had been done without the benefit of the same heavy security. Angel had a meeting tonight with a snitch from the firm that installed the alarm system at the location where it was being held. By tomorrow morning he would have the plans. If at all possible, Angel wanted to be ready to move tomorrow night.

"We'll be there early tomorrow. Normally, we'd pile in the car an' drive down tonight, but seein' as how Bitty's been waitin' for weeks to be the belle of the ball, if I didn't let her have her night out, we'd like as not end up with her decidin' to share with me an' Buffy every night instead of just when she has nightmares."

"That happen often?"

"Every other night, give or take a couple, since the thing with Sam. Either us or Glinda."

"Will she be okay on her own at the hotel if everyone else is involved tomorrow night?"

"She'll have the mutt for company, an' to be honest, I'd as soon Buffy had as little part in this as possible, so... What about our little cuckoo in the nest? Want us to bring her? So far as I know she's more of a smash an' grab type than stealth girl, but..."

"No, let her pick up the slack on the patrol side of things. If they catch her going after that thing on top of two murder raps, they'll just throw away the key. I'll have rooms ready for you at the hotel for when you get here. Faith said you're not bringing the witch?"

"She's busy studying. She's got her end of year exams. Won't be done till Wednesday. You think we might need the hocus-pocus?"

"Considering the auction house deals in black market mystical items..."

"Well, I can think of one alternative, seein' as how Rupert's back in Blighty an' if Red so much as tried anythin' like this she'd likely kill herself, but you'd have to be prepared to do some fence mendin'."

"Wesley. Kidnapped. My Son."

"Wesley did what we all do. He took the information that he had available to him and he made a choice. As your friend, he decided that you would rather your son was safe than anything else, even if the danger he had to take the boy away from was you. What happened after he took him wasn't his fault. An' the only thing that won't let you see that is that damn Irish pride of yours. I'd like to think that if Buffy was out of the picture an' he believed I was goin' to hurt Bitty, for whatever reason, that he'd do the same for her. It makes me happier knowin' that there's someone around who's prepared to make the hard choices, even if it means leaving behind every friend he's got... or losin' them when they're too small-minded to even put themselves in his shoes."

"It's not that simple, Spike."

"No? Well, it is this simple. We might need someone who can handle the mojo. Even if we don't need him for the magic, the Watcher can handle himself and that's never a bad thing, not to mention he's not exactly short on the old grey matter. Without Wes the chances of pullin' this off go down. That means the chances of you gettin' the cheerleader back go down, too. So, does she mean more to you an' your crew than some stupid idea you're all carryin' round that what he did was designed to hurt you rather than to safeguard yours and Darla's hell spawn?"

"Would you not refer to my son as hell spawn?"

"Well, last I knew that was the general term for a demon sprog."

"That's... Just don't, Spike."

"Or what? Look, come morning we'll be there. By all means take a while to think it through an' discuss it with Othello an' Desdemona but I sincerely suggest that you get off your high horse an' ring Wes before his dates arrive. So far as I know, his cell's not one of the new ones Buffy bought so it's probably the same one as he had when he worked with you, or I can give you his home number."

"I'll think about it."

Spike looked up as Buffy came out onto the landing, followed closely by Dawn. "You do that. See you in the a.m.!" Spike ended the call and turned his full attention to the ocean-hued vision in front of him.

Even Dawn's nerves couldn't do anything to make her look less than perfect. "You need an arm to lean on goin' down the stairs, pet?"

"And I was hoping you were going to carry me," the teenager teased as she wrapped her arm around his.








Spike taunted the boy mercilessly. "Yeah, so, she's gorgeous? Runs in the family. Now, either shut your mouth or use it to tell her somethin' nice an' give her that corsage before you drop the damn thing."

Brandon blushed and passed the flower in its clear plastic box to Dawn before stuttering a greeting. "Y-y-you were right about the dress. It is something else."

Spike rolled his eyes and drew the boy off to one side. "Look, I know your brain is parked in neutral, or at least it better be, because if you're thinking anything you shouldn't be thinking about a fifteen year old girl, you'll have her big sister to deal with... before or after me, but don't kids these days get the concept of romance? You're supposed to help her put it on an' it's her you're meant to compliment, not the bloody frock.

This thing finishes at one. Even allowing for a queue getting out of the parking lot, I expect you back here at 1.30 latest. An' if I hear that you were anything other than a perfect gentleman..." Just for a second, unseen by the congregated women in the room, Spike let his eyes flash yellow.

"Now, try again."

He spun the boy around to face Dawn, whose nervous fingers were fumbling to open the box the corsage came in, and sent him on his way with a gentle push.

He moved over to where Buffy watched the drama from one side, smiling as her arm slid around his waist even before his own wrapped around her shoulders. She tilted her head back to kiss his cheek. "I hope you scared him good," she whispered, "'cause that really is the killer dress."

"An' a Summers' woman inside it."

"He looks kinda cute in a tux himself, though," Buffy admitted.

"Have I got competition?" Spike asked gleefully.

"Hey! Mom an' dad, less with the makin' eyes at each other and get in the picture," Faith berated them.

"Not without Glinda." Spike pulled the protesting witch with them. "Just give us one of those sweet smiles of yours for the family album."








"Remember, we'll be patrolling the graveyards nearest the school, just in case, so if you see any vampires or devil dogs or flying monkeys or... whatever, you just give us a call and we'll be right there."

"Yes, Buffy, but you know those things only happen to you, right?"

"And if the limo doesn't take you straight there, you call me."

"Buffy, there is no 'Slayer's little Sisterfest'. Chill. The worst thing that's going to happen is if I spill punch down my dress the minute I get there."

Buffy nodded her head. "Well, if you do, and this Kristin is within a ten foot radius of your elbow at the time..."

"Kirsty and I know. Call you."

"And don't lose the earrings or the necklace..."

"Yes, mom."

Buffy's eyes welled up. "She'd be so proud of you. All dressed up."

"And with a date that isn't Faith," Dawn pointed out.

Spike wrapped his arms around Buffy's shoulders and nodded to Brandon. "Better take her an' make a run for it. I'll keep a hold of this one so she can't follow you into the limo."

Buffy's hands reached up to hook over Spike's as she tilted her head back to question her mate. "Are you comparing me to the dog?"

"Nope, just a slightly clingy mother... an' besides it's not like you're the one locked in the basement to stop you drooling on her dress. So, are we actually doing a patrol, or are we just going to find somewhere where we can spy on them all night?"

"It's not spying. We-e-e're just ensuring their welfare. In Sunnydale, these sort of things always seem to attract some sort of demon activity."

"Bit's school isn't in Sunnydale, pet, at least not till next year, if Hard Hat Harris ever finishes building it... Always assuming that you don't want to send her to that nice new Miss Chalmers' School for Gifted Girls that's suddenly decided to open for business."

"Like I'm going to just hand over my sister for Quentin Travers to use as a hostage? Get real. I still can't believe that the Council has owned all these properties around Sunnydale for years and just left them sitting empty, but they can't pay slayers a salary."

"Well, you could say the wannabes are getting scholarships, if you want to look at it like that."

"And Travers is Professor X... I don't think."

"Does that mean I get to be Wolverine?" Spike's mouth twitched briefly into a pout and his left eyebrow went up about a centimetre.

"Nah, you flunk tall and dark."

"As long as I pass on handsome and sexy..." he crooned, tilting his head forward until his lips almost touched Buffy's forehead.

"Yep, you look like you passed when they were giving out handsome and sexy," Buffy pulled away when Spike's hands began to tickle her as punishment.

"That gym could be awash with the demon hordes if you keep distracting me," she pointed out. "All those teenage pheromones... It's like demon Chanel..."

"That's mostly just werewolves." Spike stepped out from under the porch to look at the suspiciously round moon. "Tell me that cousin of Red's Dog Boy doesn't live anywhere near Bit's school."

Buffy simply arched an eyebrow. Spike obviously wasn't aware that the full moon was actually two nights off, but if it meant he was a bit quicker getting ready for their patrol of the school grounds, she wasn't about to let on, at least not before they got where they were going. He picked up his coat from where it was draped over the banister and, finding Buffy's underneath it, held it out for her to put on before donning his own. "Guess I better get the car."

Buffy reached out a hand to stop him. She picked up the keys for his Harley from the hall table, throwing them to him. "The motorcycle's less conspicuous."








"Hello? Like the peroxide freak didn't spell it out simple enough? Don't you want me back?" Cordy paced impatiently as she watched two scenes at once. "Call Wesley, you great big mook," she berated Angel.

"And you lot... You couldn't come to start the planning straight away? You have to do the whole 'Pretty in Pink' routine? It's not like she's running for prom queen or anything..."
 
Chapter 1.02
 

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.02
Friday, May 24th, 2002


So far as Wes could tell, everything was ready. Anything that he had considered might possibly be deemed unsuitable for Rosa to investigate had been moved upstairs, either to his own bedroom, which was currently locked, or under lock and key in one of his glass-fronted bookcases in the upstairs study.

He'd been unsure what to cook. If it had been just him and Marie, he might have gone for something elaborate, but he didn't know enough about Rosa's eating habits to be sure what she would eat. Buffy had come to the rescue by providing him with a large selection of take-away menus, though Spike's 'helpful' comment had run along the lines that if Rosa ate her grandmother's cooking she would eat anything.

Marie was bringing the DVDs with her, a kiddie friendly one for the earlier part of the night and then another couple for after they had put Rosa to bed in the spare room. He had even visited the local Disney store and brought home a stuffed Tigger, about half as big as Rosa herself, to share the bed with the little girl whenever she came to visit. As to where anyone else was sleeping, he had no idea.

His previous dates with Marie had ended with him dropping her off outside her apartment. It didn't take a mindreader to know that Marie had been as reluctant to part as he was, but she had yet to invite him in at the end of an evening. Reading between the lines, Wes suspected that Marie's home life had been very sheltered. By her own admission her mother had disowned her after she had been excommunicated and Wes thought that was just one way in which a religiousness that bordered on fanaticism had manifested itself. She had met Rosa's father, Thomas, when she was in her first year of college and Wes knew that he was the first man she had dated since his death.

Then again, considering that he had spent over a year in the futile pursuit of Fred, just being with a woman who obviously wanted to be with him was a refreshing change and it wasn't doing his self-esteem any harm, either. Wes wasn't about to betray her trust by rushing her into his bed before she was completely ready. If Marie chose to double up with Rosa or if he ended up sleeping on the sofa, that was okay with him... even if certain other arrangements would be infinitely preferable.








"Hey! How are you today?" Wes asked Rosa as he swung the self-propelled missile that occasionally masqueraded as a young girl into his arms.

"Mommy says I'm a handful today, but I think I'm bigger than that 'cause a handful's only little. Is this your house?"

"It's where I'm living for the moment, but I don't own it," Wes explained.

"Can I look 'round?"

"Maybe later. Your mommy needs to check that I haven't left anything where you might hurt yourself first."

"I won't get hurt and if I do mommy kisses it better."

"Why don't you pretend you're a good girl and wait like Wes asked you to?" Marie suggested as she joined them, carrying an overnight bag over one shoulder and a Barbie backpack in one hand. She leant over Rosa's shoulder to kiss the Englishman on the cheek.

"Because I'm a little demon?" the girl replied with a grin, "but I'll pretend to be good."

"Rosa, why don't you take your bag up to the spare room? It's upstairs at the front of the house at that end." Wes pointed toward the living room. "You should find someone on the bed, waiting to keep you company." He lowered the girl to the floor and she immediately took off upstairs to check out her sleeping quarters for the night.

"Hey, handsome." Marie dropped her own bag on the floor and stepped into Wes's waiting arms. This time their greeting wasn't going to fall into the family viewing category, though Wes was forced to cut it far shorter than he might have liked, in order to avoid being seen by little eyes.

"Hey, to you, too." His voice was husky with desire as he stooped to pick up Marie's bag for her. "There are only two bedrooms, I'm afraid. I'm using what was originally the master bedroom as a study, but if you'd rather not share with Rosa, I can take one of the couches..."

Marie's teeth rested nervously on her lower lip as she considered. "Normally, I would say that I would share with the little one, but then... if things change..."

"It would be difficult to explain to her why you weren't going to be sharing with her any longer," Wes added in an understanding whisper.

"Sí. I don't want to evict you from your bed, though." She stumbled over her words as she realised this could be misconstrued. "I mean that I'm happy to sleep on the sofa."

Wes smiled and taking her hand led her upstairs. "I wouldn't hear of it. If word got around that I let a young lady sleep on the sofa while I had a huge double bed all to myself, I'd be disqualified from ever claiming to be a gentleman again. The sofa is mine."

"You don't mind? I mean you weren't expecting..."

Wes reached the landing at the top of the staircase and turned to look Marie in the eye as she joined him. "All I expect from you is your company. The rest..." He gave a tiny shake of his head as if to say anything else were unimportant. "The rest will come together in its own good time... or not."

He took the key for his bedroom door from his trouser pocket and passed it to Marie as Rosa emerged from the spare room, dragging Tigger behind her. "I've hidden away some things in there that I didn't think Rosa should get her hands on, so, it's probably best kept locked unless one of us is there to watch her. I'll be getting some sort of safe for what's in the closet, but I haven't had time, yet. Why don't you unpack? I'll show Rosa the rest of the house and you can catch up with us when you're ready." He placed her bag on the floor beside the locked door.

Curiosity drove Marie to head straight for the closet as soon as she had dumped her bag on the bed. At first she saw only clothes, but then, on the shelf above the closet door, she noticed the items to which Wes had referred. She pulled down the pump-action shotgun. She'd come across enough weapons in her time as an attorney to have learned the basics, although she had never fired one. The safety catch was on and when she checked, she found the weapon wasn't loaded. Once she had confirmed that the same was true of all three handguns that were there, she replaced them all back on the shelf. She sat down on the bed, unzipping her bag but getting no further with her unpacking than that. For all she had known about Wes's work, the violence inherent to it had never really registered until that moment. He was being up front about it. If he hadn't said anything, she might never have noticed the weapons there. Obviously, they were as secure as he could make them, under the circumstances, but something about having a gun in the same house as her child made her blood run cold, and she was sure that there would also be enough bladed weapons hidden away to give her nightmares. For the first time since Lily had commented on her attraction to the Brit, Marie began to wonder if acting on that attraction had been the right thing to do.

She knew that Wes was a good man and however many firearms he owned, that fact wouldn't change. She just wasn't sure any more that it was safe for Rosa to be around him.








"I should go see mommy," Rosa announced as Wes showed her the back yard, pointing out that she wasn't allowed to play near the spa unless he or her mother were there. "She's sad."

"She's sad? How do you know?"

The little girl shrugged. "I just know."

"Maybe I should speak to her?"

The girl shook her head as the breeze carried the distant echo of Wes's doorbell. "You have to speak to the angry men."

Wes ushered the girl toward the back door. "Go see your mommy. Don't let her answer the door. I'll speak to whoever is there, okay? Now be careful you don't fall or anything."

Wes made his way around the side of the house at a brisk walk, hoping to intercept his visitors before Marie could answer the door. Wes would have liked to pretend that he was surprised at their identity but he had almost been expecting it, and Rosa's description was more than apt.

"Quentin, Lydia, I thought you might show up sooner or later. I'm afraid the rest of you are after my time. I would ask Quentin to do the introductions but I really don't care. I gather Faith packed off the flunkies you sent to the graveyard to fetch her last night with their tails between their legs." Wes slowed his pace to a stroll as he stepped onto the front porch, facing the group head on.

"Well," Travers drawled. "I really don't see that our business with Faith has anything to do with why we're here."

"Doesn't it? My impression was that you wanted to use Faith as a saboteur within Buffy's household and when she turned you down you thought I was your next best choice."

"Nonsense, Wesley. Faith has yet to hear our offer. She merely requested that if I wanted to speak to her I should seek her out directly. As to why we're here, we simply heard that you were in the area and thought we would pay a social call to see how you were doing. Your father sends his regards, by the way... though he did seem surprised to discover that you had... How did he put it? ...Slunk out of Los Angeles like a thief in the night."

"I did not slink. I came back to Sunnydale because Buffy asked me to and I never hid where I was going or what my plans were from anyone."

"You simply neglected to mention either these plans, or the fact that your employment with Angel Investigations had been terminated to your parents."

"My relationship with my parents is not up for discussion here."

"There's no need to be touchy, Wesley. We, as a group, invested a great deal in your training. I am here to ascertain whether your return to Sunnydale might indicate that you no longer adhere to that ridiculous loyalty you appeared to offer that abomination by whom you were employed in Los Angeles. Shall we just say that we have yet to totally write off our investment in you?"

"You can say whatever you like-." Wes, and those facing him, turned as the front door of the house opened.

"Wes?" Marie asked, with a determination that many of the local attorneys would have easily recognised. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem at all. I was just letting Mr Travers know that his thirty pieces of silver weren't going to buy anyone around here." She moved past Travers and his disciples to stand next to Wes, her arm wrapping around his waist.

Quentin ignored her, as if her presence were insignificant. "A great battle is coming, Wesley. It will pit human against demon on a scale never before seen. Your father isn't the only one who will be disappointed if you choose the wrong side. Remember Miss Summers and her delinquent cohort are only two links in a chain. Slayers are... disposable. They fulfill their purpose and then they die and a new slayer is called. The Council is the constant, not the girls. If Miss Summers has so far forgotten her duty as to consort with the very demon who killed two slayers and massacred watchers and potentials by the score as if it were some macabre game, then she is no longer a fitting champion for the human race."

"I choose the side that lets me live with my conscience. Buffy does the same. She outgrew the concept of being a champion to the human race. She is a champion for the innocent, human and demon alike. Your veiled threats would not impress her and they don't impress me. You know and I know that if there is a major showdown coming, then you can't afford to have an inexperienced girl spear-heading the battle. Buffy, Spike and Faith are the best weapons that my side has. It's up to you to decide whether you stand with us or against us, not the other way around."

One of the younger watchers let out a hiss of breath that seemed far louder than it should have, reaching instinctively under his jacket. Wes's hard glare stopped his movement before the weapon he had sought became visible. Marie turned enough without relinquishing her grip on Wes's waist to see Rosa framed in the open doorway of Wes's house, her ponytail doing nothing to disguise her other than human features. "I told you to stay inside, baby."

Marie's words confirmed Wes's suspicions without any need for him to remove his gaze from the watcher who threatened the girl. "I would consider very carefully before you even think about harming someone who may some day become my step-daughter. Now... put whatever you were thinking of pulling out of that inside pocket back in there and leave."

The man had heard all sorts of stories about Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. None of them prepared him for the intimidating figure he faced. Without any conscious thought, he returned his handgun to its holster and let his hand drop once more to his side.

"We'll leave," Quentin warned. "For now... but this is far from over, Wesley."

The group turned en masse to leave, but one grey-suited figure hovered at the edge of the pack long enough to give Wes a nod and a brief smile. "You've changed, Wesley. It suits you."

Wes's mouth twitched in a self-deprecating quirk, his tone no longer unfriendly, though still slightly wary. "It would have been hard to change for the worse. You better go before he misses you, Lydia."

The blonde's gaze darted back and forth between Wes and the retreating group. "Maybe we could have a coffee or something... for old times' sake? Some time when Quentin isn't around."

"Maybe... but if you're looking to expand that thesis of yours, anything I know is off limits."

She shook her head. "No ulterior motive, just coffee," she said. Her gaze caught Marie's, which wasn't exactly friendly. "And just old acquaintances... I better catch up. I'll call."

Somehow, Wes didn't doubt that she would be able to find his number. He just didn't know whether, like him, Lydia Chalmers had changed enough to act without her mentor's approval or whether this was just another strand in the web with which Travers hoped to ensnare them all.








Angel's hand hovered over the phone in his office for the hundredth time since he had spoken to Spike. He even dialled the first three digits of the number for Wes's cell before he dropped the handset back into the cradle.

"I just can't do it." He spoke more to himself than to anyone else in the room, but Lorne decided to take it as his cue in any case.

"Let me, pumpkin." The red-eyed demon picked up the receiver, dialled the numbers that Angel had pressed and added a few more. "Wes? We found out where the axis is. Angel would have called but he's just about to leave to meet up with a guy who claims to have the plans for the building and its security systems. The white-chocolate love muffin and his lady are coming down from Sunnydale tomorrow morning to see if they can help out and he suggested you might make a useful addition to the team. Are you in?"

"I'll be there."

"You- em want-."

"I said I'll be there, Lorne." Wes successfully concealed his impatience. "Believe me, Buffy and Spike won't manage to leave for a trip to LA without making enough noise to wake me." Wes ended the call and placed the phone down on the nearest available surface. His eyes sought out Marie's. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"








"Thank you , Lorne. At least someone wants to get me back... Now I guess I can check and see who did make prom queen... not that there's much in the way of competition these days."
 
Chapter 1.03
 

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.03
Friday, May 24th, 2002


Almost entirely for the sake of appearances, Spike had parked the Harley so that there was at least one graveyard between it and Dawn's school. He and Buffy were undertaking what could be termed a patrol... if they happened to be patrolling for the very few vamps who might not recognise either one of them and who might just be attracted to Buffy's bright chatter, rather than scurrying off or melting into the shadows at the sound of her voice.

"There's nothing we can do about the dresses or the suits until Short Round says we're ready for the first fittings," Buffy announced, "so check on that... kinda."

"Check, so long as you don't call him Short Round to his face or your dress is like to end up shredded."

"We've got the flowers ordered."

"Check on the flowers."

"We've got the church and the minister and the reception hall."

"And amen to that," Spike replied in not particularly happy fashion.

Buffy pouted. "Special day," she reminded him.

"Funny... I recall it as two days that were special only in that I didn't know anything could be so mind-numbingly boring... trailing round every reception hall in the county, with you turning down several perfectly good venues before we finally found the one that 'looked how you remembered it'."

"It was your vision, too."

"Yeah, but I wasn't trying to memorise the wallpaper for later comparison. My attention was on you , not the soddin' room."

"I didn't either at the time. I got Giles to help me meditate so that I could try to remember the details."

"And we couldn't have let our fingers do the walking rather than taking the bike 'round all of them?"

"You didn't have to take me. I could have gone on my own."

"The hell you could. One dent in my baby's bumper was quite enough."

"It's tiny , you big wuss. You can barely see it. That car's built like a tank."

"That's not the point... And you're still going for those lessons."

Buffy scowled at him but it wasn't very convincing. "Isn't it kinda overkill, though? Most people do a couple of lessons a week, not nine till eleven, Monday to Friday, for four weeks solid."

"You want to get it out the way before the weddin' or not? Or maybe you'd prefer to be walkin' to college? Or maybe..." His tongue ran over his teeth. "...You want to have the Niblet dropping you off on her way to high school?"

Buffy dropped his hand to beat against his chest with her fists. "Bitch," she accused. Her blows, however, barely merited the name. Spike stepped in closer, his hands sliding around her waist and then settling rather lower as he closed the distance between them entirely. Her fists opened and her hands wound around his neck, pulling his head down in order to occupy that wicked mouth in another way.

Buffy was dimly aware that the hem of her knee-length skirt was creeping higher and the tiny part of her brain that could concentrate on anything other than how good he made her feel tried really hard to make her do something to stop him, to protest, for practical reasons if nothing else, not that Spike wasn't fully aware it was that time of the month. Her hands, however, had a mind of their own. A trailing finger teased the flesh where the marks of her teeth never seemed to fade. Spike flung his head back, gasping for air while her other hand slid between their bodies, loosening the heavy silver buckle that lay between her and paradise. She popped the button on his waistband, flipped the tab up on his zipper and let pressure do the rest, his zip sliding down of its own accord.

She hooked a booted leg behind his and pushed him back so that he fell in the soft grass, half hidden in the dappled shadow of a rhododendron bush.

Then, in the fraction of a second as their eyes locked before she sank down to join him, they heard the scream.








"Can you see him?" Brandon asked.

"Nope, I think we're clear... for now. This is so unfair. We get away from the psycho sister and her boyfriend for the night and then we get to have your dad watch us all night."

"He's-."

"Excuse me." Kirsty pushed through between the couple, followed by her entourage as if there hadn't been more than ample space for her to pass behind them, knocking Dawn backwards in the process.

"Jeez, guess you should stop kidding yourself that that butt is a size six," Dawn muttered under her breath.

The blonde in her scarlet satin dress and matching lipstick swivelled on her heel.

"What did you say?"

Dawn took a breath. She hadn't backed down in front of Sam. She sure as hell wasn't going to let Kirsty bully her any more. "I said that you should stop kidding yourself that your gargantuan butt is going to fit through spaces that are too small for it, especially when you're wearing a dress so tight that everybody can see exactly how big it really is."

There was a stunned intake of breath from Kirsty's court. "Coming from someone whose dress looks like her mother picked it... Oh wait, you don't have a mother... And your sister doesn't make enough flipping burgers to buy you a new T-shirt once in a blue moon, so I guess either you stole it or you found something in your size at the charity shop. I guess beggars can't be choosers." Kirsty's voice began to draw the attention of those outside her own little circle occupying that quadrant of the hall, aiming to turn the argument into a public humiliation.

"If you can't recognise this season's Paul Sternam," Dawn said, naming the small but up-and-coming designer in LA where Buffy had found her dress. "...Then you should keep your ignorance to yourself. But then, what can you expect from such a tacky, whorish, less than subtle tramp, who's only going to make prom queen because she's dated half the football team and Shelley has chicken pox? Other than a dress that looks like its own red-light zone, that is?"

"Since you couldn't win a popularity contest in a leper colony if you were giving it away, I don't think your opinion will count for much."

"You can talk about giving it away, when the slit on your dress goes so high everyone can tell you're not wearing underwear."

"Miss Summers! A word..." The rich baritone could only mean one thing... busted. As she looked up, the principal crooked his finger in her direction, beckoning her over. Brandon took her elbow and escorted her, refusing to be intimidated by the man's pointed glance.

The man shook his head at Dawn. "What are we going to do with you, Miss Summers? Much as Miss Walker would benefit from being taken down a peg or two, and granted her dress is somewhat unseemly on a girl of her age, I did feel obliged to intervene before things developed into a cat fight." The principal pulled a detention pad from his pocket, scribbled something on it, folded the top sheet and passed it to Dawn. "Perhaps you and your date could find some amusement at the other end of the hall while I speak to Miss Walker."

Dawn's mouth turned into a frown as she and Brandon moved off in the proposed direction. "She pushes into me and I get..." Dawn's complaint died away as she read the words on the slip of paper. Instead of saying when and for how many days she had detention, the slip simply said, "Enjoy the party."

To judge by Kirsty's body language at the far end of the hall, her slip didn't convey the same message. Brandon pulled the piece of paper from Dawn's fingers, reading what was written there before he pushed it into his jacket pocket and drew her toward the area of the floor where people were dancing. "Better do what the man says."








"Get it off me!" The cry came from somewhere between them and where they had left the motorcycle, but the sound of running footsteps was coming straight toward them.

"Balls!" Spike swore as their own version of double vision kicked in. Buffy took off in the direction the voice had come from, while he was left trying to rearrange his jeans without catching anything vital in his zipper. He was still doing up his belt and had just flipped to his feet as she was almost knocked over by some short-arse in a tux, wearing the panicked expression of someone fleeing for his life. Chivalry is dead. The thought echoed through both their minds as one.

Another couple of seconds and Spike was off in pursuit of his beloved, even if he was tempted to leave the rescue to Buffy and intercept the fleeing youth to give him a piece of his mind instead. Buffy slipped a stake from her coat pocket, able now to see the fledgling struggling with his intended victim in the circular rose garden at the centre of the graveyard, its border of evergreens intended to give visitors an illusion of privacy. A pair of high-heels lay on the path nearby, as if the girl had kicked them off to better run from her pursuer, but even as Buffy narrowed the gap, the demon used his grip on the girl's bare arm to pull her close. By the time she was within fifteen feet, Spike had joined her in the clearing.

"Now!" The call was followed by a series of clicks and hisses as several crossbows loosed their bolts into the clearing. The fledgling turned to dust... and, had Spike not grabbed the bolt aimed at his own chest from the air with millimetres to spare, he would have, too.

"What the-." Buffy spun around as half a dozen crossbow-wielding girls stepped from the cover of the trees. Spike's attention was focused solely on the teenager who had fired on him as she struggled to reload. He closed the distance between them in seconds.

"What the hell was that for? I was comin' to help."

He snatched the weapon from her hands before knocking her to the ground with a spinning kick. By the time he had both feet back on the ground he knew Buffy had his back.

"Liar. Vampire."

"So? I wasn't the one attacking anyone."

"I know who you are. You are the other one... with The Scourge."

"The other one?" Spike barely restrained the urge to kick the prone girl in the stomach hard enough to make her spit blood. Several of the other girls now pointed their weapons in both his and Buffy's directions, though none were yet ready to fire again. Spike spat in disgust when he realised that cerise hair peeked out from beneath the dark baseball cap one of them was wearing and he planted a booted foot firmly on the neck of the girl he had knocked to the ground, not yet exerting any pressure, but the threat there, nevertheless.

A man dressed in dark slacks and sweater stepped over to the girl the fledgling had attacked, helping her up and passing her her shoes. "If you'd care to wait, my dear, I'll be happy to escort you wherever you were going." The English accent was no surprise to anyone other than the girl to whom he spoke.

"Call off your bitches, watcher." Spike called out. "They're out of their league."

"Lower your weapons, girls. I don't think any of you are ready to take on William the Bloody, quite yet."

"Or ever," Buffy corrected.

"Miss Summers, I presume. I had been led to believe from the accounts in Mr Giles' diaries that your patrols were normally confined to Sunnydale and the UC campus... though perhaps this wasn't actually a patrol." His gaze lingered on where a corner of Spike's shirt poked through between his zip and his belt buckle. "Would you be so good as to call off your attack dog? This really is just a misunderstanding."

"Yes, you misunderstand what you can get away with. Spike is no one's attack dog. He's my future husband. Tell Travers that I want it made absolutely clear to all his people that Spike is not to be harmed. Tell him that if there are any more misunderstandings I will assume that he, personally , is responsible. I'm sure he'll understand me."

"I'm sure he will," the watcher assured her. "Now, perhaps you could ask your future husband to stop standing on my charge?"

"Ask him yourself... but I'd do it real nice because he gets kinda cranky when people assume he's at my beck and call." Buffy turned and walked over to where the young girl who had been attacked was sitting.

Spike gave an evil grin and lifted that scarred eyebrow. "Say please!"








In the end it wasn't the watcher and his band of potentials who escorted the girl home. She had been going to stay there, but Buffy convinced her that they would wait for her while she sponged a couple of marks out of her dress and put on some fresh hose, and that Buffy would be able to talk to Mr Michaels to make sure the girl was allowed into the gym, even though her date had absconded with both their tickets.

As soon as the girl disappeared into the house the slayer hissed at Spike. "Did you have to stand on her?"

Spike shrugged in response. "Probably not... but it was the easiest way to make sure she didn't stick one of those crossbow bolts in me when I wasn't looking."

"Spike, when you humiliate someone like that you make enemies."

"Uh-huh? An' before... when she was firing wooden bolts in the general area of my heart she was my bestest bud, I suppose? 'Course, I could have broke her neck or something instead.

Now, are we done with the inquisition?"

"S'pose."

"Okay." Spike slid his arms around her shoulders and rested his forehead against hers. "Invitations... Photographer... Cake... And of course, if you still want that chocolate cheesecake for dessert, then we have to fix that, too."

"Invitations, photographer, cake and cheesecake. What about the rehearsal dinner?"

"Not a clue, love. Other than the fact it's something you Yanks do, I know nothing about them. Never been to one, no idea what's meant to happen at one. What is the point by the way? Are our colonial friends so backward they need to have a practice run before they can eat or is it just a way of stiffing us with the bill for another meal?"

"Very funny. So what do you have?"

"Well, the minister goes through who should be where with the best man and the bridesmaids and what-not at some point beforehand, but no dinner. There's normally an afternoon reception for the family and the close friends with a sit down dinner and speeches an' stuff, and then all and sundry turn up for the evenin' do, but it's normally a buffet thing. Then again, mostly people aren't having the service at half past eight at night... And I'm kinda guessin' that it won't be too much of a push to invite everybody we want for a sit down meal and sort of combine the two, seein' as how there's not really that many as we want to invite.

But... if you've got your heart set on a rehearsal dinner as well... just so long as you don't wear that frilly orange spandex thing..."

"Pig."

"Uh-huh." Spike grunted his agreement. "So what is the point of this rehearsal dinner thing?"

"Why does there have to be a point? It's like everything else. It's tradition."

Spike snorted. "If it's so traditional, how come we weren't doing it back in my day?"








"Am I being paranoid or are people talking about us?" Dawn whispered in Brandon's ear.

"You're not paranoid and people are talking about you."

"Shit. You think maybe we could slip out for a bit? This is kinda freaksome."

"Relax. Dance. You're under orders to enjoy yourself."

"But everybody's watching."

"Just because you stood up to that bitch and they all wish it was them who'd done it... That and the guys have all realised that they've missed their chance now."

"More like all the girls are giving me the evil eye for being with the best looking guy in the room."

"Well, that bit went without saying," he teased, not believing for a second that she was serious. "Come on. You did the hard part standing up to her. Now, you need to hang in there or she'll think you've wussed out. And besides, you know if we disappear for longer than it takes to go to the loo and dad can't find us straight away that he'll ring your sister."

"Okay.... Alright already, we'll dance."








Cordy took advantage of her magical viewpoint to peer over people's shoulders as they filled in their voting slips. "And I said she wasn't in the running. Not that she'll get the tiara, though, but hey, considering her name isn't officially on the ballot... I remember when I was May Queen in my freshman year... Of course, there was some invisible psycho stalking me, but other than that . And I have so got to stop talking to myself, otherwise when Angel does finally get around to rescuing me I'm going to do something really embarrassing."
 
Chapter 1.04
 

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.04
Friday, May 24th, 2002


Marie took a deep breath, her gaze returning often to where Rosa was playing in Wes's back yard with her new stuffed friend. "I'm not sure, yet, that there is a wrong. Maybe it's just that I need to think some things through."

"I might be able to help... I'm not Lily, but I can try."

"I'm scared, Wes, not for me, but for Rosa.

I think, already, that maybe you've claimed a little piece of my heart. I mean you're brave, you're principled, you're willing to stand up for what you believe in and all that is part of what attracted me to you from the start... but it's also why you need to keep guns in your closet and it's why you make the sort of enemies who, should they think it's expedient, will use my daughter to get to you. I guess, in a way I sort of knew all this but seeing all those guns just made it that bit clearer."

"I see... Marie, it's natural to want to protect your child... and you're not the first woman who has had second thoughts about being in a relationship with me because of my choice of career, though in her case it was the fear that I would be hurt that she was unable to cope with. Being a mother just makes it so much harder for you. It's always a lot easier to risk yourself than it is to accept those risks on behalf of another."

"Wes, if it were just me... I would choose you in a minute. I spend my life trying to convince people to do what is right, to come forward and testify, even if it puts them at risk. I should be willing to do that myself, but it's Rosa. How can I be happy if it's at the expense of her safety?"

"You can't." Wes wrapped his arms around her and placed a kiss on her forehead and they both knew that they were saying goodbye.

Something seemed to break behind Marie's eyes, as if she had hoped that Wes would be able to somehow allay her fears or reason around them. Unfortunately, Wes was no better equipped to deal with the problem now than he had been when he had dated Virginia Bryce.








"Summers' residence." Faith pushed Rogue down as she answered the phone.

"Ahh, Faith. So nice to speak with you... even if it is somewhat belated."

"Q, the pleasure's all yours."

"Perhaps. Though, if we were to meet, you might find that it is to your advantage."

"So your goons said, but since the last time I had dealings with the council your men were trying to kill me, I think I'll pass."

"The situation has changed," Travers pointed out. "You have demonstrated a certain willingness to take responsibility for your actions which was lacking at the time our operatives ran into you in Los Angeles."

"That's between me and my conscience," Faith replied. "It doesn't change anything between me and you. You still ordered your men to kill me."

"All I'm asking is that you afford me the opportunity to explain our proposal. After all, your current position cannot continue indefinitely, if for no other reason than that Social Services could call on Miss Summers and her friends at any time. I have no doubt that if they were to make a surprise visit then the consequences could be serious for all concerned."

"For someone who's claiming to be my new best bud, that doesn't sound to be very friendly."

"I have no desire to be your friend,"Travers assured her. I may, however, prove to be the best ally available to you. Miss Summers cannot protect you from the process of the law. I, however, have the influence necessary to deal with your situation. It is not the first time that a slayer has mistakenly killed an innocent. I could have the remainder of your sentence commuted over and the matter of your escape expunged from the various records... should you agree to be remanded into my care... and if you agree to the terms I'll explain when we meet, and restrain yourself from disabling any more of my representatives."

"I didn't get out of one jail to swap it for another."

"In that case, I suggest you look into finding alternative accomodation in the very near future, though without any income that may be difficult."

Quentin waited for a smart retort, but it never came. "Or you could meet me and we could discuss this like civilised people."

"Restfield Cemetery. Ten o'clock," Faith unwillingly acquiesced.

"I'll send my men to pick you up by the southern gate," the watcher replied, hanging up before Faith could protest.








"All sorted?" Buffy asked the girl as she rejoined them outside her house which was a couple of streets over from the far side of the cemetery, explaining why her date hadn't bothered to make sure that they had transport.

"Sure." The girl glanced down at the flat pumps she wore, her high heels now stowed in a shoulder bag which didn't quite match the rest of her ensemble, but since she planned to leave it in her locker that didn't matter so much.

"You're Dawn Summers' sister, right?"

"She's my sister, yeah."

Spike smiled at the way Buffy obviously brindled at the inference that her identity was subordinate to Dawn's. "That why you came with us rather than Prince Edward and his girlies? You know Dawn?"

"Not really. I mean I think we have a couple of the same classes but I never really spoke to her... And the whole arrows missing me by inches, not exactly a confidence builder. My brother used to date this girl from Sunnydale, though, so he kinda heard stuff, but I was never sure if he was pulling my leg."

"Nope. All true, well, unless it's about me and the swim team."

"So did you really blow up the school?"

"Well... not personally..."








"Hey," Faith pushed open the door to Tara's room wide enough to let Rogue push her way in and make her way over to where the witch was lying on her back reading through a folder of notes that was propped up against her thighs. It took the pup seconds to jump onto the bed and stick her head right on top of the folder.

The slayer grinned. "I'm heading out to find something ugly, squat and slimy and pretend that it's Quentin Travers while I bludgeon it to death with my bare hands, so I thought I better leave Mutley here with you."

"You're right," Tara joked. "She's too young to witness a fatal bludgeoning. Any particular reason for the watcher fantasy?"

"That was him on the phone before. I kinda got cornered into saying that I'd talk to him, so I figure if by twelve I'm not back and I'm not answering that phone, then you know he's got me in his secret torture chamber, making me pay for my past sins." Faith referred to what had previously been one of the spare cell phones, which had over the past few days become more or less Faith's by default. "Either that or it's gotten to be so long since I had a real man that I've given in and decided to just ride him till he drops, which, come to think of it, same diff."








Buffy and Spike looked down on the gym through one of the skylights that were set into the flat roof like faceted gems. A melodious ballad was muted only slightly by the glass and below them numerous couples, including Dawn and Brandon, barely swayed in time to the music. The girl they had brought with them finally entered the hall and joined her friends, letting Buffy relax once more.

"I can't believe her date was hanging 'round the parking lot, trying to find a girl who didn't have a ticket," Buffy told Spike, as her gaze switched to where Dawn and Brandon were.

The vampire's arms slid around her waist and his cheek rested against hers. "An' I can't believe you wouldn't at least let me put him in that dumpster with the rest of the trash."

"The guy was already scared witless."

"An' his lass could've been vamp food and he never even bothered to tell anybody that anythin' had happened. If Romeo down there had done that when those guys came after Dawn, I'd have strung him up somewhere an' left him for a week or two."

"He's a teenage male. Most of them are jerks. I never dated a decent one, except maybe Pike and he was kinda reticent about how old he was. I think it's a hormone thing. Fortunately, Dawn seems to have found an exception... or he's too scared not to behave."

"So, are we just goin' to hang around up here all night then, pet?"

"For a while. Not all night. Why?"

Spike turned Buffy within his arms. "No point lettin' a song like this go to waste if you don't have other plans." Buffy leant her cheek against his shoulder, matching her footsteps to his. She inhaled the scent of his cologne and made believe that the music was just for them.








Rosa's head lifted. They had made it worse. Grown ups were really stupid sometimes... Well, most grown ups. She picked up Tigger and headed for the back porch. When she got there she climbed, not onto her mother's lap, but Wes's.

"You were supposed to make her feel better," she told him. "Now you're both sad. You're not very good at this, are you?"

Wes gave the girl a rueful smile. "I guess not, but then, some things just aren't easily fixed."

"That's okay. Grandma says nobody's good at everything."

"Your grandmother is a wise woman."

"Is mommy still upset about the stuff upstairs?"

Marie leaned over to stroke the little girl's forehead. "Sort of, baby, but it's not so simple. Wes and I have been thinking maybe we shouldn't keep seeing each other."

"But, if it makes you both sad, then it's silly and I'd miss him and grandma likes him, too."

"It's just too difficult to explain, honey."

"It's silly. Wes needs all those things for his job. It's not like he's going to rob a bank or something."

"I know that. It's just that his work means he has to deal with a lot of bad people and I don't want those sort of people around you."

"Then you're still being dumb. You work with bad people. Bad people are everywhere. They hurt daddy. They hurt Unker Will. They hurt Dawn and her boyfriend. Some day they might try to hurt grandma or Unker Clem or the cat lady or you or me, but Wes and Unker Will and Auntie Buffy they went and they got Dawn back, just like they would come get me or any of the rest of us. If the bad men wanted to hurt me, I'd feel safer with Wes there."

"Baby, no one is going to hurt you, not unless they go through me first."

"I know, mommy, but Wes is scarier than you... not as scary as Unker Will when he's mad, or different scary, but way scarier than you... And he can teach me stuff so that when I'm bigger I'll be able to look after myself better." The girl smiled as she sensed her mother reach some sort of equanimity. "Now, can we order dinner? Tigger's hungry."

"Sure. Why don't you fetch those menus from the kitchen so we can decide?"

Wes's gaze followed the girl as she pushed open the back door. "What age did you say she was again?"

"Five and a half... going on a thousand."

"She's right, you know? If anyone ever tried to hurt her we would all do whatever we could to get her back..."

There was so much that Marie wanted to say, but for once her much practiced courtroom eloquence failed her, so she cheated. She reached out with a finger, resting it on Wes's lips and then lightly dragging her nails over the stubble that gave his face a hardened look until her fingers twined themselves into his hair. She leaned in so that she could cover his lips with her own and if there was a degree of hesitancy still in her caress, there was also trust and tenderness. Her eyes read his face as she pulled back. "I know... and I know that you would protect her even if we weren't dating... just to clear up any worries you might have about ulterior motives."

"Even if we weren't dating?"

"A girl's allowed to change her mind."

"Provided that was the last time you change it. You see, I think I may well be teetering on the brink of falling in love... with you and your daughter."
 
Chapter 1.05
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.05
Friday, May 24th, 2002


By the time that their food arrived, Rosa was content that the two grown ups were going to behave and not get any more silly ideas. They had moved back into the house once they were ready to place their order and Wes had opened a bottle of wine. Any earlier awkwardness was gone and Wes had propped up a large cushion, half resting against the arm of the settee, half on his thigh so that Marie could lie back against him. His left forearm was draped across her midriff, his fingers twined with those of her left hand and, though he occasionally used his right arm to reach over the chair arm and lift his glass to his lips, his hand more often stroked Marie's long dark hair in an unconscious but tender gesture while they talked. 'And about time,' the little girl thought to herself as she watched discreetly, pretending to be too interested in her new toy to pay the pair much attention. Once she was sure they weren't going to do everything wrong again, it wasn't even an act.

Rosa supervised the pair for another two hours, in any case, which was more or less the time required to share a large amount of Chinese food and watch a Disney movie. Then, she let them pay court around her bed for the night, taking turns to read pages from 'The Wind in the Willows' until her eyes drifted closed, her arms wrapped firmly around the bright orange plush tiger.

Marie lifted the book from Wes's hands, shifting the bookmark before she closed it, and set it on the bedside table next to the monitor she normally employed. She took him by the hand as they crept from the room. Once the door was firmly, if very quietly closed behind them, Wes used their joined hands to draw the latina back toward him. His other hand reached to cup her cheek as he paused, his lips only half an inch from Marie's. "I've been wanting to do this for hours," he whispered, still conscious of small, flapping ears just the other side of a thin door.

It was Marie who closed that last half inch. Their first brief touch was like the opening spatters of rain after a drought, wondrous but a long way from being enough.








"Come on, love." Spike tried to lead Buffy toward the edge of the roof. "You said we weren't stoppin' here all night an', if you want to have a hope of convincin' her that we actually did the rounds, then we probably want to clear out."

"Heyyy, we've got a witness to prove we at least went looking for vamps."

"An' the fact that this witness can put us right here at the school, talking to the kid's old man?"

"Is totally irrelevant?" Buffy's shoulders dropped and she started to follow the vamp as if there were lead weights in her shoes. "Okay, you're right. If we don't go somewhere that is else we're going to be totally busted."

When they reached the back edge of the building, Spike swept Buffy into his arms. "Hold on tight. The first step's a doozy." He stepped over the edge and plummeted twenty feet to the ground, letting his legs absorb the impact before he placed Buffy back on her own feet again. "Now, if you didn't look hot as hell in that get up of yours, I might be tempted to point out its impracticality... again, but-"

"Okay, so the skirt-motorcycle combination was not of the best, and I can't compete with your Spiderman impersonation in these boots, but at least I didn't look out of place when we had to talk to Mr Michaels-."

"As I was saying, but I will point out that there's but one decent drinkin' establishment in this sinkhole an' seein' as you're all dressed up pretty like, we might as well try our luck there, as trail 'round the graveyards an' get you dirty."

"You want us to patrol in a club?"

"Well, to coin that phrase of which you California folk are so fond... Duh? It's Friday night an' I'm a big bad vamp out lookin' for fresh meat. What'm I gonna do? Head for the hottest spot in town and find myself a tasty little mini-skirted morsel or skulk in a graveyard in the hope that someone who isn't armed with a crossbow will decide to just wander through in the middle of the night?"

"So, we'll pretend that the fact that cemeteries don't serve alcohol has no bearing on your opinion and move onto the other problem with that bit of logic. You want to tell me why when I patrol the graveyards I keep findin' vamps?"

"That's the newbies. Sometimes takes them a while to find a place to hang their hat. I mean, who's goin' to live in a cemetery?"

Buffy cleared her throat loudly and stared at the leather-clad blond as if he'd lost his mind.

"Let me rephrase that, who would live in a cemetery if they were worried about runnin' into a slayer... as opposed to placin' themselves right in her flight path."

"Are you saying that you lived in a crypt so that you would see me?"

"Wh-what? No . God, no." Spike stuttered, not wanting to even examine the subject of exactly how long he had been in love with Buffy too closely in his own mind, let alone set Buffy's imagination to work. "Just... central location, handy for the sewers, four walls an' a roof ready made. All points in its favour which, for your average vamp, would be negated by the fact that you go marchin' 'round the neighbourhood on a regular basis, as opposed to some cave with a stream runnin' down the wall or some pretentious mansion that still only has runnin' water in the garden, is too big to keep clean an' is about as far from what passes for civilisation in Sunnyhell as it can be whilst still fallin' within city limits, an', of course, since the obvious plan of action for 'what to do if the rightful owner turned up an' didn't like his new tenant' was no longer an option, I'd have been kinda... charcoal."

"Methinks the vamp doth protest too much," Buffy sing-songed, as she skipped backwards away from him.

"An' methinks, if you think, then we better declare a public holiday... An' the club is over that way."








Marie held Wes at arms length as they both struggled for air. "I'm sorry," she gasped between breaths that made her breasts heave. "We should-."

"Sorry for what?" he asked, drawing her away from her daughter's bedroom door.

"I shouldn't let things get so-. It's too much, when I'm not ready to... I'm not like this. I'm not a tease."

Though his bedroom was closer, the watcher led the woman downstairs and seated her on one of the sofas before pulling over a footstool so that he could sit opposite her. "You're not a tease... but you are like this. You are a wonderful contradiction, and whatever you may have been brought up to believe, there is nothing wrong in being that way."

"But-."

"Marie, you're a beautiful, passionate woman. It shows in everything that you do. Your feelings for Rosa, your friendships, your enthusiasm for your work, and in our relationship. However, I'm aware that you are about as far from promiscuous as it is possible to be. Believe me when I say that I love both those things about you. When we do make love..." The watcher's eyelids closed, as if for a second he was anticipating that future time. "It will be special for both of us.

In the meantime, let me worry about my self-control. I would rather cope with a little minor frustration than feel that you're having to hold back on my account, like you feel you have to be on your guard around me. I'm not some youth who is unable to control himself.

If we spend all our time trying to avoid any sort of intimacy, then it will only serve to make you more self-conscious about it, and build a barrier between us. Trust me, I would rather have a thousand moments like our kiss upstairs where we step back afterwards, take a few deep breaths and regroup, than have you ever feel uncomfortable."

"Wes," Marie took his hands in hers. "I can't make any guarantees. I'm hoping things are going to work out between us. I already have feelings for you and so does Rosa, but this is all early days and I don't know when I'm going to feel able to give you what you want."

"What I want is a woman at my side who wants to be there. I want someone who has the same sort of intense long-lived feelings for me that I have for her. I even want a woman who hopes that, when we get around to it, that our kids look like me, as much as I want them to look like her. Contrary to popular belief, that doesn't often happen overnight and it's not something that can be rushed, but it is something that I believe is worth waiting for."

"Me too, but it's hard. Thomas was my best friend before that friendship turned to love, and I came to want him because I loved him. It was so much easier than this. I know you can make me weak at the knees with just one kiss. I don't know how much of that is hormones and how much is because of the feelings I have for you. It's not your self-control that worries me. It's mine."

"Then, I shall just have to ensure that you incontrovertibly fall head over heels at the earliest opportunity. How am I doing with that?"

Marie gave a shy smile. "Scoring high in all categories."

"Glad to hear it. Maybe christening the jacuzzi is taking things too fast for now, though?" Wes offered Marie a chance to back out of their earlier plans.

"Perhaps, but we've got at least one film to watch before we have to decide."

"I'll leave the water heater on, then, shall I?"

"Why not?"








"This place is kinda like The Bronze, except it's darker and my feet are sticking to the floor. Shouldn't that contravene some health code or other?" Buffy asked.

Spike shrugged. "Looks like the place has gone downhill. Used to be a bit more upmarket."

"Which decade would that be?"

"'Bout four year back. C'mon." Spike drew Buffy toward a set of narrow stairs she hadn't even noticed before, pulling aside the chain that stretched across them with its 'No Admittance' sign."

"Spike?"

"Get over yourself. There're some gantries for the lighting crew, let us get the lie of the land, once we check that no one else is usin' them."

The body slammed into Spike fast enough that he had to take a couple of steps back as he caught it. She was limp in his arms, fresh blood dripping from her neck, but her heart still pumped, even if it was weakly. Spike thrust the girl into Buffy's arms and took off in pusuit of the vampire, who, alerted by his and Buffy's conversation had thrown her at him. He trailed his prey more by scent than sight, springing from platform to platform until he reached an open skylight. Buffy was left to look after the girl, keeping pressure on the wound and calling for an ambulance. Apprehending the culprit was his job. Spike took to the rooftops with glee, thrilled that he might perhaps have found a worthy opponent.






Saturday, May 25th, 2002



"We're back. Hello?" Dawn called out.

"Hi, sweetie!" Tara's voice echoed downstairs closely followed by the girl herself. "How did it go?"

"Someone managed to get thirty votes for May Queen, even though she wasn't on the ballot slip," Brandon told the witch proudly.

"How did you manage that, honey?"

Brandon grinned and answered for her. "I think it might have had something to do with telling the only freshman on the cheerleading squad that she looked like a hooker in front of about a quarter of the school."

"I didn't say she looked like a hooker. I said she was whorish and it was only about a quarter of the freshmen, not a quarter of the school."

"Doesn't matter. Everyone in our year knows already. If it wasn't last week of term, for everybody other than Kirsty, the whole school would know by Monday."

"Where are Spike and Buffy?" Dawn questioned Tara again.

"Buffy called from the hospital before. Sounded like they ran into some trouble. Buffy got left with the patch up and Spike was in hot pursuit."

"Did she say when they'd be back?"

Tara shrugged. "She spoke to Faith. I don't know."

"Is it okay if Brand stays for a while?"

"It's fine by me."

"Guess since we have an actual sofa that Faith's out?"

Before Tara could answer the sound of a large motorcycle pulling up at the side of the house alerted them to Spike's return. The three moved through the kitchen to the back porch to check whether the vampire had brought Buffy home with him.

By the time Dawn and Buffy had exchanged reports on the night's happenings, everyone had forgotten about Faith again. It was only when Buffy went to get the milk from the fridge that they found the note.

"Faith? Is this your handwriting?" Buffy called through to the living room.

"She's not here. She said she was going out on patrol and then she was meeting Travers, but she made it back again. Then, sometime after you called, she must have gone back out. She's probably at The Bronze or something."

Spike pulled the note from Buffy's fingers.

"What does that even mean?" the slayer asked. "'So long and thanks for all the fish'? We never even had fish. Pizza, burgers, Mexican, no fish."

Spike put the note down on the counter, slipping his arms around Buffy's waist and resting his cheek against hers. "It means that someone developed a taste for classic literature while she was banged up. It also means she's gone."

"Let's hope it doesn't mean that she knows the world's about to explode," Brandon added.
 
Chapter 1.06
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.06
Saturday, May 25th, 2002


Marie's hand reached out to quiet the nearby ringing noise. When she found it was coming from a cell phone rather than the expected alarm clock she had to try to clear the sleep from her eyes to work out which key to press to answer it. "Qué pasa?" she asked in a half whisper.

"Well, 'mornin', beautiful. Was expectin' our English friend to answer..." Marie could hear the wicked amusement in the blond's voice.

"I was nearer. You need to talk to him?"

"That I do."

She tugged at the arm around her waist. "Wes? Wake up. Spike's on the phone."

Even half awake, Wes pressed a kiss against Marie's hair before he took the phone from her. "What is it, Spike?"

"Thought I'd better check see whether 'His High and Mighty-ness' actually got off his butt to call ya."

"He called, or rather he got Lorne to do it for him," Wes confirmed.

"And?"

"And I told him that I'd be there."

"Right then. We're heading out in about three quarters of an hour. 'S up to you whether you want to come with us or make your own way there. There's a box of doughnuts an' some of Starbucks' finest on your doorstep. Feel free to join us but we reckoned you might want to wake up a bit before you join the madhouse... Which by the way is minus one dark slayer inmate as of last night."

"I shall see what the ladies have to say."

"Right. If we don't catch you before we go, we'll see you in LA... An' Wes, you've been awake more than a minute. Isn't it about time you said good mornin' to the girl properly?"

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Mind your own business." Wes ended the call, dropped the phone as gently as he could and checked to make certain that Rosa was nowhere in sight or earshot before he not so much followed the vampire's suggestion as did exactly what he had intended to do in any case.








"Heyyy," Dawn protested. "No fair. You already had a jelly." Even though she knew she had almost no hope of success she tried to wrestle the last one from Spike, who in turn held the pastry just out of reach behind his back.

"And I was the one as got up an' went to the baker's to get them while you were still in your pit." Spike's attention wavered as the door of the house on the far side of the street opened to reveal Marie dressed in a towelling robe. Wes was visible behind her in similar lack of attire and the vampire grinned as Marie passed the box of pastries to him before picking up the two coffees and the orange juice. Dawn snatched the jelly from the vampire's hand just before Rogue got there and hightailed it for her room, in case he decided to mount a pursuit, with the puppy following close behind.

The vampire decided he was more interested in a different kind of sugar. "Get some proper clothes on while you're up there," he shouted after her. He wandered back to stand behind Buffy, an arm sliding around her waist as she perched on one of the high stools next to the central kitchen island. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Buffy tilted her head back to respond with a more intimate caress, now that Dawn was gone. Tara couldn't help but smile at the pair. The change in Buffy's aura, in particular, over the last few weeks was not only obvious, but welcome. The deep seated depression and the stresses that had come from living a double life, hiding so much from everyone around her were gone, replaced by a contentment that Tara had feared the slayer would be unable to find after her return from the grave.

"Something funny, Tinkerbell?" Spike inquired when he eventually raised his head.

Tara shook her head, her smile unchanged. "Not funny. Just... good."

"So what's on the cards for you this fine morning?"

"I'm going over to Bee's in a couple of hours, once there's more chance of her being awake. She's going to help me cram for my Art History on Monday."

"You mean when there's less chance of you intruding on her and her demon shrink?"

"I didn't say that... but, yeah."

"She's still seeing her doctor's brother?" Buffy asked. "I thought that was just a one-off, for which you still owe her big time." She gently prodded the vamp.

"I think that's what she thought, too," Tara elucidated, "but it turned out once they got talking that they hit it off... Last night would have been their third date."

"Think Lily must be puttin' somethin' in the water over there, what with Clem an' his bit an' Marie an' Wes an' Bee an' her Waruni."

Tara smirked. "I'll stick to bottled drinks while I'm there, then."

"How is Clem getting on?" Buffy asked.

Spike grunted. "Sure the pair of them 'ave got some sort of bloody system worked out. Cleaned every bugger else out the other night."

Buffy glanced over to where Tara was sitting, not sure if the girl was aware of the currency that the demons used in their poker games. "I thought you said cheating was part of the game so long as you could get away with it."

"Doesn't mean I have to take it with good grace."

"Like you take anything with good grace?" Buffy taunted. "Not even winning."

Spike's bottom lip protruded in a mock pout, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. "Let the Bit keep that doughnut, didn't I?"








Marie used her foot to tap a couple of times before she pushed open the back door of 1630, a half full coffee cup in one hand and a box in the other. "Hey there!" She ushered Rosa in ahead of her. The little girl ran straight to the vampire and Spike stepped away from Buffy to sweep her up into his arms. Wes watched the scene from the doorway, occasionally taking a sip from one of the two cups he carried.

"How's my little Rosebud this morning?" Spike asked.

"I'm okay. Mommy said that I had to leave Tigger at Wes's house, though, and now he'll get lonely..."

The vamp smirked. "Guess Wes is gonna have to buy you Roo an' Pooh an' Piglet an' Eeyore so as they can all keep each other company when you're not there."

"No, he isn't," Marie stated firmly. "And don't you encourage her, you bad man. It was hard enough prying one toy away from her and she's a lucky girl to get that."

"Not as lucky as the guy as gets the Alvarez family package." Spike's eyes slid over to Wes.

"That goes without saying," remarked Wes dryly, refusing to rise to the other man's teasing.

Marie blushed but she deposited the still half-full box of doughnuts that she carried on the counter and moved back to Wes's side.

"And what do you have to say to everyone?" Marie prompted the little girl.

"Mommy says that I should say thank you to everyone for breakfast."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "That's okay, sweetheart. It doesn't make up for waking you all up early and stealing Wes."

"Wes is taking us out tomorrow instead... so long as he gets back in time," the little girl announced. "You'll make sure he gets back, won't you?"

"We'll do our best," Buffy assured her.

The little girl squirmed her way out of Spike's arms and trotted over to claim her juice from the former watcher, leaving Spike free to investigate the box that Marie had brought, grinning as he snatched a jelly from under Buffy's nose, only to pass it over untouched at the least hint of a pout. He went to the fridge and poured a fresh mug of blood, shoving it in the microwave, instead. By the time Dawn reappeared he was alternately slurping from the mug, and using it to dunk his cinnamon doughnut, a sight that had Rosa screwing up her face.

"Mommy, Unker Will's breakfast's stinky. I feel sick."

"Okay, honey. Why don't you get some fresh air while mommy says goodbye? But stay on this side of the street till I get there."

The little girl waved her goodbyes to everyone until she reached Wes. She tugged at his jean leg as he moved to let her through and then reached up. Wes picked her up in his arms, slightly overawed when the little girl wrapped him in a bear hug and pressed her lips against his neck, before releasing her grip and wiggling back to the floor.

She gave Spike a contemplative look. Then looked again at the doughnut in his hand, blood dripping from it back into his mug. She screwed up her face and ducked through the back door.

"She's right, you know?" Dawn pointed out to the patently chagrined vamp. "Gross and stinky. Lucky we like you or you'd be banished to the basement."

Marie looked around the room. "I'm not even going to ask what's going on in LA that you all need to go there for. I have a funny feeling I don't want to know, so I'll stick with saying 'Vaya con Dios' and hope that I don't read about you in the newspapers."

She gave Spike a quick peck on the cheek before hugging Dawn and Buffy and greeting Tara with a smile and a nod. "Try to make sure they don't do anything too stupidly heroic," she said to Buffy, looking in the direction of each of the men. As she headed for the door, she took Wes's hand as soon as he was near enough for her to do so. "You know, I think my memory must be going... I can't remember where I parked my car last night."

The watcher's eyes twinkled with laughter. "I guess I'm just going to have to escort you to it, then... Back in a moment." The couple stepped out onto the porch and the door closed with a firmness that indicated Wes's desire for privacy.

"Damn good job I've still got my three best girls or I might get jealous," Spike announced.

"Don't you mean you might get more jealous?" Dawn asked, knowing full well that, though the vamp was mildly envious and worried about being displaced from Rosa's affections, he wouldn't grudge any of them the happiness they might find as a family, not when he had his own all around him.








Marie and Rosa had gone home. Tara's late night had caught up with her and she had decided to have a nap before she went over to Bee's place. The others had all piled into the DeSoto for the trip to LA, Buffy insisting that Wes should ride shotgun, while she shared the back seat with Dawn and Rogue.

"Are we all ready to go?" Spike asked.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Ye-e-e-s, dad."

Spike turned on the ignition and then rummaged through the tapes that were next to the car's tape deck, none of them in cases, until he found the one he wanted. Joey Ramone blasted out the opening bars of 'The KKK Took My Baby Away'. Spike sighed in contentment, pulled a pair of sunglasses from his coat pocket, put them on and set the car in motion.

They had barely cleared the drive when the singer was cut off mid sentence. There was silence for about two seconds and then something Spike was ashamed to recognise as The Backstreet Boys almost bounced from the car's speaker system.

The car slewed to a stop. "Dawn! Something you want to tell us about?" the vampire asked.








"No one listens to punk any more, bleach brain!" Cordy ranted. "She did you a favour. Now, get that junkpile moving again, get Angel, go get that Axis thingy and get me out of here!

I don't care if this plane is all metaphysical. Seventeen days is way too long to be wearing the same underwear."
 
Chapter 1.07
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.07
Saturday, May 25th, 2002


"Wes is staying here ?" Gunn's voice was full of accusation.

Angel, despite his own misgivings, found himself compelled to defend the situation. "Buffy and Spike are coming to help. They want Wes to be part of the team. They say that there may be some form of magical deterrent and they're right. If there is, Wes is the best shot we have, short of bringing in an outside contractor. Now, I can't think of any magic user for hire that I want to trust to share a thirty three mil payday... Not that I really trust Spike with thirty three million either.

Now, will someone please go and make up three rooms?"

"You want English here, after everything he did, then you can make up your own damn rooms," Gunn argued.

"I'll do it," Fred offered more to try to keep the peace than anything else. They all knew that whether it was cleaning up lopsided pentagrams, disposing of bodies or making beds, Angel was always excused, basically because he always seemed to assume that he should be. It was the 'Can somebody...' syndrome. He seldom directly gave that sort of order, but the job always seemed to fall to anyone else. 'Can somebody clear that mess off the floor?', 'Can somebody dismember that, burn the pieces separately and scatter the ashes over as wide an area as possible?'... Can somebody do the jobs I think I'm too good for... only this time Charles wasn't going along with it.

"No," Angel insisted. "We need you going over those plans, looking for our way in."

"It won't take but-."

"I said no. Where's Lorne?"

"He had a gig."

"A gig? At nine thirty in the morning?"

Fred looked slightly uncomfortable. "He's doing the kiddies' story hour... down at the library."

"He really went back? I thought he was joking..."

"I think he sort of got his agent to put out some feelers in that direction."

"But what if we need him?"

"He'll be back around lunchtime."

Angel scowled at Gunn. "Fine. I'll go fix the rooms... but, Gunn, when they get here, you better can the attitude. Remember why we're doing this."

"I remember. If it wasn't for Cordy I'd be kicking his Anglo Saxon butt out the door the minute he got here."

"He's coming. Live with it. I have to." Angel slammed the office door behind him as he headed for the stairs.








"I said I was sorry."

Buffy looked back and forth between the two closest people in her life as Spike maintained a stony silence, his jaw clenched tight.

"I somehow doubt the whole 'punk is deader than you' speech convinced him of your sincerity, Dawn... Even if it is."

"Fine. I'd rather stay at the motel with Rogue and eat McDonalds than go out to dinner with Angel, anyway."

Spike grunted. It could have meant anything.

"Actually, if you mean the nice motel with the pool where a gang of psychotic vampires terrorised all the staff looking for us, we're not staying there." Buffy's words were cautious, as if she were bracing for impact.

"Well, we can't be staying with dad and his floozy, not after the last time we were here..." Dawn's mouth formed into a silent O as comprehension settled in. "You're joking? Right?" Dawn nodded at Wes. "You can't expect him to stay there ."

"All I know is that in theory Angel's invited us to stay. If the invitation doesn't apply to Wes then we'll all go elsewhere."

"There's no need," Wes interrupted. "Honestly. When I quit my apartment, I had to give a month's notice, so, technically-."

"Technically, it's a few empty rooms with a bare mattress and no utilities," Buffy replied. "We'll... Look, we shouldn't be staying overnight, anyway, but if we need to, we'll get rooms somewhere. We pretty much roped you into this, so one way or another, we're in it together."

Wes shook his head. "Lorne may have asked me to come because you and Spike wanted me, but I accepted because Cordelia at least used to be my friend. You don't need to feel like I'm your responsibility."

"We don't. We just feel like your our friend." Buffy rolled her eyes at Dawn and Spike. "Why else would you put up with two hours of The Cold War?"

Spike pulled off the freeway, the DeSoto merging into the downtown traffic. Buffy just hoped that once they reached the hotel and she got a chance to talk to Spike privately that she could get him to ease up a little, not so much for Dawn's sake, but for everyone else's.








Bee waited while Marie moved enough files from the bench she was sitting on to make room for the blonde to sit down. She passed one of the two mugs of frothy coffee that she was carrying to the attorney who was watching over her child playing at the far end of the garden.

"Judging by the smile on your face, your date went a bit better than mine," she commented.

"It didn't go too badly," Marie admitted, "except for the whole breaking up incident, but that probably only lasted about five minutes. You?"

"Well, our break up was just a bit more permanent."

"Okay, talk to Marie. What did the jerk do?"

"The jerk was charming, funny, considerate. We had dinner at Bringazi's." Bee raised an eyebrow as she mentioned the most exclusive restaurant in Sunnydale that catered to demons.

"Okayyyy... This is sounding rather better than your average date, so, I have to ask where the problem comes in."

"Well, he brings me home... and you could just tell that Rupert was going to act all jealous, but, no, turns out..." Bee strung together a string of tuts and clicks. "...Even managed to win the little monster over. That might have been something to do with bringing home salmon in a kitty bag, though. But how often does that happen? So we've got a great guy, we have a happy Rupie, we've got Enigma, we've got a couple of Mojitos and all is going rather well... until... Let's just say anatomical incompatibilities and leave it at that."

Marie's eyes opened large in surprise, but then she shook her head. "You're right. I don't want to know."

Bee continued regardless. "Turns out Waruni men have certain commonalities with your average domestic cat."

"Ouch. At least if you mean what I think you mean..."

"They have barbs where... well, you can guess. So, I mean, one minute full steam ahead, the next I'm seeing him to the door and it's awkward as hell because he's this really great guy but there is just no way. And I just can't believe that my doctor was the one who set us up. And now every time I have to go for a check up I'll be thinking about... you know..."

The demi-demon sighed and took a deep draught of her cappuccino. "Tell me you and the boss were having more fun."

"We did the whole break up thing. Rosa came trotting over and talked us out of it. We had dinner, watched a film, put madam to bed, watched another film, tried out the jacuzzi... and before you ask he was wearing trunks and I wouldn't tell you anyway, and then we fell asleep on the sofa before the other film finished."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

"No rampant sex in the hot bubbly water?"

Marie shook her head. "No rampant sex anywhere."

"Damn! You could at least let me have some vicarious thrills seeing as how my date was a total wash out. Smoochies?" the blonde demanded. "There had to be smoochies."

"There were a few smoochies."

"Date number four?"

"Tomorrow, if he gets back from LA in time."

"He's in LA?"

"Don't ask. He went with Spike and Buffy. He didn't tell me and I didn't think as an ADA that I wanted to know."

Bee lit up a cigarette and exhaled a long plume of smoke. "Well, damn," she said in an exaggerated drawl. "My boss is cheating on me."








Spike flung open the double doors between the kitchen and the hotel reception. When he spotted Angel with Fred in his office he barged straight in without any preamble. "Where's these plans, then?"

"Spike," Buffy snapped. "At least try to be civil. It's not their fault that you're..."

"And I'm quite sure grandpa doesn't give a toss about civil, just so long as I'm useful. This them? Let's have a look, pet." He swivelled Fred's pad toward him, comparing the words on it to the plans on the desk.

He poked at one section of the notes with his forefinger. "Too complicated. Periscopes."

Even as Fred saw how the vampire's mind was working, Buffy was trying to get him away from the group.

"Angel, I think we should take our things up to our rooms and maybe freshen up a bit before we get too involved in all the planning."

"Sure, I'll show you where they are." He rose from his seat at the desk, leading the way from the room. "I put you and Spike in the same room you had last time. Wes is in the room next to it and Dawn's just the other side of that... Wes... Dawn." Angel nodded to each of the two who had yet to make it into his office. There was no warmth in his voice as he addressed the watcher and only little more as he spoke to Buffy's sister but at least it passed for the frigid side of civilised. Buffy took Spike's hand with a firmness that was not to be denied as she followed her ex out of the office. Short of a major scene, he had no option but to tag along.

The group made its way to the third floor cloaked in a blanket of uneasy silence. Angel passed out the three room keys, and if he made particular efforts to avoid coming into physical contact with Wes, then, most people wouldn't have noticed, but, he wasn't dealing with most people.

"We'll be downstairs when you're ready. Dawn, maybe you could show Connor some of the places where you used to hang out when you lived in LA."

"Let me guess, he's not allowed to get involved either. Like I haven't stolen more than all the rest of you put together."

"You have something constructive to add to the plan, then, fine," Spike snapped, "but I think you'll find that we're talkin' about a step or ten up from five finger discount on lipsticks and tacky jewellery, and as to what the rest of us have done or are capable of doing, you have no bloody idea."

"Okayyy," Buffy pulled Spike into their room. "We might be a little while. See you guys downstairs."

She pushed the door with her foot, so that it shut with a loud click. "We are not leaving this room until you are done acting like some volcano that's one step short of a major eruption. So what's it going to be? Talk, fight, screw or all three?"








Angel cleared his throat, coughing to cover his surprise and discomfort at what he had just overheard.

Dawn flounced into her room, with all the aggrieved righteousness her fifteen years could muster, leaving Wes and Angel alone in the corridor. The watcher opened the door to his room just enough to slide the bag he had brought inside and then jogged a couple of paces to catch up with the vampire as he headed back downstairs.

"Angel?"

"What, Wes?" The vampire sounded more tired than irritated, but only just.

"I know I'm only here on sufferance, but I'm still glad you allowed Lorne to ask me and I wanted you to know that even though I'm not sorry for what I did, if I had been able to see any other possible alternative then I would have taken it."

Angel stopped as he reached a landing between floors, turning to face the other man. "Don't you think that I know that? Even in the hospital, I knew that, but I lost my boy. I lost him and even though he's back and he's living here in this building, I don't know if I'll ever be able to really get him back and regardless of what I know, I can't help but feel like you're to blame. So, for Cordy, I can put up with you being here, but if you're looking for forgiveness you're plumb out of luck."

Wes shook his head. "I don't need your forgiveness, Angel, because so far as I'm concerned, I have nothing to feel guilty for. If Justine hadn't slit my throat, she would have taken him from Lorne just as readily, though perhaps, given her predisposition regarding demons, she might have taken a few extra moments to ensure that he was dead rather than just leaving him."

"You know how much Connor means to me? How could you take him away and say it's nothing to be guilty about?"

"Because I knew if I didn't prevent the prophecy coming to fruition and you were responsible for his death, then it would destroy you. At least, my way, you hated someone else rather than yourself." Wes moved downstairs again, his piece said, but Angel stayed where he was while Wes's words sank in.

Connor, too, paused to absorb all that he had overheard before making his way to the back stairs and heading for the reception area via the kitchen.








"Oh... My... God!" Cordy was too overawed by the sheer animal magnetism that Spike seemed to radiate like heat from a forest fire to consider whether his and Buffy's talents would be better employed elsewhere.

They didn't even have to touch. With six feet between them. Buffy slid off her coat, her eyes never leaving his, and the vampire followed suit. All his previous anger had been sublimated in a matter of seconds to a brutal passion that centred solely on Buffy and she was more than ready to reciprocate in kind. They each discarded item after item of clothing or footwear, throwing them aside without ever allowing their gazes to wander from the other's face.

Finally, when Spike wore nothing but his jeans and Buffy was dressed only in her underwear they grabbed for each other, Buffy's arm wrapped around his neck, and her other hand tangled in his curls, pulling his lips down within reach of her teeth. Spike lifted her with one hand on either side of her pelvis, slamming her back against the nearest wall and then lifting a knee, pressing it upward between her thighs to keep her pinned with her feet off the ground as his hands rasped their way along her sides and on up, pulling her hands from his hair and drawing them upward until he could clasp both her wrists with one hand. His other hand unfastened his belt and his jeans with an economy of movement born of years of practice.

Buffy writhed against him, not in fear but in impatience and, as she moved from tasting his lips to his neck and shoulders, her teeth sank more firmly into his flesh every time, inciting him even further.

With an effort of will, Cordy broke off her surveillance, returning to the scene in the hotel reception, where both the plans of the security system and the notes Fred had made so far were passed around for general discussion. Cordy fanned a hand in front of her face, even though she knew, with no real physical presence, her "flush" had to be psychosomatic. "You know, I was kinda thinking after the whole rescue thing, maybe soft lights, sweet music... Now, I'm kinda thinking that Tall, Dark and Broody best just get me out of here and screw me into the carpet."
 
Chapter 1.08
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.08
Saturday, May 25th, 2002


"Angel?" Fred looked expectantly at the vampire.

"That's fine," Angel bluffed, not wanting to admit that he had been too distracted by his efforts to keep track of how often he had heard Buffy reach orgasm to pay proper attention to Fred and Wesley's plan for that night. His recollection of being with Buffy was that her pleasure had been indicated by quiet sighs and breathless gasps. Her unrestrained cries that seemed, to his vampire hearing, to be impossible to ignore, even from the reception area three floors below, had him wondering if Spike was somehow fulfilling her more deeply than he had been able to achieve. Certainly, according to his count, even in the past hour, he seemed to be doing it more often.

"Which? Fred's original plan or Spike's suggestion?" Wes asked. "Both have their merits."

"Huh?"

Fred sighed and began to explain all over again.








"Are you calm enough to tell me what's really wrong, yet? I know you don't get that worked up over material stuff and it's not your normal sort of mad..." Buffy tried to keep her knees from shaking as the vampire carefully sponged her body with soothing strokes, beneath the water's spray.

Spike stopped what he was doing and took a step backward, but not before Buffy could briefly pick up on his feelings. "I wanted to hit her, Buffy. I wanted it so bad and I knew with the orbs if I did, all it would take was just one punch. So easy."

Buffy wouldn't let him shy away from her, though. She took his hands in hers and wrapped them around her waist, stepping in toward him and sliding her arms around him until she could hook her fingertips over his shoulders. "You didn't, Spike. You don't have to worry. You were strong enough not to do it this time. You will be strong enough if it happens again. I believe in you, Will."

"I wasn't afraid I would do it, love. Well, I was... but not right now. I was afraid you would kick me out for even thinking about it, and I think you would be right if you did."

"Spike, do you really think that I haven't thought about hitting her? I even wanted to hit her today. I love her - I do - but it doesn't mean that she can't be brat enough to try my patience."

"Yeah, but you have a soul to help you resist the impulse. I don't."

"Yes, and you still did it. Now, are you going to tell me why you were so angry?"

Spike shook his head and for a second she thought he was going to refuse, but he was just clearing his thoughts, while he worked out what to say. "It's like she took away my memories. I didn't buy that tape. I made it. Granted, I don't get to many record fairs what with the whole sunlight issue, but I haven't come across any other bootlegs of that particular gig. S'far as I can tell it was a one-off. For twenty odd years that tape has been around an' somehow it never stretched or got chewed up or had beer spilled on it or anythin'.

It managed to make it all over the bloody world. That tape isn't just a collection of songs. It's hundreds of nights on the road, memories of places and times that Niblet couldn't even imagine and a good chunk of them she wasn't even born for. The good times... It's like where you would put on 'Walkin' on Sunshine', I'd listen to the Ramones. An'... well... Don't take this the wrong way, an' don't think that was why I was listening to it, but it's like... It's like there was a little bit of Dru there an' she destroyed it. She's just a bit more dead, a bit further away, less real and I'm not ready for that, at least not yet. It seems like we haven't had five minutes to stop and think since before she died. We've just lurched from crisis to crisis..."

"And you've never had a chance to grieve properly or to even think through what happened and then Dawn pulls her little stunt."

Spike didn't say anything. He didn't need to. With their arms around each other and his forehead resting against her hair she could sense the pain that had fuelled his anger.

"It won't fix things, I know, but it's not that she doesn't respect you. If she had even considered that your feelings might be hurt, I know she wouldn't have done it, but she's was just being your average self-absorbed fifteen-year-old kid. She just heard something on the radio and wanted to tape it before it was too late and she just grabbed the first tape she found. She probably thought you would have the same thing on vinyl or CD and you could make another copy."

"Hardly ties in with what she said."

"Spike, she doesn't get it, and unless you want to share all this with her, she won't get it. She knows that she was in the wrong, but she thinks you're making something out of nothing, so instead of saying sorry she has her own little hissy fit, but it's just those teenage hormones talking. The other week, when she was off school, she was listening to some punk compilation that Brandon had taped for her, so I would take the stuff she said with a pinch of salt."

"The kid's into punk?"

"Well, more Green Day and Offspring than the Sex Pistols, but..."

"Well, I guess he's got a few good points."

"And so do you... along with some great ones." Buffy tilted her head back slightly and drew the vampire's lower lip into her mouth in a teasing kiss before she became serious once more.

"Look, if you want to stick with what you said about not buying her a dress and her not having dinner with us tonight as punishment, I'll go along with that, but you need to talk to each other before this gets too... weird. I can have a word with her first, if you want, maybe try to calm her down a little so that the pair of you don't just start another fight."

"Maybe." Spike tightened his hold on the tiny woman in his arms and lowered his head to lick away the water that ran down the side of her neck.

Buffy's entire body began to tremble but she pushed him gently away before he could switch sides and get to the spot where the hot water mingled with her blood, the legacy of their renewed bond, consummated once more at the height of their first frantic coupling. "Later, baby... We've only just got everything cleaned up from before and I think we've kept everyone waiting for long enough. We've got a robbery to plan, Wes is going to need time to work on those pictogram thingies and I need a new dress... if dinner tonight is still on."

"Dinner tonight has got to still be on. It's our cover story if anyone starts asking questions about why we're all here."

"Well, isn't that going to make it kinda inconvenient if Dawn doesn't come?"

Spike frowned. "Okay. She wins for now, but there has to be some sort of consequences... unless you want her turning out like Red."

Buffy tried to console the vampire. "We'll nail her windows shut and make her stay in her room with no air-conditioning until she writes a ten thousand word essay on why she shouldn't touch other people's stuff."

"Yeah, like you'd want to read a diatribe about evil sisters and cruel step brothers who imprison poor Cinderella types and how they should be reported to the social services."

Buffy untangled one arm from their embrace in order to stroke the planes of his face. "Okay, point taken but we'll work it out."

Spike sighed. "Come on, love, your fingers are gettin' wrinkly. I'll go see what the watcher can come up with on our drawings. You see what you can do with Bitty... unless you need some help with other things." He quirked his eyebrow and his mouth formed a wicked one-sided grin.

Buffy gave him a playful push. "Shoo! I've been using tampons for long enough now that I think I can manage to put one in on my own... preferably in private... and much as you might like to convince me that your tongue is a viable substitute, you don't need any more slayer blood in your system. Go put some clothes on."

The vampire gave a mock pout. "Give me a chance later and I might get you to change your mind on that one."

"And maybe, later , you will."

"As you wish, sweet thing." Spike brushed fleeting kisses against her lips, nose and forehead. "I guess I better go see if I can help plan a robbery."

"You do that and I'll join you as soon as I talk to Dawn... 'cause the sooner that's sorted out the sooner I can hit Rodeo."








"What have I missed?" Spike rejoined the group who pored over the plans. Angel, Lorne, Connor, Wes and Fred were there, along with Rogue who couldn't seem to understand that the fashion conscious Pylean did not want either canine hairs over his clothes or drool on his lap. Gunn was still conspicuous by his absence.

Spike rolled his eyes as the dog came bounding over to him, planting her front paws on his chest and panting in his face, as if he had been gone a month rather than just over an hour. "Huh, think you can come back to me after you've been makin' eyes at the big green guy, you great hussy?" he asked as he scratched the dog behind the ears.

"It's beginning to look like a plan. We think we've got our way in, we can deal with the security cameras. We probably need to practice getting through the lasers a couple of times, especially carrying the thing, and Fred is going to sort out the tools we need and talk us through how to cut the alarm when we take it off its pressure pad."

"That's great, Ang. Just one more little problem."

"Which is?"

Spike picked up the auction brochure and pointed at the picture of the axis resting on a pedestal which was draped in a brocade cloth. "The fact that when you lift the thing all these nice little Egyptian-style piccies that you can't see because of the cloth there are going to turn that whole vault into a fireball, which might be just a touch inconvenient."

"And you know this how?" Angel asked.

"Call it Buffy's feminine intuition."

"Another shared vision?" Wes asked.

"Gettin' to be quite the norm." Spike handed Wes a piece of paper. "That sort of describes what they seemed to look like and it's in the order that they started glowing which was sort of top to bottom and right to left. If you can find something with examples of the symbols I might be able to tell you whether they're right or not, but gramps is the artist in the family."

Wes shook his head. "It seems to be some form of hieroglyphics, but they aren't Egyptian, or any of the variants of which I'm aware. Given our time frame, I think perhaps I should get some help."








Wes called Spike and Buffy over to look at the screen of Cordelia's computer. "Is that what you saw?"

"Close enough to put it down to differences in handwriting, except the jewel thingy was a horseshoe," Spike answered.

"That's it, Bee. Now, how do we diffuse it?"

"You don't. If a Derelian mage lays down that sort of hex, it stays there until he either dies or removes it himself."

"But there has to be a way to break it."

"Sure, you can set it off. Anyone within anything from twenty feet to a couple of miles radius, depending how powerful your spell caster is, will end up in the hell of everlasting flames, but after it goes off, then, someone else could theoretically take your axis-thingy, if they were outside the original blast. Or you take the easy option..."








"So, how formal is this restaurant?" Buffy quizzed Lorne for details before she and Dawn took Fred along for their shopping trip.

"Just pick something you'd want to be wearing if you got invited to The Oscars. That'll cover it."

"And Spike?"

"Honey bun, with those cheekbones and that tuchas the maitre d' would let him in wearing sack cloth and ashes, though a good suit is more the norm."

"I'm guessing that means Connor is going to need some new clothes, as well?" Fred asked.

"I would say so, pumpkin." He gave a frown. "Gunn and Angel might get away with the suits they had for the ballet, I suppose."

"And Wes didn't know about the meal, so he won't have brought anything," Dawn reminded her sister.

"Spike?" Buffy called across the foyer. "Leave Rogue with Angel. You, Wes and Connor are coming with us."

Wes looked askance at the vampire. "What does she mean we're coming with her?"

"My guess? Denim doesn't feature as part of the dress code for the restaurant this evening."

"And you're going to wear a suit?"

Spike shrugged. "If it makes her happy." He gave a salacious smile, making it obvious that he expected to be more than amply rewarded for his efforts. "I'm sure as hell not goin' to get in an argument about it while her ex is hangin' around. An' besides, I clean up better than the old man does anyway." Spike held the door open for Buffy and the others to go through, Fred taking Connor by the arm to forestall any arguments.

"I am not old." Angel called after them, but they had already gone. "Well, not that old. The Master ? He was old... And what do you mean you look better? It takes height to carry off a good suit... And all that shouting before... just because he bit her. I could have made her scream like that if I'd claimed her. That's all it was."








"Will you get over it already?" Cordy asked. "Who cares what age you are so long as you look hot? ...which, newsflash, you do, despite the 'I have no mirror' hair. Forget about the sartorial elegance, and the fact that your ex is getting it from someone else... and by the way that little fixation is so unattractive... and go find those aerosols and ropes and stuff instead of trying to convince the dog that you're not pathetic. Then, maybe... eventually... you'll get around to remembering me... You know? The one you're supposed to be in love with now. As if all the Buffy crap wasn't bad enough when I was dating Xander Harris."
 
Chapter 1.09
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.09
Saturday, May 25th, 2002


Spike ignored Buffy's protests all through the whole three minutes it took him to select the items he required.

"I'm not your bloody Ken doll, pet, an' I've had enough practice to know what I look good in an' what I don't. So long as these are the sizes that they say they are on the labels, I'm done. Go hassle Junior if you want to play dress up."

"But-."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Feel free to pick out a spare shirt or two, if you must, an' that's it."

Buffy would have argued further but the attendant manning the door of the men's changing rooms barred her way. For a wicked second it occurred to her that maybe she should point out to him that the guy who was about to try on the expensive suit, that might or might not fit him, would be doing so without the benefit of underwear, but then if he followed Spike into the cubicle, there would be the whole thing where he might realise that Spike had no reflection, so she decided it was safer not to.

Wes raised an eyebrow as he walked past her with his own neatly folded pile of clothing and she realised that she had missed her second chance. Making the best of the situation, she decided to help Fred and Dawn in picking Connor's first suit.

 




 

"Spoilsport," Buffy complained about the fact that Spike hadn't even let her see what his clothes looked like on, as she passed over the plastic to pay for the three men's suits and everything to go with them, not to mention half a dozen extra shirts. Wes had wanted to pay for his own, but Spike had insisted that the meal was their way of saying thank you to the people who had helped rescue Dawn and so were the clothes. Finally, when Buffy pointed out that they were bickering over the bill like two old women in a coffee shop, the watcher had conceded the argument.

"Apart from anything else, pet, if I'd tried on all the stuff you were lookin' at we'd have been here till about five o'clock. You wouldn't have enough time left to get your frocks an' find shoes and make up to match and get back to the hotel in time to get ready."

Spike picked up the bags, shuffling closer as he spoke until they were as near as could be without actually touching. "I'll take these back to the car and then we'll sort out the rest of the stuff we need for tonight. You girls just find what you need to make yourselves even more beautiful and give me a call when you're ready to be picked up."

"Sweet talker." Buffy raised her lips to his, so that no other part of their bodies touched and yet somehow they were so aware of each other that their mere proximity made their blood sing. "You think you'll be able to get everything?"

"Wes lived in LA for two, three years. I think we'll manage to find what we need. There's nothing too complicated on the list." Spike spoke softly, his lips less than half an inch from Buffy's own.

"Good." Buffy still hovered so close to his familiar body with its scent of spicy cologne and those hard muscles that looked so innocuous wrapped in leather and cotton but which could reduce either an opponent or a lover to a quivering mass with equal effectiveness.

"Hey... if you two are going to go get a room... again, then one of you better hand over some plastic so that the rest of us can go shopping." Dawn's joking comment broke the tension, as she'd intended. Thanks to Buffy's intercession, she and Spike were back on a more normal if still slightly tentative footing. Her punishment was, as yet, undetermined but both of them were trying to act as normal as possible and hoping that if they did the veneer of awkwardness would dissipate.

"And the day I let you loose in LA with my credit card is the day I volunteer to go back to that clinic." Buffy threw her arms around Spike's neck, the pair saying their goodbyes with a series of brief, open-mouthed kisses that somehow managed to walk the tightrope between public decency and eroticism. Stepping back, Buffy licked her lips in a subconscious gesture and, inclining her head toward the blond, she repeated her earlier promise as a farewell. "Later."

Spike's lips formed a enigmatic smile. "Later."

As the other males waited for Spike to either give up watching the motion of Buffy's butt as the women walked away or for the girls to turn into one of the many shops, Connor looked at Wes and asked, "Are they always like that?"

"So long as there's nothing more pressing to interrupt them."

"And this is what it is like when people are in love?"

Wes twisted his head to look at the boy for a second before he watched the women again, his mind on someone else entirely. "If they're very lucky, yes. It's how love is supposed to be." He turned back to the youth once more with a wry grin. "...Though our friends here are rather more overt in their affection than most."






 

"I am just shopped out." Fred dropped a selection of plastic bags onto the bed next to her boyfriend. "Have you been up here all day?"

"More or less. Leastways since I found out it was 'Be Nice to Wes Weekend'."

"Charles, he's trying to help-."

"Sure he is. He already helped himself to Angel's kid. Who's he going to help himself to next?" Gunn's eyes flicked up Fred's body and back down again.

"It's not like that-."

"You didn't even notice I wasn't there, did you? You and Wes, busy doing the thinking for everyone."

Fred looked hurt. "That's not fair. Everybody else was there and I noticed."

"And when was that? When exactly did you fit this in between shopping for dresses we can't afford and visits to the hairdresser?"

"'Round about when you were busy nursing that huge chip on your shoulder. Charles, I told you when we came back from Sunnydale that I picked you, not Wesley. I don't know where you get this idea that there's something between us."

"Anyone who wasn't blind could see he's been in love with you for years. I just never thought you were interested until you saw him with that woman, like he leaves town and a week later the fact he's been makin' eyes at you for years just goes out the window, and I'm not hypocrite enough to pretend that I want to see him sniffing round my woman."

"Well, maybe over dinner you'll get the chance to see he really has moved on."

"Since, I'll be fetching my dinner from the taco stand down the block, I doubt it."

"You're not going?"

"I thought that was what I just said."

 




 

People were beginning to straggle into the hotel's reception area, one by one in preparation to leave. Wes gave the slight brunette one of his most charming smiles. "It seems unlikely that your usual escort is going to be available. Perhaps you would permit me to take his place?" He held out his arm.

Dawn twined her own arm around it. "If you don't mind people thinking you're my sugar daddy, again, and Marie and Rosa aren't going to mind, I can live with a tall, dark and handsome escort."

"I'm sure the ladies would approve under the circumstances and I don't mind people jumping to conclusions... provided you don't encourage them."

Dawn's eyes twinkled once more with mischief. "Would I do that?"

Fred blinked a couple of times to keep back the tears that blurred her vision. A heavy arm settled around her shoulders. "Smile, my little cup cake," Lorne whispered in her ear. "I can't claim to be the guy that's stupid enough to be up in his room when he should be down here, but I can give you an arm to lean on for the night."






 

The bed bore dishevelled witness to Buffy and Spike's earlier activities even if the naked vampire, barely covered by the white cotton sheet, hadn't worn the satiated look of a dairy cat as he lay there, watching her with hooded eyes, one arm behind his head and the other hand holding a lit cigarette. Buffy rose from the stool in front of the dressing table, her make up finished, only needing now to discard her robe and put on her stockings, dress and shoes.

"Come on. You're the one that organised all this. The least you can do is to get ready in time."

Spike stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and, pushing the sheet back, he padded into the bathroom, where he had hung up his new clothes, so that the steam from their showers would cause any creases from their sojourn in the trunk of the car to drop out. Buffy heard the sound of water running and she busied herself with getting the floral lace of her nude hold-up stockings to sit correctly, before slipping off her thin robe.

She opened the wardrobe and took out the dress she had bought for that night, its colour chosen to tone with the clothes that Spike had picked. The silk dress was the deep purple-blue of a summer solstice midnight, a few shades darker than the shirt Spike had selected to accompany his black three piece suit. She wrapped the high collar around her neck, covering part of Spike's mark as she fastened the three small buttons at the back with some difficulty. The dress needed no other fastenings as it left her back totally bare, even as it sheathed her in form-fitting modesty from the front. The slim-fitting shape of the front fanned into a small train at the back, allowing her to walk freely. She slipped on a pair of delicate sandals in the same colour, and as she lowered her foot from the stool to the floor after fastening the second of them, she heard the bathroom door open once more.

Spike emerged, his hair once more gelled firmly in place, his face freshly shaven. His gaze seemed fixed on the stiff new shoes that he wore, but then he twisted his head somehow to almost look at Buffy shyly, his head tilted slightly on one side, as if he expected her to tease him about his formal attire. Buffy could no more have teased him than she could have told him how distinguished he looked, for he had quite literally taken her breath away. The high V of his waistcoat framed the shimmering material of his shirt, metallic cornflower threads cross woven with black to catch the light as the muscles beneath the fabric moved. At his neck he wore no tie, but instead the collarless shirt fastened with a silver stud which matched the links he wore in either cuff, where they protruded three quarters of an inch below his jacket sleeves.

He made his way slowly over to where Buffy stood. A pale fingertip skimmed the skin just beneath the edge of the dark silk, barely brushing the curve of Buffy's breast, before his eyes rose to meet her own. Even without the communication of their shared bond she could have read the pleasure, adoration and desire in their sapphire depths. "For me?" he asked in a husky whisper.

Finally, Buffy found her voice. "For you, so that there will be nearly as many men in that restaurant who will wish they were you as there are women wishing they could be me."

"You could make every man in the place do that in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, my love."

Buffy pressed her lips against the tip of his nose before turning him toward the door and, pausing only to pick up her matching wrap and pass Spike the bag of clothes he had prepared for later, she slid her arm through his. "They wouldn't let me in wearing jeans and a t-shirt."

 






Dawn fidgeted nervously as the blonde couple were the last of those who planned to attend to make their way downstairs. They arrived with barely enough time to make it to the restaurant on schedule. She disentangled her arm from Wes's. "This, I have to do on my own."

As she made her way forward she kept one hand behind her back until she reached the couple. "I wanted to say sorry. I guess from what Buffy said it would be more or less impossible to replace it, but maybe this will help."

She took a squarish gift-wrapped and beribboned parcel from behind her back. Spike cautiously took it from her and began to unwrap it. As soon as he broke through the wrapping the parcel seemed to slide into two almost equal halves. Spike looked in incomprehension at Dawn's CD walkman until he saw the double CD of The Ramones greatest hits that came with it.

Dawn rushed to explain. "The walkman's a loaner. I thought maybe I could save up and get you a proper car CD player in a month or two... but I know you've only got the CD drive in your computer, so for now I thought you would probably need it."

Spike looked at the items he held in his hands for a couple of seconds before he wrapped his arms around the teenager. "This doesn't mean you get off with it, Bitlet," he told her. "But, I guess it helps. Come on. If we don't get a move on Brood Boy is gonna frown so hard his face is gonna crack."

Angel picked up the holdall that carried his and Spike's props for the night. "Let's do this."

 




 

"And about time. We're not all going to stay young forever." Cordy paused and then looked at her hand, trying to decide if there had been any visible signs of aging since her demonification. "At least, not so far as I know .

And how come hers puts on a suit and looks like a rock star and mine ends up looking like a lawyer? Hang on... That is the same suit you wore when you broke into Wolfram & Hart. Let me guess... you have a dozen different leather coats but you only own two suits and the other one still has baby vomit on it?

And tell me that's some sort of interplanar distortion and not a singe mark on your butt..."
 
Chapter 1.10
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.10
Saturday, May 25th, 2002


"You're sure that this place is soundproof and doesn't have any sort of security cameras?" Buffy asked, having to raise her voice so that Lorne could hear. The group were seated around a large circular table and, with the exception of Fred who sat directly opposite, Lorne and Angel were the two farthest people from the slayer. The Summers girls' move to keep Wesley between them when they were seated had left Spike next to Connor on his left and placed Dawn on Lorne's left.

The Pylean shook his head. "They bank on it. There are more shady deals and illicit assignations go on in this place than honest to god dinners. Privacy is as much their stock in trade as the food."

Buffy continued to appear sceptical as she looked around the windowless room. So, they had a private dining room and lounge with its own private bathroom to themselves. So, the waiter only appeared when he was summoned by someone tugging on a Victorian style bell pull. So, according to Lorne the lacquered screens in the corner concealed another door that led to a room where, for an additional fee, the clientele could be even more relaxed... So what? She still found it impossible to believe that there was no way for the proprietors to know if any of their patrons were about to skip out on their bill.

"Look, honey, the restaurant was set out this way before security cameras were invented. Demons don't just come in all shapes and sizes, they come with all sorts of appetites and one species' delicacy is just a disgusting plate of live, wriggling worms to someone else, not to mention the fact that we're not all one big happy brotherhood of hellspawn. So, they build the place with all these separate rooms to keep everyone apart. Then, they realise that people are bringing their mistresses or having all these other meetings they don't want people to know about, so they move the waiters out of the rooms and have them on call instead and they make it a selling point. Then, they add the bedrooms... and there's no way they're going to disturb anyone in there without them ringing for room service."

"But if it's as easy as climbing in and out of a window, how do they stop people leaving without paying their bills?"

"Believe me, pop tart, they have trackers that would make a bloodhound weep. And if you don't pay up in money, you'll pay in blood and teeth and broken bones."

"Okay," the slayer grudgingly conceded. "I get it, but how come I end up looking like the slut in the vampire sandwich?"

Dawn's mouth twisted into a grin. "Just lucky, I guess," she told her disconsolate elder sister.

 




 

"I want to watch." Angel leaned over to whisper in Spike's ear. The group had moved from the dining table to the sofas and armchairs at the other end of the room, where they waited while the table was cleared away and after dinner drinks and cigars were brought to them.

Spike's reply was equally sotto voce. "You always did, sire , but I'm disinclined to perform and even less inclined to share, which is where your watching always ends up. If you wanted a woman, you shouldn't have brought a boy as your date."

In a flash, Angel's taloned hand gripped the blond's throat like a vice, his voice still inaudible to the humans in the room. "You will perform. If you can't get it up for your little toy, you'll perform on the end of my dick and when I move on to your little plaything her screams won't be because she's enjoying herself." Angel pushed Spike away from him and rose from the sofa. He lifted a half-empty wine bottle from the table and raised it to his lips before addressing the waiter in charge of the team clearing the table. "We want the key to the other room."

The waiter gave a deferential bow and moved over to the door, opening it with a master key and then lifting another key from a shelf just inside the room. He passed this second key to Angel. "As you wish, sir."

Spike glared daggers at the elder vampire from his seat until the table was cleared and moved into a corner of the room. Several bottles of champagne, a bottle of port and a bottle of brandy were brought in on a drinks cart along with the requisite glasses and a box of cigars. Then, just as the waiters were leaving, Spike stood and picked up one of the bottles of champagne and a pair of champagne flutes in one hand and pulled Buffy toward the bedroom with his other. Angel's grim smile widened as he followed them into the room and closed the door.

 




 

"That little scene had just a bit too much verisimilitude for my liking." Buffy's brows almost met in a frown. "I want to say, 'Tell me you guys didn't do that for real', but then I'd be kinda scared I might not like your answer."

"Where did you pick up a word like verisimilitude, pet?"

"I know... words. I know lots of words," Buffy blustered.

"Well, yeah. But a goodly proportion of them aren't known to mankind outside the bounds of California and not many of them run to six syllables." Spike's smile and soothing tone softened what might have been harsh words. "Lord knows you can think on your feet. You're sharp as a fresh scalpel blade, but to date you've not exactly been one for reading dictionaries."

"Hah!" Buffy teased, tugging gently on the lapels of Spike's suit. "I'll have you know that you're talking to a future college graduate, who might well major in English Lit, which by my reckoning is more than you can claim."

Spike's face formed into a lopsided grin and then he gave a quiet chuckle. "Nice try, pet, but I'm still not saying nothing."

"One of these days I'll find out what you did, my William."

"But not today. Do I get a kiss for luck?"

"Maybe..."

"Maybe?"

Angel rolled his eyes and moved a chair over to stand beneath the window. "I'm going before you two get even more like a Harlequin paperback."

"Maybe, if Angel gives us some privacy."

Spike grinned and Angel sighed, climbing out of the window with a grace only slightly impeded by the slick soles of his dress shoes. Buffy tugged a little harder on Spike's suit.

 




 

"You two are disgusting. I could hear you all the way from here."

"Like you're not plannin' to jump the cheerleader's bones the second you get her back?" Spike asked, as he opened up the DeSoto's trunk to remove the bag of clothes he had prepared earlier. He tossed the bag and the blanket that he kept in the trunk into the backseat and then leant with his forearm on the top of the doorframe while he spoke to Angel.

"It wasn't first on my to do list," the older man tried to avoid the issue.

"Okay, once you've checked on what happened with the Mark II and you make sure she sent him packing and you make her admit how she feels because you're too gutless to say it first and you find someone who can do you a little something to stop that soul of yours from running a mile, then you were planning on screwing her senseless."

"Maybe, but even if this thing helps us find out where she is, we've still got to work out how we get there and bring her home."

"Well, that's the other reason why, when you know a guy like Boy Watcher, you don't treat him like shit."

"The other reason?"

"Well, apart from the fact that now you've got a soul, you've got no excuse for acting like a total git." Spike climbed into the back of his car to get changed and pulled the door shut, leaving Angel to do the same in his own.








Spike listened carefully for any sound that might betray the presence of someone other than the two vampires, who were in the ventilation system. This was the most likely point in the whole plan for them to be discovered, provided Flabby Butt didn't trip the lasers in the chamber where the axis was, Spike reminded himself. Satisfied they were alone and in the correct location, Spike pushed the vent cover carefully outwards with gloved hands until it came loose and then he turned it so that he could pull it into the vent where he was lying. He eased forward until he could look down on the first of the security cameras they had to manipulate.

He pulled a small unobtrusive object from the holdall they had brought with them. Checking he was holding it the right way, he leaned over and stuck it over the camera lens. Now, they just had to wait a few minutes to make sure no one appeared to investigate. because they had noticed either the moment he added the small periscope onto the camera or the practically imperceptible difference the device caused to the camera's field of view. True to form Spike counted to sixty and then decided that was long enough to wait. The rest was fairly simple. So long as they added the periscopes to the cameras in the prescribed order so that they approached each one from the side or behind to cover it, the ones they had already covered would continue to show an empty corridor. After all, what is a periscope but a pair of parallel mirrors? Other than that they simply avoided the pressure pads on the way to the electrical panel that they needed to access and Fred talked them through the procedure to disable the alarms which would have been triggered as they moved around from one area of the building to another. Then, when they reached the room where The Axis was housed they had to negotiate a maze of lasers.
Spike had practically waltzed through the simulation they had set up in the hotel lobby the first time and every time since. Angel, with his larger frame, had brushed the massive cat's cradle they had used on all of his first six attempts though he had cleared the maze successfully four times in a row before they stopped.


It would be an exaggeration to say that everything ran totally according to plan, but except for a brief period where the vamps played ring a rosie with a security guard, keeping a stack of packing crates between them and the oblivious guard until he moved on to the next area on his patrol route, they didn't encounter any problems for which they were unprepared. Finally, the pair stood beside the horseshoe-shaped axis on its pedestal. Now, their lives depended on Bee's interpretation of the markings on the pedestal base being accurate. The demon half-breed had suggested that the defensive spell was activated only by the removal of the artefact, so Angel was going to perform the ritual to find Cordy right there. Of course, if at this point a security guard appeared, they were screwed big time.






 

"And thank god. Your butt was about a quarter of an inch from blowing your chances of finding me all to hell. I don't suppose you even considered that stuffing yourself with profiteroles might not be the best way to prepare."








"God, she's beautiful!" Angel sighed.

"I suppose... If you're lookin' to shag a nightlight," Spike conceded. "Still looked better before she hacked all her hair off but if that's what wags your tail. Just get to the important bit. Where is she?"

"Can't you tell? She's on a higher plane. She's become a higher power."

"An' I'm one of the bloody seraphim. Don't talk daft."

"Spike!" Angel's tone of voice boded violence if Spike continued in the same vein.

"If they were lookin' for someone to turn into some sort of angel, there's a lady in Sunnydale as is a damn sight closer an' a good deal wiser than the Perfect Princess. An' if anybody up there's listening you can't have her yet. Why the hell would they take your bit of skirt when they could have Joyce or someone like that who's finished down here and who knows a thing or two about life?"

"Cordelia's different now."

"That's a bummer. I didn't mind her how she was but I'm telling you if she's a higher being, then either somebody's up to some sort of jiggery pokery or there's some other Cordelia Chase somewhere that they meant to get an' they cocked it up."

"You just don't get it do you, Spike? For weeks I've been trying to find her, to bring her home."

"Yeah? So work out the interplanar road map, find out where we're going and we'll go an' get the bint."

"No, Spike, we don't need to bring her home. She is home."






 

"Are you some sort of retard? I mean, I know Champion of the Powers and all that. This place doesn't even have a shoe store. How could you think this could be home? Do I look happy?"






 

"What sort of a dozy pillock are you, ya daft wanker? You're supposed to be in love with the bint. Where's your bloody spine? You're just goin' to sigh away and tell everybody how pretty she looked and play the bloody martyr card again, aren't you? I can tell you for a fact that the tasteless tart is stone cold gone for you. If it was her here with me, apart from the fact we'd have a dozen security guards and half of LAPD on the way because they'd have spotted her walkin' round the corridors, you can be damn sure she'd be working out a way to haul your arse back to this hell hole of a city you live in. It's a higher plane. It's not heaven, or at least if it is, don't you say anything like that to Buffy. Now, hurry up and find out where she is. There's a couple of people I want to check on while we're here and if you don't shift your arse the guard will be due back."

"Spike, it's where she belongs. I can't take her away from that. She has her own destiny now."

"Let me get this straight. You're the guy with the photographic memory, right?"

"Well, not that I like to brag, but... yeah, pretty much."

"Then how come you can't remember which sounds go with which lip movements? You honestly saying that in a quarter of a millennium you haven't worked out enough lip-reading to recognise 'Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.'?" Spike asked, enunciating the last few words as if he had been taking lessons from Professor Higgins and exaggerating the movement of his lips. "'Cause your lady has just been calling you worse than mud for the last five minutes for being too stupid to go fetch her."

 




 

"Darn skippy she has been... Skippy? Skip. Tell the big lunkhead to find Skip. That double-crossing weasel of a supposed guide."

 






"What do you mean she wants me to get her out? But, she's all glowy and higher power and stuff... And are you saying she can see us?"

"Well, I guess if she knows you wanted to just leave her up there she must be able to or maybe she normally calls you retard? Maybe it's a pet name or something? Now bloody hurry up and backtrack or whatever you do to work out how we get there."

"Cordy wouldn't call me a retard... Okay, she would, but she'd do it to my face."

"Well, since you want to leave her face in a different dimension maybe that wasn't an available option."

 




 

"Hello? Would you stop arguing with the Neanderthal and turn around so you can see what I'm saying, Mr Interpreter For The Trapped In Another Dimension Against Their Will? Skip. Skip. Skip. Skip. Skip. S. K. I. P. Skip."

 




 

Spike arched an eyebrow. "You say this bint was your secretary? You must have been hard up. She's bloody dyslexic. It's Spike. S. P. I. K. E. Spike... Or the trip to the higher plane has warped her noggin. Could be damaged goods by the time you get her back, you know?"

 




 

Cordy let rip a scream of frustration, her hands reaching up to pull at her hair before she remembered that it wasn't really there... but then neither were her hands.

 




 

"Are you still trying to tell me that she's happy to be there?" Spike asked his grandsire.
 
Chapter 1.11
 

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.11
Saturday, May 25th, 2002


"Give us a few minutes, will you, Ang?" Spike looked over at the taller vampire, who was once more dressed in a suit and tie.

"Sure. I'll see if I can bring the others up to speed." Angel left the room and closed the door gently behind him.

"What? If you think we're going to do what we're meant to be doing for real, just so I look mussed up for the waiters, you can think again."

"No, love, though I think maybe some mussing up might be in order. There's, well, there's something I thought you should know, you and Bit, really but... Look, we had that thing an' it meant we could find people in other planes. I, well, I thought there was someone you might want me to check on."

"Mom?" Buffy almost didn't dare to ask, but the fact that he had indicated the person might also be close to her sister gave her hope.

Spike gave a small nod. "She was happy, pet. She looked about the age you are now, hair all down her back and she was on a beach. There was a man with her, about the same age, light brown hair, too tall and thin to be Hank."

"Could he have been related? Mom had an older brother who was killed in a car crash when she was about Dawn's age."

Spike thought back. "It could have been... either that or maybe her high school sweetheart or... well, I don't know how these things work, but whoever he was, she looked happy with him. Didn't really have time for more than a quick squint in case the guards came 'round. I wish you and Bitty could have seen her."

"Says the man who came up with the whole periscopes idea, just to stop me going with you..." Buffy's voice bore no malice, instead she teased the vampire. She knew that he had done what he had out of concern for her and for Dawn, and she was touched that he had thought to check up on her mother. Even second hand confirmation that her mother was in whatever passed for her own heaven was welcome.

"It wasn't just you... It was Wes as well. Rosa would kill me if I got her new dad locked up. An' you've seen CSI. You know they can track you down from the stupidest little thing. And it was a damn sight easier than trying to get into the security room and record loops of tape and it meant when the guard was doing his rounds they could see him."

"Yeah, yeah... but still not why you thought of it."

"No, but I wish you could have seen her just the same."

"Share it with me... tonight." Buffy slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

"If I can, I will," Spike promised, knowing that while they could at times direct their shared dreams, at others one or other of their subconscious minds took charge.

With a grin, in an abrupt change of mood, Buffy pushed her fingers through his gelled locks and wriggled them until every last trace was gone and his hair sat in short curls.

In response, Spike ducked his head to administer a searing kiss to Buffy's lips that left them swollen and her lipstick smeared. With one finger he lightly traced the edge of the high collar of her dress where it partially covered his bite. Buffy's heart was racing and her pupils were dilated by the time she pulled away, gasping for breath.

Spike drew the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping off the make-up that coated his lips. "Think we might pass muster now, pet. We better make a move... before I give in to temptation. The night's not over, yet. Gramps has got a demon to beat up. Maybe if you ask nice, he'll let you do it instead."

"As if." She shrugged. "...But he might let us help."

 




 

"We ready to roll?" Spike asked, looking around the hotel's reception, dressed once more in his normal combination of denim and leather.

Angel led the way through the portal that formed when Wes set the two parts of the key spinning into motion like a top, the vampire's face grim. Connor was at his side, Spike and Buffy at his back, all of them wearing the same look of determination. It was almost enough to make a person feel sorry for the demon they were going to find, if he hadn't been responsible for abducting Cordelia.

The portal closed behind the quartet and Wes set to work preparing the things he needed to keep Skip imprisoned on this plane when the others brought him back, as well as some which might entice him to communicate more freely.

 




 

With one punch, Angel knocked the sword-wielding demon across the room, and then stooped as he went past its limp form to pick up the weapon with barely a pause in his stride.

"Having fun yet, gramps?" Spike asked as he watched.

Angel's mouth remained set in a firm horizontal line. "I'm not here to have fun, Spike. I'm here to find out what happened to Cordelia."

"And you haven't heard of multi-tasking?" Buffy asked before Spike could.

"Angel?" Skip almost bumped into the group as he appeared from a side tunnel. "Jeez, what d'you do? Arrange a family discount?"

"Skip?" Angel tried to keep his voice light and conversational. The more information he could get out of the grey demon before the fight started, the easier things would go. "I was expecting you to be further in."

Skip shrugged and bowed toward Buffy. "Powerful demon Skip at your service. It's only you dead guys that don't need to use the can every now and then. Come on in. I got a few beers and there's a Nicolas Cage film starting in ten."

"We're not here to socialise," Angel told him. "We're trying to find Cordelia."

"Who?"

Spike's impatience got the better of him. "Cor-de-li-a. You were her guide when she became half-nightlight, so Caveman Brow says. Great big scary lookin' fairy godmother schtick? Ring any bells, now?"

"Ah..." the grey demon looked at Angel. "She told you that, huh?" The demon looked uncomfortable for a second. "Look, I wanted to tell you, but the Powers... You know how they're all need to know..."

"And just how much did you need to know?" the vampire asked.

"Look, I know it's going to be really hard to accept but Cordelia has ascended to a higher plane."

Spike tossed aside his cigarette butt. "We know that. Just tell us how to get her on the 'Down' escalator."

"You want to bring her back? Look, nobody comes back from paradise... Okay, a slayer, once-."

"I got bored." Buffy gave Skip a faux-sweet smile and stepped out from beneath Spike's arm. "From what I hear, she's bored, too. So why don't you tell us about how you sent her there?"

"You brought a slayer along? That's hardly friendly... You planning to sick her on me?"

"Actually, we promised that if it turned out you weren't taken for as much of a ride as everyone else in this whole thing, that we'd just watch," Buffy told him. "So, Cordelia's ascension, how did it go down?"

"What do you mean if I wasn't taken for a ride?"

Angel moved up to stand between Buffy and the large demon. "Well, in a way, it was Wolfram & Hart that sent me here the first time, and you just happened to be here. Then, someone, either them or The Powers That Be, sent you to do this whole turn back time spiel for Cordy and got her agree to become part demon and then you are the one who was responsible for her ascension to a higher plane that she can't wait to get out of. So either you were just as big a dupe as the rest of us or you know exactly what's going on."

"Angel, buddy, whatever's going on, I'm telling you true..." The demon raised his arm, flexing it so that a foot-long sword-like bone projection stuck out over the back of the demon's hand. "...Not a dupe. If the rest of you guys want to take a number, I'll get to you all in a few minutes."

Angel raised his borrowed sword to parry. Skip seemed faster and Angel barely met the larger demon's thrusts and slashes. Angel's sword was knocked from his hand and Spike was forced to sidestep out of its way as it sailed the breadth if the corridor. "Come on, grandpa. Try hitting back now and again."

Skip grabbed Angel by the neck and held him up, so that his feet didn't touch the ground. "Not like the last time, is it, monkey boy?" He hurled Angel about ten yards along the corridor toward the chamber where the demon had held Billy prisoner. The vampire landed on the floor like a limp dish rag and a few seconds passed before he began to pick himself back off the floor.

"Yes!" Spike's excited cry earned him a baleful glare from the other vampire as he made it to his knees.

"You're supposed to be on my side."

"Nope, you made us promise not to help you. You didn't say we couldn't cheer on the other guy."

"D'you mind?" Skip asked sarcastically as he gripped Angel by the throat again. "You know the worst part about signing on for this gig was having to take a dive when you rescued that runt Billy from his box of fire." This time he threw Angel into the room where Billy had been held. The vampire hit the far wall and then sagged into a heap. "I mean, come on. Do you really think a guy built like this would be so easy to drop? This time we'll do it for real, champion. This time... you lose."

The grey demon continued to pick Angel up, slamming him into one wall or another at will and every time he did Angel took just a little longer to get back up, but still he kept going.

"Well, now..." the larger demon pointed out. "This is just embarrassing."

"You're telling me," Spike retorted. "I'm embarrassed just to be related to him... But then, that's nothing new."

Skip turned around and glared at the blond. "Just what are you doing here?"

Spike raised his hands as if to surrender. "Me? I'm just here to gloat... and collect on a bet. See, when gramps, there, told me what sort of demon you were, I bet him that you let him win the last time..."

Angel took advantage of Skip's distraction with a weak shoulder charge at kidney height. Spike side-stepped, pulling Buffy with him, but the blow only made Skip take a single steadying step forward.

"Tell me... what happened... to Cordelia."

"Or what? You'll lie on the floor and pant at me some more? Must say I thought there would be a bit more blood by now."

"Use your pointy arm thing more," Spike pointed out helpfully before being nudged in the ribs by Buffy.

Angel seemed to struggle to his feet and landed a few ineffectual punches on Skip's solar plexus, while the armour-skinned demon simply looked down in disdain as the blows landed.

"You know, I've always wondered how many chunks you gotta hack off a vampire before he goes all dustbunny."

Spike raised his hand. "That'd be one, provided you start with the head. Go on. Tell him what an idiot he was and how he's been taken for a ride all along. Tell him what's going to happen to his princess when he doesn't get her out of there."

"Nah, not a Bond fan. I prefer to send him back to his grave, wondering just why the woman he loves is where she is and never knowing what's going to happen to her."

Angel effortlessly straightened up and punched Skip in the face. The grey demon winced in pain and then blinked as if wondering what had changed. "In that case, I guess I get to beat the crap out of you until you talk, instead." Angel reached out with both hands, his right hand grasping the top of the scythe-like protrusion on the left side of Skip's head and the heel of his left hand driving the demon's chin back as he pulled down with his right as if he were pulling the handle on a slot machine. The horn snapped off where it joined the demon's skull and Skip screamed in pain, trying to cover the resulting hole with one hand to prevent the green slime which seemed to act as a substitute for blood from oozing out.

"Oooh! Told ya they didn't like it if you pulled those bits off," Spike gloated even as Angel bludgeoned the stunned demon into unconsciousness with one more punch.

"And I told you that he wouldn't tell us anything unless we beat it out of him."

"Yeah... but it was fun watching him throw you around like a rag doll... and I was right about you needing the orbs."

"I'd have managed, somehow," Angel said as he put the two pieces of the key back together again, turning them with a flick of his wrist as he dropped them to the floor.

"You'd have managed to look like a two hundred an' fifty pound lump of tenderised beef." Spike let his arm drop from around Buffy's waist and moved forward to pick up one of Skip's arms and pass it around his neck, even as Angel did the same at the other side.

"I could have taken him... and I'm not two hundred and fifty pounds."

"Like you've looked in a mirror lately... an' I didn't say you couldn't. Just said you would have looked like hamburger by the time you did."

Buffy and Connor watched them carry the demon through the portal with a combination of bickering and instinctive co-operation that you only get with family.

 




 

"He is not fat. He might be big boned. I mean you don't get to be six foot whatever without being big-boned. It's not his fault. Okay, so he probably wouldn't fit into his leather Angelus pants any more... unfortunately..." Cordy paused for a minute or two to remember how fine he had looked that night in the Sunnydale mall before Buffy had blown The Judge apart with a rocket launcher. "So, maybe if I ever find out when his birthday is, I buy him a gym membership... No big deal.

The man... is a bona fide hero. He kicked Skippy's monochrome butt. What did you do? Apart from cheer for the other guy, well, and loaning him those orb thingies, which I guess helped a bit."
 
Chapter 1.12
 

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.12
Sunday, May 26th, 2002


Spike lounged on one of the red sofas that he'd dragged toward the centre of the reception area and blew the smoke from his cigarette in the direction of the grey demon, watching entranced as the energy barrier surrounding Skip made the tendrils curl away several feet before they reached him. Rogue sat on the floor next to him so that her head rested by his side, just at the right height for him to scratch behind her ears whenever he didn't consciously stop himself.

"Would you stop doing that?" Angel protested in an irritated way. "In fact, if you're going to smoke, go outside."

"Why? There isn't a mystical barrier or two out there to bounce the stuff off. It's way more fun in here. Call it an experiment."

Skip, meanwhile, tested the bounds of his inner prison, a cylinder of force marked out by a circle of red sand on the hotel floor. "Sand of the Red Palm. A child's trick."

"Maybe so," Wes coolly conceded. "Nevertheless, it has proved more than sufficient to keep you incapacitated until we were able to arrange something rather more permanent."

"And what might that be?"

"You seem to think you're so superior, I'm sure you'll work it out... In time."

Angel strolled over toward his antagonist. "...If you had any. You see, Wes and Fred here just happen to have a few little spells up their collective sleeves. How about we start with that one you found, Fred?"

"Sphere of the Infinite Agonies. Every second, a lifetime... and Wes just happens to have everything all laid out and ready for the invocation."

"Hey, whoa, I'm-." The demon seemed to cough. A spatter of slime green blood hit the 'cylinder' walls and began to run down. "I'm-." Again, the demon coughed and spluttered, gasping for breath as he spat gobbets of what passed for blood. "What the hell?"

Spike smirked. "Who knew the bit about 'Let his deceitful tongue be cut out' was quite so literal? Though not literal enough to make it actually drop off, 'cause then you wouldn't be much use to us, but it sure as hell feels like it, doesn't it? Truth spell, chump. We don't just want you to talk. We want to know the truth. Now, unless you want Boy Watcher here to start invoking, I suggest you rephrase whatever you were about to say."

"But first what was it that you were going to say?" Buffy interrupted from her perch atop the reception desk.

"I don't think that would be in my best-." A panicked look came over the demon's face as Wes began to chant. "Look, I was going to say 'I'm just a merc'... Just quit with the hocus pocus. I don't care how this turns out. I'm only in it for the money."

Wes replaced the sheet of paper he had been using for a bookmark and closed the volume from which he had been reading.

Skip rapidly continued. "Whatever you want to know... Look, I go where the deal is, and not being in one of them things... bargain."

"So what makes the statement 'I'm just a merc' less than the truth?" Buffy probed.

"Because I'm not just a merc. I'm an exceptional merc." Skip looked over at Spike's cigarette. "You haven't got a spare one of those, have you?"

"Several, but they're all stayin' on this side of those barriers, monochrome."

"What did you do to Cordelia?" Angel's impatience showed in his every move and in every inflection of his voice.

"It was just a Jacob's Ladder. I ain't responsible for whatever happens at the other end."

"And what does happen at the other end?" Wesley's coolness made a perfect counterpoint to Angel's anger.

Skip obviously hesitated.

Spike sat up and swung his feet to the floor before rising. "That spell they've got rigged up really isn't one you want to be messin' with. See, if we get it goin', by the time we argue about how long to leave it running before we check to see if you're ready to talk..." Before he continued Spike let the demon imagine the eons of torture he could go through while the group bickered over how long to leave him in his own hell. "So just face facts, unless you're expecting some sort of miracle, you better just answer everything we ask, when we ask."

"It's some kind of possession deal. The one I'm working for needs a body so she can come to earth."

"And what happens to Cordy while this 'one' uses her body?" Angel asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" the elder vamp seemed to be on a roll and no one felt like interfering. "She gets left behind?"

"Not possible. She'll be in there. She just won't be driving the bus."

Buffy's face betrayed her disgust. "So she'll be like watching this... whoever do stuff with her body, but she won't have any control over it?"

"Pretty much."

"And that's why she's gone to this higher plane?" Angel was obviously almost as frustrated by the barrier separating him and Skip as the other demon. "So that some... some what? can hijack her body?"

"Are you telling me you thought it was because she was such a pure radiant saint? Right. And as to the what or the who that would be beyond your comprehension. To give it voice would render your feeble brain into a quivering mass-."

"Wes, get chanting."

"...Or you could call her a higher being. You seem to prefer to use the name A Power That Be... Or Is."

"Does this higher being have a name?" Lorne asked.

"No name."

"So what do you call it?" Angel quizzed the larger demon.

"Hey... or master."

Wesley eyed the grey demon, his curiosity evident. "There has to be more to it than this. Once it has control of Cordelia, then what? It doesn't just want to be Cordelia, does it?"

"Who would?"

"So what happens next?" Wes asked.

"This can't be right," Angel interrupted. "Cordy was made a higher being because she proved herself to The Powers. She had the visions and she chose to bear them, whatever the cost."

"Unless, as I seem to recall telling you, The Powers are motivated by self-interest," Wes clarified. "The visions were simply a ploy to bring things to this point."

"So all the time we were just being manipulated..." Fred sounded disappointed.

"Uh-huh." Skip laid on the sarcasm. "Better step on it. The rubes are catching up."

"To what end?" Wes took over the questioning again.

"So that Junior there can fulfil his destiny."

"Which is..."

"To be the father of earth's saviour."

"How'd we all jump from it bein' in Cordy to Connor bein' its daddy?" Fred asked before she noticed that Connor had turned bright red. "Oh! Oh!"

Angel took a bit longer to realise what Fred had figured out. "Don't be ridiculous. Cordy changed Connor's diapers. They wouldn't-." He turned to look at his embarrassed son.

"I might have. If I'd thought it was her. I mean if I'd thought she felt that way."

"Well, she doesn't. You're like her son... You would sleep with my girlfriend?"

Spike snorted. "You sleep with every bugger else's. And she ain't, not yet, an' if we don't do something, not ever. We need to figure this out, people. This thing, is it already inside her?"

"Like I said, my job was just to get her there."

"And this... bit of demon that she got before... that was a separate deal? Or was that just the first stage?"

"Kinda both."

Spike fixed the demon with an impatient glare, and to Skip's surprise began the invocation for the sphere spell from memory.

"Alright. She needed to be stronger than human for the second bit to work, but that first bit was just a physical thing, okay?"

"So, if we can get her back before this thing finishes its Exorcist routine then we still have 'our' Cordelia... if it hasn't already done it."

"Strength," Angel mused. "That's what this is all about. Creating a vessel strong enough to contain this thing. That's why it needs Connor."

Skip rolled his eyes. "Look out, the monkeys are thinking again."

"So," asked Spike,"Far as I recall, Jacob's ladder was a two-way street? Say we bring her back before this Power of yours is finished takin' over, how do we know whether what we've got is just the girl or whether there's something else there with her? I mean, if this thing's so... Power-ful, have we got any way of checkin' that it can't fool?"

"Well, there would be the Tarakeen Ritual of True Sight but since I doubt any of you could even read the thing even if you did get a hold of a copy..."

Wes gave a tight smile. "Let us worry about that."

"And if it isn't just her?" Spike asked. "How do we get rid of this thing?"

"Easy. Chop her head off."

Angel glowered at the other demon. "There has to be another way."

"Sure. Stab her in the heart, the kidney, couple of pokes in the lung."

"A way that won't kill Cordy in the process."

"It takes a whole lot of crammin' to get that much sweetness into a human. It's in every hair, every cell, every molecule of Cordelia's body and it ain't letting go until her and Oedipus make it a whole new bag."

Fred hesitated but she had to ask. "So just say, for the sake of argument that, well... that happened, what would happen to Cordy then?"

"Drained of her life force during labour. Those contractions are a real bitch."

"So even if it gets its new vessel, it'll still kill her?"

"Or she'll end up a head of cabbage."

"In that case, we better just hope we get her out of there before the Bigger Bad finishes worming its way inside." Spike exhaled a particularly long plume of smoke and turned to Wes. "Want me to ring your Tarakeen-talking assistant or would you rather do it yourself?"

Wes kept his eye on Skip as he gave Spike a gracious smile, noting the demon's bitter surprise. "Go ahead and call her. It's only just after one on a Sunday morning. I doubt she'll be in bed, yet. In the meantime, I'm sure Skip here would love to explain that Jacob's ladder spell."

"Right-oh! An', Angel, I think maybe now would be a good time to take your son off to one side an' explain the concept of safe sex... always assumin' that you understand it yourself."

 




 

"Why my body? Okay... it's a pretty good body, but really, lots like it. And, hey, first I heard about all this. Don't you think I would know if there was something else in here with me?" Cordy muttered under her breath. "Like you couldn't use Carmen Electra or somebody? Or Pamela Anderson? She needs someone else in charge to do her thinking for her."

The seer watched as Skip questioned her qualifications for the post of higher power. "Hey, I suffered. Not saying that I'm Mother Teresa or anything but I gave up fame and fortune so that Gloom Boy wouldn't end up raving and chained to the wall by Wesley, the one armed bandit... and those headaches... not fun. I darn well earned the right to be here... and I'll have you know that being me is pretty darn spiffy... most of the time... except for the suffering for-.

What? You have to be kidding me? Those visions nearly killed me and now Poindexter says it was all just a big con trick. And you couldn't have told anyone this two and a half years ago?"

Cordy's mouth fell open as she realised the next turn that the conversation was taking. "Yah, right, as if. I need toothpaste and carbolic just for thinking about it. It's practically incest. And what is it with men? For me to be your girlfriend, you would kinda hafta ask me out on a date, a real one... and pay for it... I'm not going through food poisoning again just so you get another free dinner. Too right, Bleach Boy, I'm not his...

Wait up, this thing sent me visions and deliberately added the mess of brain tumours that came with them so that I would become part demon, so that when it used my body to boff the son of the guy I'm actually in love with, the kid's body would be strong enough for it to possess it instead? And I bought it all?

Hang on, Skip To My Lou. Less with the chopping and the stabbing and the poking. There's got to be another way to deal with this...

Ah crap!"

 




 

"Watcher's Little Helper says she might have a copy... if she transcribed it into one of her notebooks before she threw away the original. If not, she's gonna get in touch with some folks as might. Either way, when she tracks down a copy she'll ring the hotel number, so she should get whoever is keeping watch on Cordy's fairy godmother, here." Spike nodded to Buffy as he strolled over to stand next to the reception desk. "'An' Pixie says hi, an' if she's not in when we get back not to worry. She's probably still over there."

"Why on earth would she throw out the original?" Wes asked, his expression one of total incomprehension.

"I think she said something about tomato soup... or cat barf or both. She was kinda vague."

Skip grinned. "And the fate of your world lies in those hands? Or at least the fate of Cordy. I think maybe you better sharpen up some axes." The demon tilted his head slightly to one side and added in a faux-light tone, "It's the only way to be sure."

Wes looked up from the notes he had made when he was talking to the demon. "Why don't you spare us the Aliens homage and answer this instead? Is there anything else that you're aware of that you would want to know if you were in our position?"

"Sure." Skip's gaze wandered to the blonde couple, who were no longer giving the conversation their full attention. "Demon spit's cleaner than human."






For the benefit of anyone who didn't notice already, the last couple of chapters have been largely based on the transcript of the AtS episode "Inside Out" with much of Skip's dialogue in particular being lifted directly from the show.
 
Chapter 1.13
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.13
Sunday, May 26th, 2002


"Angel, bu-." Skip coughed and spluttered once more. "Okay, not my buddy, but can't you see you already lost this fight? Coming back from a higher plane's like a diver coming up from the bottom of the ocean. If you don't take the time to do it right... well, what you get back won't necessarily be what went up there in the first place...

And if you do take your time and do it properly, then you're definitely going to get more than you bargained for."

Bee looked up from the notebook she had resting open on the counter between her and Wesley. Even at six in the morning after a sleepless night and a two hour drive, she still wasn't about to be seen in public without her black eyeliner and red lipstick, but the eyes the kohl outlined looked slightly redder than usual and her weariness showed in her posture. Rupert walked back and forth on the counter in front of the pair as if he were reading upside down and supervising as Bee coached Wes through the ritual. "Tell us something we don't know, one horn, or shut up." She pointed at a word in the notebook, the script looking like a cross between Cyrillic and Arabic. "Shuhnahean," she enunciated before waiting for Wesley to repeat it.

"Shinaheen."

"Nearly. More guttural on the first syllable and more drawn out on the last, like skean dubh. Try again."

"Shuhnahean."

Bee nodded and moved her finger back to the beginning of the passage, making Wes read all the way through to the point they had just reached before she moved on to the next word.




 




 

"Wes, the containment spell's ready." Fred called from the hotel's garden. "Are you sure you can get this Jacob's ladder hoosit to put her down where we want?"

"Never having used the spell before, I can't make any guarantees, but I think it's better that we try it this way rather than wait any longer or take the chance on releasing some grave evil. I'm sure, under the circumstances, if we give Cordy a few years, she might forgive us for keeping her captive until we can determine whether it really is just her that we got back.

Angel, it's decision time."

Angel's expression, even grimmer than usual, betrayed the difficulty of his choice. Wes and Fred had come to the same logical conclusion when they discovered the intricacies of the process to bring Cordy back. Angel had grudgingly concurred, but had put off any final decision until they were ready to put their plan in motion.

"Call through to their rooms and wake the others. I guess in the end it's my choice, but, considering the stakes, I don't want anyone saying they didn't get a chance to argue their point of view, and if we go ahead we better have some manpower available in case things go wrong."

 




 

"So you plan to free me from my captivity on a higher plane so that you can stick me in a cage down there?" Cordy sounded unimpressed. "And can I just say how much I don't like your little plan? Not that I'm particularly keen on the alternative, either, so I suppose I'm going to have to let you off, but you could at least have put one of the sofas in your little cell."

 




 

"So I guess in this little analogy, there's no equivalent of a depressurisation cylinder?" Spike asked.

"No," Angel confirmed. "We have one chance at this, no second guessing and no safety net. We're- ...or I should say Cordy's caught between a rock and a hard place, but she can't make this choice. We have to make it for her."

"So Brain Trust, over there, wants to go with the option where we could end up with brain-damaged, crippled, possessed Cordy rather than just possessed Cordy?" Gunn asked, having left his room for the first time since Wes's arrival.

Wes's tone was cool and level as he responded to the younger man's attack. "That is the case. There are risks inherent to each possible course of action, but on balance I think a possibly possessed Cordy whatever her physical or mental condition is preferable to an almost certainly possessed Cordy."

"And if some of us don't appreciate the idea of our friend ending up like some sort of Star-Trek transporter accident?"

"Then your opinion will be duly noted," Angel interrupted. "Lorne?"

The large, green demon gave a twist of one side of his mouth and tilted his head on one side in a sort of shrug. "I'm having a tough time thinking of anything worse than being trapped in my own body while someone else does the sort of driving that means I'm making not so sweet love with the kid I played mama for. I gotta think she'd rather we got three quarters of her back, than all of her and that hitchhiker. I'm with Wes."

Angel's gaze travelled to Spike and Buffy, but the blond shook his head. "S'your bird, all bar the shouting. We're just the tourists. If we can help, fine, but it's not our choice to make."

"Connor?"

"What if we just wait? There must be something we can do that doesn't involve all this magic, and we only have his word that this is true..." The teenager glared at Skip, still trapped inside his prison, though apparently untroubled enough to doze off leaning against the mystical force field that held him.

"His word under a truth spell," Spike gently reminded him. "Believe me, those things work. I know ."

"If we wait, whatever comes back, it won't be Cordelia," the other vampire argued. "It'll look like her. It might seem to act like her. It'll probably even smell like her, but it won't be her. Cordy will be trapped in her body with it, helpless to do anything, and the only help we'll be able to give her is to put her out of her misery. Waiting isn't an option."

Angel's gaze moved to Fred. "I know what you think." He spared her the burden of publicly siding with Wes against her boyfriend. He looked around the room again, meeting each person's gaze as he did so. "Wes, Fred, do what you need to get her back... and do it quick."

 




 

Angel, Wes, Lorne, Connor, Fred and Gunn waited just outside the bounds of the cylindrical containment spell that Fred had set up in the Hyperion's garden, while Spike, Buffy and Bee remained in the reception with the animals just in case Skip decided to take advantage of the others' distraction and make a break for freedom. The column of light that descended from the sky was barely distinguishable in the early morning sunshine, but, as Cordy came nearer, her own incandescence was clearly visible. The group held swords and axes and, in Lorne's case a tranquiliser pistol, reluctant as they all were to make use of them.

They all held their breath as the woman alighted on the ground next to the fountain at the centre of the garden. Brown eyes swept Angel from head to toe before returning to the broadsword he held in his hand.

"I know I stood you up, but isn't that just a bit on the extreme side?"

 




 

Cordy's reedy off-key rendition of 'The Greatest Love of All' ground to a halt as she watched Lorne's pained expression.

Everyone stared at the green demon, waiting for him to pronounce judgement. He simply shook his head. "What say Wes, here, gets back to learning Tarakeen? I'm going to go see if I can catch up on all that sleeping and all those seabreezes I missed last night."

As he turned to go, Cordy rushed after him. "Lorne?"

A dozen things happened at once as everyone reacted to the fact that the magical barrier had failed to contain the seer, but it was Connor's actions that made his father freeze in terror and brought a scream to Fred's lips. The teenager knew that the anagogic demon was simply stalling, that his gift had confirmed their worst fears and, if this thing could so easily circumvent what to all of them was an impenetrable force field, then it could not be allowed to roam free. Before anyone could intervene, the heavy double-headed axe that he carried was swinging with unerring accuracy for the slender column of Cordelia's neck.
 
Chapter 1.14
 

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

SECTION 1 - HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

((Jim Steinman wrote it, I think, even though the site where I found the lyrics says it's Bonnie Tyler) - Bonnie Tyler




Chapter 1.14
Sunday, May 26th, 2002


The blade sailed through Cordelia's neck with no loss of momentum and came straight out the other side. A second later, Connor's father rugby-tackled the youth to the ground. Lorne turned back to see what was happening as Cordy's grasping hand passed through him.

"What the-." Cordy turned to face Connor a hand on either hip. "Well, if you ever thought there was the remotest possibility that I might even consider sleeping with you, you can forget it now," she reprimanded him before her voice softened slightly, though her impatience remained as she turned to glare at the former watcher. "...Not least because you all seem to regard my body as an optional extra... though given that I'd be dead now, otherwise, maybe that's a good thing.

That doesn't mean that I wouldn't like you to fix it."

Wes nervously cleared his throat. "I'll go do some research, shall I?" He turned back toward reception, just as Buffy pushed open the door. Thanks to Spike's colour commentary, even though she hadn't quite been sure who she would have been meant to be helping, she had dashed to assist in the fray, leaving Skip in the care of Bee and Spike. Much to his distress the vampire was unable to join the fray and brave the sun while Angel still had the orbs. Wes turned the slayer around, ushering her before him as he made his way back inside.

The seer fixed her attention on Lorne. "Okay, I know I'm me, so how about you tell me what you actually saw, big guy? ...Preferably before the Lizzie Borden appreciation society works out a way to chop my head off for real."

"I don't know, pumpkin. There was a whole mess of stuff, none of it good, but none of it real clear either. I don't know whether it means you're possessed or what."

"Am I acting like some kind of evil bitch queen from another dimension?"

Gunn's response was softened by its friendly tone. "More than normal, you mean?"






 

"We appear to have a slight problem," Wes announced to the room at large. "Cordelia is non-corporeal."

"Well, duh!" Bee barely looked up from her quest for an ashtray. "Rupert could have told you that. Don't tell me, when you said Fred had set up a containment spell, you were talking about a purely physical barrier?" Finally, the petite blonde gave up her search and flicked the half inch of ash that had accumulated at the end of her cigarette, lit as soon as Wes went outside, into an empty coffee mug instead. When she looked up and caught his expression of consternation she decided she should explain further.

"She was in a metaphysical plane, right?" she paused, waiting to make sure she wasn't going too fast for anyone. "So, her natural state in that plane would be metaphysical... We couldn't do the whole gradual thing, so you brought her back straight away, as she was , but it's not her natural state in this plane. It's not as if she'll stay that way. It'll wear off... in a week or two... but I guess you've never been to a metaphysical plane, huh?"

"Strangely enough, no, I can't say that I have," Wes retorted, his patience clearly strained.

Bee retaliated by becoming defensive. "It's not my fault that I didn't assume you were an ignoramus. You seem quite intelligent most of the time."

Spike decided that now might be a good time to intervene. "Okay, kiddies, no point arguing over what can't be changed, which brings us to the next question. Is Queen C going to cool her heels here for long enough for you to do your spell or not? 'Cause if you can't keep her here, there doesn't seem to be a lot of point in all that mumbo jumbo you've been learning."

 




 

"Alright, fine. I'll wait around for you to do your spell. Just stop sticking your hand through me."

"Sorry," Fred shifted back a foot. "It's just I haven't ever touched somebody that wasn't there before. Do you feel different?"

"Yeah, I feel like I haven't had a shower in three weeks and my friends are suddenly looking at me like I'm some sort of science experiment. Now I know how Phantom Dennis feel-.

Hey, somebody want to press the buttons on the phone so I can call and tell him I'm okay? He's been worried sick."

Spike raised an eyebrow and whispered to his antecedent as he passed him one of two large mugs filled with blood. "Phantom Dennis?"

Angel shrugged as he watched Fred make the call. "Her apartment's haunted. He's kinda cool, fetching stuff and things, except he got pissed off with us for not finding her quicker, so then, he got more with the throwing stuff around. If he had a body I think I might have competition."

Spike treated his grandsire to a questioning glance. "Other than junior, you mean? Now she doesn't have a body, maybe you do."

"Thanks, Spike, and I really needed that little reminder."

Spike smirked. "Well, you didn't listen when we told you that you should see that he met some kids his own age."

"I was going to get around to it. Only, it suddenly seems a bit more urgent. It's a pity Dawn-."

"Seeing as how I prefer my Bitlet intact in every sense of the word I suggest you don't even think about finishing that sentence."

 




 

The afternoon was half gone by the time Bee pronounced herself happy with Wes's rendering of the True Sight ritual and she laid out the sacred circle he would need to use in its performance.

Skip seemed to grow increasingly anxious as the preparations continued. "Hey, remember I said that it was only dead guys that don't need to use the can? Ain't it time you arranged a toilet visit?"

Angel looked over at the demon who had played a major part in their current problems, his expression disparaging at best. "The floor's marble. It'll clean."

"Do you think I can go when I'm being watched like some sort of zoo exhibit?"

Spike smirked. "That'll make for a messy explosion, then." He tilted his head on one side and looked at his grandsire. "Just a thought, but what are you planning on doing with Ringface, here?"

"I'm thinking that might depend on how vindictive I'm feeling once we see what Wes's spell tells us."

Spike's smile widened. "I really wouldn't want to be you, Grey, if she didn't make the trip alone."

"This time we get to help, though? Right?" Connor looked across at his father.

"What I had in mind, you're too young to even watch on television."

Buffy elbowed Spike as she scolded the Aurelians. "Would you guys quit baiting the prisoner and let Wes get on with the spell? A certain someone is going to get real cranky if we don't get this sorted out and get him back in time for his date."

 




 

Wes threw a handful of powder from the bowl at his feet, not so much over Cordelia but through her. He spent some time staring at her image as if it were taking him a while to work out what he was actually seeing. To everyone else in the room there was only a slightly luminous Cordy standing on top of a patch of blue dust. The former watcher walked around the woman, looking at her from all sides, making sure he hadn't missed anything. Then, after what seemed like eons he stamped three times on the marble floor to end the ritual.

"There would appear to be good news and bad news."

He looked straight into Cordelia's eyes as he spoke. "There are two non-human presences sharing your body. The first appears benign and is completely integrated into every aspect of your physical make-up. I believe that is the demon essence which allowed you to have the physical strength to cope with the visions. The second, I believe, is at least part of the being which planned to use your body to enter this realm. However, as yet, it seems to be inside of you rather than being an indivisible part of you. If we act soon, it may be possible for it to be expelled without you suffering excessive ill-effects. Bee?"

The blonde looked as if she didn't want to provide false optimism. "Theoretically, yes, but all or part of it, you're still talking about a higher power. You're going to need a coven to provide enough power and you're going to need a mage or a witch with the will to take on what to all intents and purposes is a god to focus that power. Wes wouldn't stand a chance, or Tara even. It's dangerous, too. I wouldn't want that lead mage to be someone I cared about. It's possible that you may have to trade a life to save her. It's just... I mean theoretically , it's do-able..."

Spike fumbled to find his cigarettes, and when he spoke it was with an air of solemnity. "You've never met Red, have you, pet?"
 
Chapter 2.01
 

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

SECTION 2 - TUBULAR BELLS (The theme from 'The Exorcist')

Instrumental

(Mike Oldfield - Album - Tubular Bells)




Chapter 2.01
Sunday, May 26th, 2002


"Spike, you're hearing, but you're not listening. We're talking about Aleister Crowley, Marie Laveau... that sort of powerful spell caster, not some twenty-something kid that can't even control herself."

Buffy shook her head. "If anyone can do it, Willow can. What we need to worry about is whether she would , and whether she should . I'm not convinced, if it's as risky as Bee thinks, that we even have a right to ask her to try."

"The witch managed a resurrection spell," Spike informed the shorter, bustier blonde. "A true resurrection spell, not a ghoul, or a zombie, but an actual think-for-herself resurrection. By my reckoning, that puts her up there with your notables, and it wouldn't be the first time she's gone head to head with a god. Can't say as she won first time around, but she got out of it alive.

And as to whether we should ask her or not, I'm guessin' Red would get pissed off if you were to start making all her decisions for her. I reckon she'd do it, too, for the exact reason she shouldn't."

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked.

"If she did it because it was the right thing to do... If she really believed she was risking her own life or well-being to help another, then, that curse demon bint's mate put on 'er would reverse at least a bit, wouldn't it? 'Cause it would be a selfless act. Red won't see it like that though, not now. Maybe Blue's age thing might have knocked the shine off of her feeling of invincibility. She might actually be beginning to realise that she can't do whatever she wants without there being any consequences, but I think she's probably still arrogant enough to think, given her gifts that she'll be able to do it for free. She'll do it just to prove she can. Like the sweetie over there says, if she pulls it off, that would put her in some very elite company, kinda like the spell caster's equivalent of winning a Nobel Prize. We've all had things to say about her spell casting of late an' how she cocks stuff up because she doesn't think it through, because she doesn't give magic the respect it deserves. Lord knows, her an' glow-in-the-dark Barbie, over there, have never been best mates, so it's not like that's goin' to give her an incentive, but to prove us wrong..."

"And if it..." Buffy couldn't even bring herself to put her friend's death into words.

"If it kills her?" Dawn asked from the corner where she had been teaching Connor how to play rummy. "Then, maybe her death actually achieves something worthwhile, rather than her ageing herself into her grave by stages, trying to magic the world and everyone around her to be how she wants them."

Angel cleared his throat, knowing that hadn't really been all that was worrying Buffy. If Spike's assessment was correct, then asking Willow to help was almost like being responsible for signing her death warrant. "I'll ask her. There's less pressure on her to accept that way than if Buffy were to ask her."

"Em," Bee hesitated to interrupt but she did feel that something else had been forgotten. "Not to spoil all your plans here, but aren't you still short a coven?"

Spike grinned. "I think we can work out something that'll approximate. Bigger the better, huh?"

"I guess... I mean there has to be a limit to how much power the focal caster can draw through herself without... well... but up to that limit, more is better."

The blond's gaze turned to his grandsire. "I'm going to borrow your office for a while. I've got some calls to make. Why don't you an' your little firefly see if she can actually sit in a moving car as opposed to the car going through her? Or maybe she can just will herself up to Sunnyhell? Seems to me, if it's gonna get done, that's the place to do it."

The vampire took Buffy by the hand, leading her into the office with him. "Figure we might need to do some negotiating on this one, pet."

As they departed, Bee called after them. "You're not going to get this all set up before sundown, are you?"

"Doubtful, pet. Why?"

"It should be easier in daylight, preferably noon... And from a purely personal view point, my life wouldn't be worth living if I came all the way to LA without going to visit a certain lady, goes by the name of grandma."








"Willow?" Angel found it hard to believe his eyes when he saw the girl he had known. If it weren't for the eyes he would never have believed it was the same person. Her face was heavy with wrinkles and her auburn sixties style bob looked like a nylon wig, one that might have belonged to her grandmother. The sweats she wore strained at the seams although they had previously belonged to her mother and even though Buffy and Spike had tried to prepare him, they hadn't been witness to the latest ravages wrought by the curse.

"You know, I'm thinking about changing that legally so that you spell it with a question mark at the end." Instead of humour she imbued her reply with bitterness. "What do you want?"

"I- well, I need a favour."

"If you want me to watch Buffy for you again, that would be kinda hard seeing as I'm not allowed in her house any more."

"It's nothing to do with Buffy. I need a magic user, an extremely powerful magic user."

"Haven't you heard? I'm just an arrogant amateur."

"What I heard was that if the ritual needed a mage on a par with Crowley or Laveau then you were the person to see."

Willow's eyes narrowed as if she suspected she were being manipulated. "Who told you that?"

"Does it matter? Are they right?" the vampire asked. "Right now, I have to say you don't look so..."

"I might look old, but my magic is just as strong as it ever was. What is the spell?"

"Not so much a spell. It's an exorcism... and you would be exorcising something not too far removed from a god."

The witch seemed to consider for a brief time. "It can't be done by one person alone."

"No, we can provide the back up, but the bulk of the burden needs to fall on one person. From what I've heard it's likely to be very dangerous for that person."

"If they weren't up to it, yes, it would be, but if you get me spell casters with enough power to do the job, then I'll get it done."

Angel nodded. "I'll arrange for someone to pick you up at eleven tomorrow morning and take you over to The Magic Box. If you don't think the people we find are up to the job then no one will think any less of you if you back out."

"No one except me," Willow replied.






Monday, May 27th, 2002




"Where's Buffy?" Wes looked past Dawn as she opened the door.

"Watching Spike make breakfast," the teenager supplied with a roll of her eyes.

Before the teenager had even finished speaking, Wes strode off in the direction of the kitchen.

"Do you know anything about this?" the brunette demanded, slamming down the piece of paper he'd been clutching in his hand in front of Buffy. "The slip that came with it said, 'Compliments of Miss Summers'."

Buffy stared at it for several seconds before she responded. "Darn! If that is after taxes, I'm definitely on the wrong side of this gig." When Wes didn't seem to see the funny side she explained further. "Name the largest group of magic users in California."

"I don't see..."

"Tara has managed to round up some of the Wiccans from university. Giles is supposed to be working on some sort of long distance thing with that coven he hangs out with in Devon, but the biggest collection of magic users in Sunnydale right now is the Council. Quentin wouldn't play ball unless I agreed to have a full time watcher again, submitting regular reports and making me train regularly and do assessments and stuff. I told him I'd settle for two part-time watchers, of my choosing, on full-time salary, to be paid retroactively.

I can understand if you don't want any more to do with him, but if I were you, I'd take that and cash it, send Quentin a couple of reports and then, if you still have a problem with it, you can hand in your notice. At the very least, play along until after the ritual to fumigate Cordelia."

With a sigh, Wes pulled out a stool and took a seat next to her and Spike took it as a signal that the discussion was over. He set a plate crammed with bacon, eggs and other fried stuff in front of Buffy and one at the empty space beside her before he called Dawn and returned to the cooker. "You had breakfast yet or not? I was going to take a plate up for Tinkerbell, but I can do her a fresh one."








The gathering was unconventional to say the least. Teenaged Wiccans rubbed shoulders with sombre-suited watchers in The Magic Box's training room. Several of the council members were watching the group in the corner with a range of emotions, of which the least hostile was suspicion. Angel glowered back, but Spike grinned and blew cigarette smoke toward them as if he hadn't a care in the world. Buffy leaned back against the vaulting horse, on which he was perched, his knees either side of her. Dawn sat next to him and glared daggers at anyone who dared even think less than friendly thoughts concerning her family. Fred stood next to Angel, perplexed by the whole atmosphere. "Don't they know you've got a soul now?"

Cordelia, who was no longer constantly glowing but still incorporeal, gave a rueful grimace. "They're watchers. It's sorta their job not to care." She leaned toward Buffy, whispering in the slayer's ear. "They don't know that I'm part demon," she stated before a little bit of doubt crept in. "Do they?"

"Why ever would we have wanted to mention that ?" Buffy asked.

The door from the main shop opened yet again and most of the room looked over to see if it was the person they were waiting for. Instead, Giles gave Buffy a tentative smile and began to jostle his way towards them.

Buffy met him a little over half way, pulling Spike behind her. The slayer wrapped her arms around the grey-haired man, searching his face. "Are you okay?" she asked too quiet for any human other than him to hear.

"Surprisingly so. Which I think goes to prove that Olivia and I were right to split up..."

"Well, you can come over tonight and eat ice cream, anyway. I thought you were going to try some long distance spell casting thing?"

"One of the women came up with an alternative. Let's just say I didn't arrive by 747 and it's a good thing Anya shut the shop." A glance over Buffy's shoulder brought another smile to his face and the blonde couple made way for the new arrival to greet his other former pupil. "Cordelia, I don't think I've seen you since graduation."

"Geez, Giles, I'm guessing when Buffy went off to college you quit training, huh?

I might have been tempted to see if that British reserve could cope with a hug, but it's not really possible, yet."

"So I hear. Did Wesley find any changes when he did the spell this morning?"

"Apparently, I'm slightly less ghosty this morning, but other than the glowing not being all the time, it's not like it's exactly noticeable. He said the thing might have grown slightly, or it could just be in a different position. The good news is it's still not dug in. He's not going to take part in the ritual, so that he has the power to check again at the end to see whether it's all gone."

"Are you going to be alright with this?"

Cordelia gave a snort. "In comparison to being possessed by an evil demi-god thing or having my head chopped off? I'll cope."

"Tara?" the watcher inquired, looking round for the Wiccan.

"Exam." Buffy shrugged. "It's not like she doesn't think it's important, but she can hardly afford to take the course again either. She finishes at half past twelve and she's coming straight here, but I'm thinking that we should have enough power to do the ritual without her."

Giles scanned the room. "Yes, I rather suspect, you do. At least, you will once Willow makes it here. Is that that awful woman, who came with Quentin last time, talking to Wesley?"

"Yes, but maybe not so awful."

Xander's inane babbling sounded unfeasibly loud as the room quieted. The carpenter froze in the middle of the doorway that led to the alley with a feeling of paranoia, but everyone's attention was focused on the woman he was with, rather than him. Some of the Wiccans had seen or heard of her brief appearances on campus. None of Quentin's entourage had expected anything other than a twenty-one year old. Their shocked silence was immediately followed by a burble of mutterings.

Travers made his way toward Buffy, with an expression of consternation on his face. "You never mentioned that your friend was... impaired. This casts a whole different light on the matter."

"She's not impaired. She's old. I've seen nothing to suggest that it affects her magical abilities, and it's not as if all your people are under forty, either. Perhaps you would rather call our deal off?"

Travers gaze travelled up and down, checking not the slayer's figure but her body language, looking for a sign as to whether she was bluffing, but in truth Buffy would almost have been glad if the council backed out. She would be free of any obligation to them, her friend would be saved from her own rash judgement and no one would be able to say that she hadn't tried.

Finally, the watcher refused the chance to back out. "No, I think we would be remiss in our duty if we weren't to attempt to free this poor girl from her infliction."

"Most remiss," Willow drawled from just behind him. "And, Cordelia, I can't help but think if you had told someone back in first grade that you were possessed it would have saved us all from twelve years of misunderstandings. You see, we all just thought you were a total bitch."
 
Chapter 2.02
 

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

SECTION 2 - TUBULAR BELLS (The theme from 'The Exorcist')

Instrumental

(Mike Oldfield - Album - Tubular Bells)




Chapter 2.02
Monday, May 27th, 2002


The Wiccans, Fred, and the watchers formed a slightly staggered double circle, so that those in the outer ring kneeled immediately behind the gap between the shoulders of those nearest them in the inner circle. Willow stood at the centre of the group and Cordelia kneeled before her. Anya, Xander and Buffy were positioned outside the circle, each with a stack of cue cards from which the spell casters were required to read. Wes, Dawn and the vampires looked on from the far end of the room, while Quentin watched from beside the door into the main shop.

En masse the spell casters lit the incense sticks positioned before them and vowed for the duration of the working to put their power at Willow's disposal. Then, one by one, Willow accepted their gifts, starting with the Wiccan who had been directly opposite her and moving on clockwise around the circle. As she did so a link was formed between her and the donor, a flickering cord of electricity that connected her upper torso to that of the other person, the first few dazzling threads passing over Cordelia's head. Each was different, some of the Wiccans' and, more surprisingly, one or two of the watchers', including Lydia's, were pure white. Some were tinged with green or blue or violet or gold. Some of the watchers' were angry red or turbulent orange. For some the connection was thin almost like a shimmering piece of string, and for others it was as thick as their arm.

By the time she was linked with a quarter of those in the circle, streams of magical energy flowing toward her as if she were a thaumaturgical maypole, Willow's face and extremities had a pale incandescence. Buffy tried to convince herself that the witch was not ageing before her eyes, but she knew that her one-time friend was drunk on the power she was receiving. The slayer's eyes sought out those of her fiancé, not entirely surprised to find his attention was already on her rather than the proceedings. He gave her a gentle smile and tried to offer her reassurance from across the room.

Suddenly, the atmosphere brightened by a factor of four. Buffy shielded her eyes to see what had brought about the change. Giles' whole upper body was doused in a brilliant luminescence. Instead of one magical thread coming from his body it was as if there was a vast crackling, pastel, multi-hued rope, woven from innumerable strands. The watcher carried with him the power of the whole Devon coven, each woman having willed to him such energy as she could.

For half a minute Willow seemed to ride an euphoric high, her entire body trembling, before she moved on to the next person in the circle. This time, Buffy was almost certain that Willow looked older beneath the golden glow that now illuminated her whole body. It wasn't something the slayer often did, being more accustomed to self-reliance, and it seemed almost inappropriate, surrounded as she was by the trappings of witchcraft, but Buffy found herself silently praying that somehow they could all get through this without losing anyone.








Xander couldn't take his eyes from Willow's face. He had so many memories, Willow teasing him, Willow kissing him, Willow crying because their fourth grade teacher gave her a B and she didn't want to give her mom her report card, Willow trying to make him feel better after his eighth birthday party, Willow in footie pyjamas... Every one of those memories seemed to overlie the scene before them, but the innocence that had shone from those eyes was gone.

For the first time he realised that the changes in Willow over the last year weren't just some surface veneer over the same familiar beloved woman, but they went through to her very core.

For the first time he saw her magic as a barrier between them. He had always thought that regardless of what came to pass he would be there for her, protecting her as if she were his little sister. As he watched her swallow the power from those around her, exulting in the rush, he knew she would never need him again. The one thing he had never protected her from, that which until now he'd been unable to either see or acknowledge, the darker side of her own nature.

For the first time he realised that the girl he had grown up loving wasn't just more intelligent or from a better area of town. She might as well belong on a separate evolutionary scale. He found himself wondering if she even recognised any of them, if she was aware of them as people, or if all she knew was the rush of power.

For the first time he understood why Buffy had wanted Willow out of her home, how she could be afraid of her. He watched her long after everyone else shielded their eyes from the glare, the image of her face burned into his retinas.

Still he wished that he could just take her into his arms like he always had and hold her until the nightmare was over and his Willow came back.








Even as she completed the circle Willow was dimly aware of the thickening of her body and limbs, but buoyed in a sea of borrowed power she couldn't bring herself to care. The rollercoaster high she was experiencing beat any of Rack's merry go round rides hands down, and she'd had a few of those this last week. Magic wasn't meant to be hoarded and used only in dribs and drabs to further some greater good. Magic was a force, a magnificent lover which made every inch of your skin tingle and which exulted in its freedom.

She savoured the essence of every person in the circle. Giles was so sweet, the magic he brought as refreshing as cool spring water and rooted in the ancient traditions of mother earth. The old guy was so proper he would probably have a heart attack if he had realised that she'd come at the unexpected rush when she 'touched' him. Her whole body was a blaze of blinding light. All this, and she had yet to syphon any power through the bonds she had created...

She reached out a hand toward Cordelia. This time she leeched energy from all those surrounding her and forced it out into the other woman. Energy flowed out from her palm to Cordelia's head. Riding the wave of power to search out the presence which she wished to dispel, she had about a second before the other, as she thought of it, became aware of her. Her magic burned and damaged it before it could react, but when it did, Willow suddenly realised that this was not going to be the funfair ride she had anticipated.

An entity, worshipped as a god before humans walked the earth, stirred and brought its wrath to bear on the witch who dared try to harm it. Pain seared through Willow's every nerve ending and she was forced to draw more energy from those around her so she could try to push back the other before it claimed her as well as Cordelia. There was part of her which instinctively wanted to simply sever the link between herself and Cordelia but her pride wouldn't let her. To concede defeat in front of everyone she knew, to confirm Giles' assesment of her abilities, was unthinkable. Instead, she drew ever more power from the circle of spell casters until the other was forced back to the confines of Cordelia's body. She drew in the mages' energy until she felt that her very soul would be scorched by its intensity.

It was almost a stalemate. The emerald glow of the other's magic flowed up the bond between Willow and Cordelia, meeting the pale orange gold of the casters' combined energy. Neither was winning and neither showed any obvious signs of tiring, but Willow knew that the curse was taking its toll, punishing her for her arrogance and pride. If she didn't do something soon it would exact the ultimate price.

Willow's other hand reached out, and Spike threw himself into the path between her and her intended target. He showed the witch his back even as he enfolded Dawn in his arms. The energy that flowed from the vampire surprised the witch with its purity until she realised it wasn't his own energy but that of the orbs protecting him that she drew upon. With a further burst of will, her magic linked the vampire and the key, drawing Dawn's beautiful green energy through Spike to twine with the violet of that from the orbs.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement that told her Buffy was moving to aid her sister and the vampire, though why she wasn't too dazzled to see what was happening the witch had no idea. With a negligent flick of a finger, she thickened the air around the slayer until it was like tar and then did likewise with the air around Wes and the other Scoobies. She was willing to bet that Angel was more interested in getting Cordelia back than in how it was done and if he did look like he was going to interfere she could contain him just as easily.

The stolen power burned both the witch and the other with its purity, one literally, the other with condemnation of what she had become.

For the first time Willow gained the upper hand, forcing the other to recoil. It seemed to shrink away shrivelling in on itself and, though Willow bore the guilt of the rape she had perpetrated on the key and her demon guardian, she knew in time the battle would be won.








Neither the girl nor the vampire had made the vow to give over their power and both spasmed as the energy passed through them, Spike's eyes turning to demon gold. His hand twitched uncontrollably and every movement was made with gritted teeth as he forced himself to overcome the magically induced fit. He drew his hand away from Dawn's back. Reaching between them, he used a taloned finger to slice through first one loop on the pouch holding the orbs, and then the other, pulling it from his belt and pushing it into Dawn's hand before he realised that in the minutes he had taken to complete his actions the girl had fallen unconscious and was unable to take them from him. His eyes looked the girl up and down, taking in her skin-tight jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt with fresh distaste. He pushed his hand upward until he could tuck the pouch with the orbs inside the neckline of Dawn's top.

In a last desperate move before the protection of the orbs was lost to him, he thrust the girl away from him, hoping to break the magical tie between them, but as Dawn's body, robbed of his support, fell to the floor, the roiling energy continued to pass from her through him to the witch. Nevertheless, the vampire noted with satisfaction before he, too, lost consciousness that the link between them now sparked with violet energy rather than green.








Just as the battle was won, the vampire handed her defeat from the jaws of victory. The energy of the key, which had done so much to weaken the other was replaced by the darkly supernatural energy of the vampire himself.

The witch hesitated. With the hostile presence inside Cordelia already weakened, one massive surge of power should be enough to drive it out and disperse it. Otherwise, even with the energy she drew from the orbs it would grow again.

She knew she couldn't walk away, and this time it wasn't to do with pride or proving herself or anything similar. This time she did it to safeguard, not just Cordelia, but everyone from the evil she had sensed inside the other as they had fought. It occurred to her that perhaps this wasn't quite her decision, that somehow the energy from the key or from the orbs had to some extent overridden her own will, but she welcomed it. It was as if the troubles and responsibilities of the last year fell away and she was free to indulge once more in a naïve innocence. With an effort of will she drew the magic into herself until she felt her skin burn and her insides begin to cook and then she directed the power in one overwhelming wave toward the presence inside Cordelia, smashing it into nothingness.
 
Chapter 3.01
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 3 - MY LAST BREATH

Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid


(Evanescence - Album - Fallen)




Chapter 3.01
Monday, May 27th, 2002


More than a day had passed since Skip had been imprisoned. The demon was unsurprised that the barrier around him seemed to be weakening. The innermost part of the double barrier, which had barely allowed him standing room, was long gone, but as Wes had conceded it was basically a parlour trick and not much more. The outer wall of his cell had proved rather more durable, but even so it was finally weakening. The demon turned his back to his guard, and lay down as if to sleep. Instead he bit down on his tongue until he could taste the green viscous liquid, which in his case passed for blood. Using his body as a screen, he took the blood and a finger and began to daub mystical symbols on the wall of his magical prison.








Tara climbed out of the passenger side of the open-topped sports car after picking up Rupert from her lap and re-depositing him on the sidewalk.

"Thanks," she told Bee as she passed over the end of the cat's leash.

"No biggie," the smaller woman demurred. "I kinda want to see if it all worked out, anyway, but it's not as if I really wanted to be around the watcher horde any longer than I have to be. It's bad enough that Wes has rejoined the fold... but, if I really believed that, you wouldn't see me for dust."

"Have you heard anything?"

Bee shook her head. "Not so far... but the shop's still there, so that's a good sign."








Xander shook his head, hoping it would allow him to make sense of what had just gone down. He only had the vaguest idea what had been happening towards the end of the ritual. Willow had been lit up like a lighthouse lantern, so bright that, even though he had tried, he had been unable to watch. He did know that when the light show had so abruptly stopped, there had been some sort of massive detonation, blowing everyone in the room off their feet. He called out for Anya first of all, relieved beyond measure when he saw her push herself up off the ground and make her way over to him.

At first he thought they were the only ones moving and then he saw Quentin Travers making his way over to the nearest of the watchers, pulling back an eyelid and then checking the man's pulse. Angel had somehow circumvented the scattered bodies - but then he had experience with that - to make his way over to Cordelia. His efforts to take the apparently unconscious, but still incorporeal woman into his arms would have been hilarious, if not for the slumped form beside her.

"Willow..." Xander didn't know what to think as he looked at the blackened flesh and suddenly he was sickened by the smell in the air that up until that point had been propagating a desire for a BLT. He held Anya's hand in a death grip as he picked his way through the gradually stirring piles of bodies. Unbelievably, when he was still a few feet away he saw the barest flicker of a charred eyelid and the blackening seemed to fade very slowly away. Starting at her roots, colour and lustre returned to her hair, not the brilliant auburn she sometimes sported, but the darker, slightly reddish brown it had been before Buffy came to town. He delicately picked a spot where there was enough space for him to kneel down next to her and finally relinquished Anya's hand so that he could take her in his arms.

She coughed and tried to smile, but even though Xander could see the years that had been added by the curse slowly but inexorably falling away, she couldn't seem to raise herself up at all to help him. More and more people were beginning to move and he searched the room, trying to pick out any of the other Scoobies, but as more people got to their feet and began their own dazed searches for loved ones, they were nowhere to be seen and he began to panic.

"Buffy?" he called. "Buff."

A familiar cool English voice answered him. "She hasn't come around, yet."

"Wes? But she's-."

"She's still unconscious, as are Spike and Dawn, but the girls' pulses are strong and Spike isn't dust so I don't think there's any need for further alarm just yet." The watcher's voice was firm, making it plain that the subject was not up for further discussion at present.

"Willow's hurt... She's hurt real bad."

He couldn't make out Willow's response to the remark and he had to ask her to repeat it, his ear close to her mouth.

"Not hurt. Dying."

"No, Will! It doesn't work like that." A frustrated tear crept from the corner of one eye. He'd been wishing so hard that something would happen so that he could have the old Will back, but the price was just too high. It wasn't meant to happen like that. "Ahn, honey, find Giles... He'll fix it. He'll..."

His train of thought was interrupted by a quiet knock on the shop's back door. "Oh, Christ," he muttered under his breath. "Not now. Whoever that is we don't want any..."

"I'm here, Xander." The older watcher's voice stilled the carpenter's panic for a second as Anya moved to get the door. "Though I have to tell you that there's little or nothing I can do that you haven't already done, except call an ambulance."

All around them, people were back on their feet. Only five figures still lay on the ground.








Anya's face told Tara all that she needed to know even before the former demon stepped aside to reveal the devastation inside. "Willow?" the Wiccan asked, her voice coming out as a hesitant whisper.

Anya nodded toward the centre of the room, where Xander rocked gently back and forth with the woman's head in his lap. Tara pushed her way through the watchers and Wiccans who were milling around and then through those whose morbid curiosity or watcherly instincts made them surround the scene.

"Willow?" Her voice was like a soft caress as she sank to the floor next to Xander.

"Tara, baby? You came..." The words were obviously a strain and the witch began coughing.

"Don't talk, sweetie. I came. It'll be alright. Just hang in there until we can get some help."

"Have to talk... Dawnie and Spike?"

The blonde looked to Xander for information.

"Wes says they're okay. Still unconscious but okay."








Giles' authoritative voice cut through the room as he returned from the main shop. "There is an ambulance on its way. Would those of you not requiring medical attention and/or immediately connected with those who are injured kindly stop lollygagging and vacate the premises by the rear exit so that the medics can get in when they get here?" The watcher made shooing gestures as he moved back toward Willow. "That includes you and your note takers, Quentin. I'm sure that, between us, Wesley and I can come up with a report after the fact."

"That could be what I'm worried about." For an instant the older man hesitated, but he was too well acquainted with the violent impulses that hid beneath Giles' civilised veneer and soon he ushered the last of his contingent toward the door.

Giles spotted Bee as she made her way to the exit with the other Rupert in tow, and, inclining his head to one side, he beckoned her back. It was true that the woman was not one of their intimate circle, but she seemed more at home with magical theory than most of the Council, even if she had no talent for its implementation.

Returning his voice to a more conversational level, he hailed the other remaining watcher. "Wesley, perhaps you could give me a hand to carry Spike down to the cellar before the paramedics arrive. I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate a Y incision in the middle of his chest, and, while the coroners are probably used to an occasional victim getting up and walking away, I think it might be more pleasant all around if we avoid the problem.

Angel, I suggest unless you want some awkward explaining to do, that you move those packing crates in the corner until they mask Cordelia's aura. Bee, if you could give him a hand for now?" He gave his best approximation of a pleading glance. "Once everything is in place for the paramedics' arrival we can discuss what exactly happened here and whether it worked."








"They're okay?" Willow asked.

"It looks that way, in time. Honey, do you know why they're not coming round?"

"I took their power... without the handover. It was winning and I thought 'Dawn's made of energy'. Then, Spike got in the way."

Xander shook his head. "He would. Look if Spike interfered and he's suffering for it, then good. You've got better things to worry about than that freak. Does anybody know why Buffy's out of it, though?"

Tara waited until Xander glanced her way and gently shook her head and raised a finger to her lips. "It's okay, sweetie," she told the errant witch. "They'll forgive you. They'll be okay and they'll forgive you. Just stay with us... The ambulance will be here in a minute."

"No difference," Willow whispered. "There's always a price."

"No, sweetie, you have to hang in with us. Just a bit longer and they'll be here."

"It's okay. I chose this. That thing... It wouldn't just have taken over Cordelia... It would have been bad... Glory-bad... I'm okay with it."

"Willow..." The blonde reached out to stroke the woman's pale, but youthful face. "I knew you chose to pay the price as soon as I saw the curse had reversed. You had to have made a huge sacrifice, but that doesn't mean you have to die. They're on their way. They'll take care of you. Maybe it'll take you a few months but you'll get better."

Willow's eyes met hers, serene and sure. "Sooner or later, I'd give in to temptation. I couldn't have done this without the energy of the key or the orbs. What I took from Spike and Dawn... It made me feel dirty. Made me see what I'd been doing, what I was becoming. You know it. I know it. This way..." She paused as she was overcome by another coughing fit. "This way, I won't let you down again."

Tara wished she could find a way to argue with her, a way to make her stay but she couldn't lie. Willow had never been strong-willed. She had a habit of choosing the easiest path. Slow tears trickled down the blonde's cheeks as the EMTs pushed their way through the doors at the rear of the shop.








"Are you Miss Rosenberg's family?" The doctor looked over the dishevelled group that seemed almost lost in the large ER waiting room.

Giles stepped forward, still somehow forced into playing the adult, just as when Buffy's mother had died. "Tara is her partner. We haven't been able to contact her parents, yet. Xander, Anya and I are friends." The watcher told the white lie which he hoped would allow the doctor to tell them what was happening. Even if Tara and Willow had still been living together the doctors wouldn't have been under any obligation to tell her anything. Without a marriage certificate they still weren't family in any legal sense, but Giles was hoping that this particular doctor wasn't going to split hairs or ask for proof.

The doctor turned to the red-eyed girl. "I'm sorry. As you already know, Miss Rosenberg stopped breathing in the ambulance. Despite our best attempts, we've been unable to revive her. I'm afraid she's passed away."
 
Chapter 3.02
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 3 - MY LAST BREATH

Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid


(Evanescence - Album - Fallen)




Chapter 3.02
Monday, May 27th, 2002


"What the hell do you mean she passed away?" Anya kept a hold of Xander's hand as he took a step toward the doctor, pulling him up before he could get in the man's face, but Xander barely noticed. "What the hell kind of hospital is this? She was fine when they put her in the ambulance. She was awake. She was talking to us."

Giles positioned himself between the younger man and the physician. "Xander, I'm sure the doctors did everything they could."

"Yeah? Then why does everybody that comes in here die?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "From what we were able to see, Miss Rosenberg's trachea was badly scorched, and you mentioned some sort of explosion. It seems likely that she inhaled some hot air which scorched her throat and her lungs. There were also indications that there was some sort of internal bleeding probably due to the concussive effect of the blast. The fact that she survived so long as she did was a measure of her determination but it was a battle that ultimately she could not sustain."

"That's-."

"Xander!" Surprisingly, it was Tara's voice which cut across whatever the brunette's next tirade had been going to be. "Willow is gone and creating a scene is not going to change that." She turned to the physician. "Her family are Jewish. By tradition someone should remain with her from now until she is buried. Will there need to be an autopsy?"

"What are you talking about?" Xander interrupted. "Willow has never been into all that. I mean she went along with it to please her dad but you know-."

Giles shook his head disapprovingly. "Willow is dead and what happens to her earthly remains is probably not of great concern to her except that to diverge from Jewish tradition would cause her family additional distress. I don't believe she would have wanted that."

"She wanted it this way. Perhaps, if she had survived her parents, it might have been different but not as things are," Tara confirmed before returning to the physician. "Can I sit with her until her parents can be contacted? Her mother should be back from lunch soon but she shouldn't be alone."

"I'm sure that something can be arranged." The doctor ushered her toward the door through to the ER. "You asked about an autopsy? In light of her family's likely religious objections and given there's no evidence of foul play I suspect that the autopsy will be waived. The coroner may need to take a blood sample to do a tox screen as a formality, but we can discuss that with her parents and their rabbi when we can reach them."

"Thank you."

Just before she and the doctor disappeared Giles spoke one last time. "I'm going to try driving over to Willow's mother's office. As you say, she should be back soon and I think perhaps the news may be best broken face to face. When I come back I'll check in on you, okay?" He gave the girl a reassuring smile.

"Sure." With a gentle nod the girl disappeared after the doctor into the emergency treatment area.








"Buffy?" Wes turned to face the bed occupied by the elder of the two Summers girls when he heard movement.

Buffy's eyelids fluttered for a second and then she managed to keep them open. "Wes? Where's Spike?"

"So far as I know he's still at the magic shop, but Fred promised to tell him where you were if he came 'round so it's entirely possible that he might be on his way here already."

"Dawnie?"

"Next bed over. She's still unconscious, I'm afraid."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"The doctors haven't been able to find anything wrong with her. I suspect she'll come 'round in her own good time, but the longer she stays out the worse it looks... but then I suppose you know more about what she's going through than I do."

"Willow..." Anger gave the slayer more animation than she had managed so far. "She tried to use Dawn like some sort of human battery. If Spike hadn't given her the orbs Willow would have sucked the life right out of her. What on earth did she think she was doing?"

"She was fighting a battle with a god," Wes responded in a calming tone. "A battle she won, but in which she ultimately gave her own life."

"W-Will... dead?"

"She survived the ritual, but she died before she reached the hospital. By the time Giles was able to contact her mother there was only just time to arrange for her burial today."

"Today? How? I mean what about all the arrangements... picking a casket... flowers... everything?"

"Jewish tradition dictates wherever possible that burial happens on the day of death. Normally, the coffin would be plain pine, though technically any wooden coffin is acceptable. The ceremony is supposed to be as simple as possible so flowers are considered inappropriate. Most of the arrangements would be taken care of by the Chevra Kadisha, the morticians."

"When?"

"About two hours from now."

Buffy looked over at her sister's bed, her eyes welling up with tears as she remembered not the recent arguments that had separated her and Willow, but the years of friendship they had shared. "B-But I can't leave Dawnie, not until I know she's okay."

"No one would expect you to. There's a period of mourning after the funeral. I'm sure you'll be able to pay your respects then."

"Wes, can you call the shop and check on Spike? Please?"

A woman's voice came from the doorway as Bee came in, a cup of vending machine coffee in either hand. "I'll do that, if you want," she offered, passing one of the cups to Wes and then holding the other out for Buffy. "You look like you need a shoulder to lean on and I think the boss, there, would do a better job of filling in for Spike than I can."

"Perhaps on your way past the desk you could let one of the nurses know that Buffy's conscious now?" Wes suggested.

The small woman gave a half-smile. "Sure."








Spike fought for consciousness, his mate's grief acting as a goad to bring him from his sleep. His chest hitched as he tried to draw his first waking breath, but the weight on his rib cage made it more difficult than it should have been. His eyelids opened and blue eyes stared into bluer.

The vampire raised a lead-like arm and pushed the Siamese off his torso. "Bugger off, ya stupid, cross-eyed excuse for a moggie."

"Rowwr." The cat seemed to protest his intelligence, his pedigree and his perfect vision.

It took Spike a while to figure out where he was, but even longer to make his way upstairs from the basement on unresponsive limbs. He wasn't too surprised to find Angel, Cordelia and Fred still there when he got upstairs... and he didn't waste any time on pleasantries.

"Where's Dawn? What happened to her?"

Angel rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to provoke the blond unnecessarily in his present mood. "Dawn and Buffy were taken to the hospital along with Willow. Fred's talking to that girl who works for Wes now."

Spike did his best to stride over and grab the phone from Fred's grasp, but it was more like an arthritic shuffle and then accepting the handset as Fred passed it to him. "Who's dead?" he barked.

"Willow didn't make it to the hospital." Again, it was Angel who answered his question.

"Dawn?" This time his voice was more of a croak.

Bee's voice sounded hollow over the phone line. "She was still unconscious last time I was upstairs, but Buffy only just came 'round so maybe in a bit... Buffy was asking for you."

"Tell her I'll be there in ten minutes to-."

"It might take you a little longer than that, " Angel cut in. The older vampire picked up the pouch that held the orbs from the floor near the sofa where Cordelia was lying, apparently only just conscious. He held them in his hand and then moved until the sunlight from the high windows touched his skin.

As Spike watched, Angel's fingers began to smoke.

"She drained them dry?"

"Flat as a car battery when you leave the headlights on all night." Angel tossed the pouch underhand to the other vampire who only just caught them. "...And Giles borrowed your car to take Willow's ex home to get changed and then to the funeral."

He felt no surge of strength, and belatedly he realised that when Angel had picked them up there had been no telltale light show. Sticking the useless globes into his coat pocket, he returned to his telephone conversation. "Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can." Spike turned on his heel and headed back to the store's basement. He'd just have to do it the old-fashioned way.
 
Chapter 3.03
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 3 - MY LAST BREATH

Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid


(Evanescence - Album - Fallen)




Chapter 3.03
Monday, May 27th, 2002


Skip tested the barrier once more. As he had suspected, it was now weakened sufficiently for him to be able to push his hand through it with little resistance. He rolled over as if simply shifting in his sleep, but in actuality his new position allowed him to watch his captors through barely open eyes, awaiting the opportune moment.

He had hoped that at some point they would leave him alone with Lorne, but he wasn't quite that lucky. Instead, he took his chance when Connor left the hotel to fetch lunch for its occupants, leaving him unattended except for Gunn.

The street fighter's axe blows were deflected by Skip's natural armour and the momentum of the axe seemed to work against the man as he tried to square up against his much larger opponent. Skip's fist sent him flying backward before he could regain his balance, the axe sliding off Skip's shoulder and dragging Gunn's arms down and to the left instead of being stopped by muscle and bone. Skip heard the satisfying crack of ribs as Gunn hit the wall and a fraction of a second later it was followed by the even more edifying sound of his skull impacting with the solid 1920's architecture as whiplash drove it back.

The demon took a few steps toward where the man slumped like a marionette with its strings cut before he reconsidered. 'Like some twenty-something Sabrina's going to be able to get rid of the boss... And she might get kinda grouchy if I start killing off all the people she worked on bringing together.'

With a few simple gestures the mercenary opened up a portal to another plane and stepped through.








"You look like death." Buffy tried to raise a fraction of a teasing smile to accompany her remark as Spike pushed his way into the shaded room, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

The vampire's eyes latched in horror onto the empty bed next to the slayer. "Niblet?"

"It's okay, sweetie. They took her away to do a catscan... to see if they could find any sort of physical reason why she might not have come round yet."

Wes couldn't help but almost smile when the vampire was obviously too worried to even realise what the slayer had called him. "I think now that Spike's arrived that Bee and I are surplus to requirements. We'll get out of your way."

"Are you going to go to the funeral?" Buffy's voice lacked its habitual surety.

Wes looked at his watch. "I think I should be able to make it."

"Will you tell Tara and her parents that we're sorry and that we would have been there if it hadn't meant leaving Dawn?"

"An' look after Tinkerbell for us if the boy isn't up to it?" Spike added.

Wes gave them a single nod and a reassuring half smile. "Consider it done." With that, he held the door open for Bee and then followed her out.

Spike closed the remaining distance between him and his mate, his arms wrapping around her as she leaned her upper body into him. He rained soft kisses on her face as she clung to him, her grief washing through him even more strongly in the instant that they touched than it had when it woke him or as it had seemed to intensify while he had traversed the underground tunnels to make his way to her. All he could do was to be there for her, his emotional strength protecting her even as his physical strength had been drained from him. Her tears finally fell, gently at first and then great racking sobs that could only be sustained for so long before she fell silent once more. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Spike crawled on top of her and then rolled them onto their sides so that he could wrap her against him more effectively.

They didn't need words. In times like these words are simply a way to express your feelings and there was no emotion that slayer or vampire experienced that the other didn't instantly know. Cheek to cheek, the vampire's tears mingled with her own and she knew that he was sad in the most part for the simple reason that she was... because that was how things work when you're in love with someone. You share their grief and their sadness and in doing so, you take a small part of their burden from them.

Spike offered her everything that he was and it was everything she needed. He shared her sorrow, her anger at the witch for leaving them and for hurting Dawn and the man who had come to mean so much to her and her guilt that, as yet, she was unable to grant forgiveness for Willow's actions and she wouldn't be able to do so until she knew that her loved ones were going to fully recover. He shared her regret that the women had drifted apart since they had moved on to college and her worry that, had Willow not felt compelled to use magic to "keep up" with her supernaturally gifted friend, then she would still be alive, well and happy.

When the hospital staff rolled Dawn's gurney back into the room they lay asleep in each other's arms.
 
Chapter 3.04
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 3 - MY LAST BREATH

Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid


(Evanescence - Album - Fallen)




Chapter 3.04
Monday, May 27th, 2002


For Xander, the funeral service passed by in a haze, the rituals and customs seeming alien and unreal. It was the first time he had ever seen Willow's father seem anything but composed. His five o'clock stubble seemed to show a lack of respect that was belied by the slow constant stream of tears on his cheeks. Her mother's face was puffy from crying and she had panda eyes. It looked as if she hadn't even washed off the make up she had worn that morning but simply left it to run down her face. Xander couldn't remember Mr Rosenberg ever wearing anything other than leather brogues outside the house, but for his own daughter's funeral he wore canvas deck shoes. When the rabbi ripped the left sleeve of her father's and her mother's clothes, that seemed to make a perverse sense, appealing not only because his own anger urged him to destroy something, but because it felt to him as if a part of him was missing.

The plain pine box with its lid hammered shut offered no stately resting place, no chance to pay your last respects, to tell yourself how peaceful she looked as if that somehow proved that she was in a better place rather than simply prepared by a skilled mortician. Instead she was nailed up tight in a plain, claustrophobic, wooden box little better than a packing crate.

So while for her family, and even for Giles, Tara, Anya and Wes who seemed to understand the intent behind the ceremony and in some cases even the Hebrew prayers, the rituals brought comfort and a sense of closure, for Xander they seemed only to add to his sense of unreality. He couldn't help looking round in case Willow had sneaked up behind him somehow and was just waiting for the moment of maximum effect to tap him on the shoulder and say, "Gotcha." He shivered despite the summer heat and wondered if maybe he was in shock.

How was it, he wondered, that he should be so lost in a situation where everyone else seemed to know what was happening. Anya had squeezed his hand and asked him where he thought an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth came from, as if it was obvious that a former vengeance demon would be familiar with Jewish funereal customs. Tara seemed to have discussed all this with Willow in some detail, which he supposed made sense as, until their split last year, the blonde had been listed as Willow's next of kin. Watchers... they just knew all that sort of stuff anyway. Xander hadn't a clue what was going on. He'd never discussed any of this with her. Even before she went the Wiccan way, Willow had always just been Willow, not Willow, the Jewish girl. Her faith or lack of it had never been a topic of discussion, except to commiserate on the whole missing out on Christmas deal. Okay, so she had had Hanukkah, but Xander couldn't even say that he knew what that was. It was just a name to him. Maybe, if one of her grandparents had died while she was growing up, they might have talked about it, but the ones that weren't dead before she was born were over in the front row looking like death warmed up.

Xander just let the whole thing pass him by in a blur, still not quite able to accept that she was really gone. After all, she had brought Buffy back to life and this was death by magic, not a natural death... She would come back... somehow. She had to. Xander didn't know how to live without her.








"I don't know how you can all be so calm." Xander took a swig from his glass of bourbon before slamming it down on the glass topped table and fixing his gaze on Tara who sat on the floor of his and Anya's apartment with her back against the L-shaped sofa where Wes and Giles sat on either side of her. "You heard what she said. She's dead because Spike interfered. If he hadn't got in the way Willow would still be alive."

"Possibly..." the Wiccan admitted.

"Possibly? He-."

"Willow might have managed to complete the spell without making any sort of sacrifice on her own part, it's possible, but if Spike hadn't stopped her I'm pretty sure she would have killed Dawn in the process. Willow might have still been walking around if the curse hadn't aged her to death for taking a human life but she would have been more lost to us than ever."

"Willow wouldn't kill Dawn... She wouldn't." Xander's protests were weak though, as he remembered the exultant look on Willow's face earlier.

Tara didn't bother to argue the point when it would serve no purpose. "Xander, you've got to understand that I didn't lose Willow today, she got lost a long time ago. Today, just for five minutes, I got back the girl I fell in love with and, even though I will miss her, I believe that everything worked out as it had to and I will treasure the memory of that five minutes for the rest of my life."

Anya came back through from the kitchen and took a seat next to her husband at the table, dropping a family size bag of cheese doodles in front of him and tossing a bag of Doritos in the direction of the threesome by the sofa. "Let me. I can do Xander-speak. Willow was already well on her way to Vaderdom. If Spike hadn't got between her and Dawn, then sucking the life out of her would almost certainly have tipped the balance. So now she's dead but she died a Skywalker. It took that sort of sacrifice to redeem her, though. So you tell me, Xander, what would you have chosen? Live Darth Willow or dead Anakin Rosenberg?"

Xander took another sip of his drink and didn't answer out loud, but he remembered his wish that he could have his Willow back and it sent a lance of guilt straight through his heart.








Spike's fingers tightened around Buffy's wrists and he strained to pull them apart. He whispered in her ear, hoping it would do more good than his show of strength, which was having little impact. "Let go, baby. This isn't what happened. You're not to blame. Let her go. You never hurt her. She chose her own path. Honey, if it wasn't for you, she'd have been vamp food long ago. Let it go."

Buffy's grip on Willow's neck didn't loosen. She held the long-haired geekish teenager with her checked pinafore dress and thick wool tights up off the ground until her face turned purple. "I did. It was me. You know there wasn't even a hellmouth here until I arrived or it wasn't active or something. Either way the trouble only started when I arrived."

"You arrived here because here is where you were needed. You're not some jinx and you didn't kill Red. I told Pixie an' I'm telling you Red's parents laid the groundwork that made her who she became. Soon as she got a whiff of any sorta power she was gonna go crazy. Now, let her go, sweetness."

Finally, finger by finger, he managed to pry Buffy's hands from her friend's throat. "We make our own destinies, my love. Sometimes we get a little help. Sometimes there aren't any good choices but there are always choices and she made the ones that brought her to where she ended up. Not you."

"You said she would do it. Bee said it would kill her and you said she would do it. We could have just not said anything, not told her."

"We could have... But do you really think Angelpants woulda given up on his lady without even asking? And we're not in the business of playing God. You think if we'd all kept quiet you wouldn't be dreamin' about the cheerleader instead?"

"But Cordelia wasn't my friend... at least, not like Will was."

"Red was your friend, but somewhere along the way she forgot the meaning of the word, else she wouldn't have hurt Bit. She definitely wouldn't have done it twice over. You can't be responsible for everything that happens."

"Isn't that what it means to be the slayer? To be responsible for protecting them all."

"You can't protect someone who doesn't want your protection, baby. She made you choose between her and Dawn. She forced your hand. Being the slayer is like being a general in a war and today your side won a huge battle. You took down a god, but it didn't come free. You lost someone who used to be your friend, but, if you take that weight on your shoulders, you deny what she did in the end. If you take responsibility for her death, then you take away from her the credit for the good she did. She won that battle and she chose to give it everything she had. She gave her life and at the end she did the right thing... in the wrong way... but it was her choice."

Buffy sagged against him. "Why is it when you're making the sense that's not that I understand what you're saying?"

"Because you've been listening to men that you've driven to babbling incoherence ever since you hit puberty?" Spike suggested, his arms wrapping her round and holding her close.
 
Chapter 3.05
 

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

SECTION 3 - MY LAST BREATH

Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid


(Evanescence - Album - Fallen)




Chapter 3.05
Monday, May 27th, 2002


"Heyy!!" Cordelia's strident tones drew the sleeping pair back to wakefulness. "I'm pretty sure all those people who tell the two of you to get a room didn't mean a hospital room that you're sharing with your sister..."

Spike wiped sleep from his eyes and focused his attention on the one-time brunette turned not so stunning blonde. "Given as at least one of us is fully dressed an' there's blankets an' stuff in between us, I don't see as that remark is called for." He didn't bother to argue for long though, as he climbed ungracefully off Buffy's bed to check on Dawn before his fiancée could even ask.

"Still the same, love," he told her.

"And that would be why I'm here... Other than to let you know we're all hightailing it back to LA."

"Why you're here?" Buffy asked.

As Cordelia explained she tried to push back sleeves that weren't really there. "I didn't actually see what happened... but I think from what Angel told me that maybe there might be something I can do."

She reached out and placed the fingertips of either hand so that they weren't so much resting on Dawn's temples as very slightly in them. As the blonde couple watched it was as if a light came from within the former cheerleader, getting gradually brighter until she was enveloped in an almost rosy glow which spread to encompass the younger Summers sister. Then, the brightest spot at the centre of Cordy's chest seemed to move up her body and split in two before each bright spot streaked along her outstretched arms, giving her hands a deep pink hue for an instant before it left her body and entered Dawn's. Cordelia stepped back as all the monitors around the girl went haywire and the girl's body convulsed as if she had received an electric shock.

"What the blue blazes-." Spike started to give the seer a bawling out, but then he saw Dawn's eyelids flicker open and her lips form into a smile at the sight of Spike and her sister.

"Guess you guys are going to have to buy me a season ticket for this place..." the teenager joked weakly as she recognised her surroundings.








"Do you want to tell me why someone who can't carry anything is supposed to be helping you get coffee?"

"I didn't say we were just getting coffee. I said we were getting beverages . That means you get to be look out while I find dinner. An' besides, it gives Bit and Buffy a few minutes to themselves now that all those nurses you brought rushing in with your little party trick have gone and I want to know what the hell you just did to that girl."

"Willow drained Dawn's energy among others. Most of it was used to get rid of whatever was inside me, but I still caught some of the backwash, so while you and Dawn passed out because you didn't have enough energy, in my case I got a massive overload. I just redistributed the excess back to her. I don't really know exactly how the whole glowy thing works yet... but..."

"But Dawn's back in the land of the living again. So thanks, princess."

"I'll see that thanks and double it, what with the whole rescuing and... everything." She hesitated but then went on. "I don't think I'm going to get a chance to speak to Buffy alone, not the way she was holding onto Dawn like she was her favourite Gucci handbag. Will you tell her I'm really sorry about Willow? I know how it feels to lose a friend under these sort of circumstances and I'll make sure the sacrifice she made isn't forgotten and I'll try to make good use of the life she's given me..." The girl shrugged, her sincerity and her embarrassment both equally obvious. "And, if you think up any more clichés just tell her those as well but I've really gotta go. Skip got loose and he cracked a few of Gunn's ribs and gave him a concussion before he left. They're keeping him in hospital overnight for observation and Fred's gonna be worried sick until she actually sees him for herself. She's waiting in the car with Angel."

"Better get the twiglet back to her man, then." Spike gave her a reassuring smile.

"Ehm... I don't suppose you could escort me back to the parking lot? ...When we're done robbing the bloodbank or whatever it is that you have in mind, that is. People get kinda upset when I go through doors for some reason."








"The younger girl just came around."

"Thank you." Quentin replaced the receiver and resumed his contemplation of the ceremony he had witnessed earlier. It was possible that when he finally received a report from the two renegades that it would explain what had happened but he doubted it. It was more likely that the pair would produce some plausible fabrication.

'Just why, when there was both a slayer and a supernatural creature there, did the witch target a child to draw energy from? Why when the power available from almost the entire body of The Council's spellcasters and a sizeable portion of the power from one of the most respected covens in England failed to make a dent did the power from the girl have such devastating effect? What had the vampire done to cause the visible change in the energy that was drawn from the two? ...And possibly even more intriguingly... Why?'

"It appears the younger Miss Summers is back with us, despite the sort of power drain that would have had an experienced and powerful spell user in a coma for months. What is your opinion on that?" Quentin picked up a crystal tumbler from the side table next to his leather wingback armchair and looked over to where Lydia sat behind her wide mahogany desk with its pristine and obsolete blotter.

"I don't have an opinion, yet. My viewpoint was rather subjective... though I have to admit that unless the girl is more than she appears it does seem difficult to understand why Miss Rosenberg was the only fatality."

"Factor in the military's interest in the girl and I think we're likely to find Rupert and Wesley have been keeping secrets from us." The man seemed to contemplate the aroma from his whisky as he thought before he turned to the woman once more.

"You made some sort of assignation with young Wesley, did you not?"

"Well... em... we didn't make any definite arrangements," the blonde sputtered her embarrassment at being caught going behind her mentor's back.

"Make them," Quentin instructed her in no uncertain terms. "And make them soon. If The First Evil is about to make some sort of power play, we can't afford to have unknowns in the equation."

"What about Faith, then?"

"Rest assured, I know exactly where our little jailbird is."








Even though it was barely dusk, Tara climbed into the bed that she had once shared with Willow and opened the folder of notes for the exam she should take in less than two days time. The gathering at Xander's apartment hadn't lasted long, the man's inability to completely accept the truth of what had happened making it uncomfortable for his visitors to stay. Tara had used the others' incapacity as an excuse to come home and see to Rogue. Wes and Giles had left around the same time, the pair citing the need to get their cover story straight before they wrote their separate reports. Tara was guessing that this was a euphemistic way of saying that Wes wanted an explanation of what had actually happened, since it seemed unlikely he had ever been told the full story of The Key and its significance.

She looked at the words in front of her, trying to force her brain to make some sort of sense of them, rather than dwelling on the day's events. Soon, however, she was unable to see the words through the blur of her tears. The silent tears turned to sobs and as if alerted by the faint sounds there was a tremendous clatter on the stairs, followed by a thud against her door as Rogue stood on her hind legs so that she could use her weight to push it open.

A shaggy form scrambled onto the bed alongside the woman. A damp nose pushed into her face, brown eyes seeming puzzled at the noises she made. Then, a huge pink tongue flicked out to lick the salt from her cheeks. The dog intuitively seemed to understand that one of her people needed her and didn't even squirm away when Tara held her far tighter than could have been comfortable.
 
Chapter 3.06
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 3 - MY LAST BREATH

Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was
I love you and I'm not afraid


(Evanescence - Album - Fallen)




Chapter 3.06
Monday, May 27th, 2002


She gave him a small smile as she set a mug of coffee down in front of him. To her surprise he set aside his tumbler and picked up the non-alcoholic drink.

"Thanks, honey," he responded, his words quiet now, his mood no longer one of anger but more of a subdued acceptance. Anya was guessing that though he was by no means stone cold sober he was a long way from being drunk. "Honey?"

"Yes?" Anya waited to see where his helter-skelter mood ride was going to take him next.

"Thanks..."

Anya wasn't sure what exactly he was expressing gratitude for, but her smile widened anyway at his acknowledgement. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I've been an ass and that's not okay."

"It's not like you can just be someone you're not."

"Ahn, trying to apologise here and I'm not very good at it, so maybe you could just listen?"

Anya clamped her mouth shut and sat down in the seat next to his.

"Anya, I love you. I never want to live a day of the rest of my life without you and if it ever seems like I'm forgetting that fact or if I'm taking you for granted, then tell me ... or make me sleep on the sofa or whatever it takes to make me wake up and do the right thing because I never want to lose you.

One of my friends died today and you know what I keep thinking? ...I can't remember the last time I had a real conversation with her. I mean, we kinda talked about the movies we watched the other week but I just have no clue what was really going on in her life... Like I knew about the curse and about splitting up with Tara, but I don't really know how she felt about it all. I didn't make time to go and talk to her and be there for her. I could have, but I thought I'd been through the whole mopey Willow thing twice before and I had better things to do with my time and I don't want to make that sort of mistake with you. Okay?"

Anya wasn't sure whether she was allowed to speak yet so she simply nodded.

"For starters, I want you to get in touch with your friend Evie and I want you to ask her over for dinner next weekend."

"Are you sure, sweetie? I mean I thought with Willow..."

"The curse didn't kill Willow..." Xander pushed his way out of his chair, his hands running nervously through his hair as he paused his pacing at the end of every sentence. "I don't know... I'm trying to do the right thing here and not get in the way of your friends coming round."

"Evie's my friend, but I don't think it would be fair to ask you to deal with her right now and I think she would understand that."

"Okay, how about later we check with the hospital again and we get some flowers or some balloons or something and we go see Buffy and Dawn?"

"But Buffy said-."

"That I shouldn't go back until I was ready to apologise to The-." A cool look from Anya changed his mind and he swiftly corrected himself before he squandered any brownie points he might so far have accumulated. "Spike... and Dawn. Yeah, well, maybe I realised that losing one friend is enough. You like the guy, right? Buffy likes him. Even Dawn likes him so he can't be all bad... Unless he's a really good actor or you're all really gullible... which is possible, but I promise to quit saying I told you so until I've got conclusive proof."

"You know you've never invited him over here before?"

"I know, but he wasn't living with Buffy before and you never used to seem to like him any better than I do."

Anya stood up and blocked the path of his pacing, her arms running gently down his arms when he halted uncertainly. "How about we get our coats and walk over there now? If things go okay we could ask them over for dinner... like a double date," she suggested.

"Later ." Xander's gaze fixed on his wife's delicate face. "I have something I want to ask you first." He reached up to gently cup her face, the ball of his thumbs stroking outward along her cheekbone. "Would you mind if we called our first little girl Willow?"

"B-but you said much, much older and much richer..."

"Yeah, but I'm an idiot. What I mean is, if you're ready, if you want to, then I'm okay with that... more than okay. I mean I want to have children with you and yeah, hopefully in time I'll get a promotion and more money and we'll be older but there's nothing stopping us from doing it sooner rather than later, if that's what you want. We could get by, maybe we wouldn't be able to afford a house in this part of town but I already make more than my dad does. You could be the sexiest mom ever." Xander's sentences all seemed to run together and he forced himself to take a deep breath. "I guess maybe I sorta set my whole personal life in a holding pattern as if we have forever but I kinda look at mom and dad and it makes me think maybe we should just wait a few years and make sure we're not going to turn out like them before we have kids and what I should be saying is 'we aren't like them'. We aren't like them because we love each other and that's why whether we have a stack of cash or we barely have two red cents to rub together we're going to make it."

Anya's eyes misted over but she smiled through her tears. "You want to make a baby with me? Now?"

"Right this minute. Okay... not a good choice of words.

I want to make love to my wife. I want to know how it feels to know that when I do there's a possibility that we could be creating something beautiful... or if you're unlucky something that looks like me instead of his mother."

"And you're not just saying this because of what happened with Willow and then you're going to change your mind?"

"I am saying this because of what happened with Willow but I do mean it. I've got to stop living with one foot out the door. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and if... Look, I'm not saying that I don't find the idea of being responsible for a tiny human scary. I do... but the idea of a little girl with your smile calling me daddy, the idea that maybe I'll keep putting off and saying later and then maybe I'll never get to meet her... that's scarier."

"Could Willow be her middle name? I always liked Amy... or Madeline... or-."

"Amy Willow Harris..." Xander ducked his head and pulled Anya in towards him until their lips touched. His tongue flicked out to brush her lips, tempting her to open herself to him and then withdrawing when she did, so that his lingering open-mouthed kisses left her longing for a deeper contact. "That sounds like someone I'd like to meet," he told her.

Anya's hands reached up, tugging on the tie that Xander had loosened long ago until the narrow end came free and the knot unravelled itself. Clasping both ends, she wound the material around her palms until Xander had nowhere to go. Their lips met once more, this time their tongues stroking each other, their contact enough to muffle Anya's surprised yelp when Xander picked her up and carried her through to the bedroom.

He laid her down on the bed and crawled his way over her until he was looking down directly into her eyes.

"I know this is kinda sudden and if you want we can keep using the condoms until you've been back on the pill long enough for it to be effective. It's your choice, Ahn."

Anya's gaze never wavered for a second. "Let's make a baby."








"He's not stupid, you know," Wes argued. "Many things, a lot of them unpleasant, but stupid isn't one of them."

Giles rubbed at his forehead and pulled off his glasses, letting them rest on the coffee table in front of him. "Perhaps it would be better if we reconvened in the morning, in any case. Inspiration may strike overnight... and if that fails we'll just have to claim ignorance."

Wes responded with a weary nod. "Are you heading for the hospital?" he asked the older man.

"Well, I should really give Spike his car back, I suppose." His answer was patently just a flimsy excuse.

"Come on, then." Wes picked up his suit jacket from the back of the sofa and put it on. "We've got about half an hour before the end of visiting hours. I'll give you a lift back to Spike's afterwards, assuming that's where you're staying."

"Until further notice... Though Quentin did offer me a room in one of the houses for the school inmates."

Wes smiled at the choice of word which made the girls sound more like prisoners than pupils. "And what did you tell him?"

"I pointed out that Buffy had been troublesome enough on her own at fifteen and I had no incentive to share living quarters with anywhere between three and eight girls that age."








"I have a strong suspicion that you have no intention of leaving?" Giles arched an eyebrow in the direction of the vampire as he passed over the keys for the DeSoto.

"Not until my girls can leave with me," the blond confirmed.

"That sounds like a plan to me," Dawn offered.

"The doctors wanted to keep you in overnight for observation," her sister retorted.

"I'm fine, now. They just want to keep me in because they can't understand why all their machines had a simultaneous meltdown. It's Billy Idol over there who's creaking like he's ready to drop to bits, and if we stay here he'll end up sleeping in a chair and Tara'll be on her own."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. Giles, Wes, can you see if you can find a nurse or a doctor or something and let them know we want to discharge ourselves? And see if any of them know where our street clothes went."

"Yeah," Dawn added with a grin. "Spike's coat won't cover both our butts at the same time."








Marie eyed Wes's sombre suit with a critical eye. "Bad day?" she asked, already knowing much of the answer.

Wes gave a tired smile as Rosa ran straight from her bedroom into his arms, already in her pyjamas but her hair still wet from her bath. "It just got better."
 
Chapter 4.01
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting


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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

I always knew that
You wanted to say
You always knew there'd
Be a price to pay
Like freezing nights
In some cold stark lights
When you said everyone must fight


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.01
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


Buffy watched helplessly as Spike tossed and muttered in his sleep. She reached instinctively to put her book down on the table by her armchair, but then she pulled her arm back and tried to read once more. There was a reason that she had taken to waiting up every night until Spike was too tired after patrol to do anything other than fall into bed, a reason she didn't go on his patrols with him, a reason she flinched away whenever he reached out to her.








Rosa pushed open the door of Wesley's bedroom. Her mother lifted her head from the pillow and, seeing which of the house's other residents had come to join her, she raised an arm and shuffled back to the empty side of the bed.

"More bad dreams, honey?" Marie asked, as the small child climbed into the bed next to her.

The girl nodded, dragging her stuffed Tigger into the bed, too. Marie wrapped her arms around her daughter and tried to soothe her back to sleep. When the dreams had first started she had been worried that Rosa had some reservations about her mother's relationship with Wes, that maybe she wasn't ready for a new father-figure in her life. Then, Marie had found out that the disturbed sleep wasn't limited to Rosa. Lily, Clem, his girlfriend Ha Nath, Bee, Spike, everyone she knew with any demon blood, they were all feeling the stirrings. Now, Marie wasn't just worried.








"Look, love, I don't bloody remember where the hell I put them. I just remember it was somewhere safe." Spike opened the doors of the dining room cabinets, looking through their contents as if hoping he might recognise something.

Tara sighed. "Spike, this is important."

"If they worked , then it would be important. They're bust. I don't exactly see what the big rush is."

"We need to find them. I need to find out if the Nezzla Khan's spirit is still bound to them and if it is we need to return them to his people. It's only decent."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not exactly my thing, pet."

Tara gave the vampire a gentle push. "Just find them, Spike."








Giles waited until Buffy's blows against the punchbag, which he was bracing, fell far short of her initial forcefulness and frequency before he broached the subject of her private life. "Buffy, what exactly are you doing here?"

Buffy's next kick knocked the bag into his guts with enough force to drive the wind out of him. "I'm training. I made a deal with Quentin that he would help with Cordelia and I would do the training thing again... So I'm training."

Giles sighed. "I'm perfectly sure that Quentin did not intend you to be here from eleven until two every weekday and longer on weekends. You get your driving instructor to drop you off here when you finish your lesson and if you could park a bit further away from my new car, I'd be grateful."

"I touched the fender once . That's what fenders are for."

"All the same I would actually prefer mine to stay attached but that is by the by. You train for three hours and then, if Brandon doesn't have her too preoccupied, you meet Dawn and go to the mall or to bible class or whatever, anywhere but home. When you do go home, from what I've heard, you disappear into the basement with Xander and leave Spike to patrol either alone or occasionally with Anya for company... and from what I've heard of those patrols, Spike's more interested in blowing off steam, than protecting himself-."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Anya says that he's picked up injuries on the last couple of patrols she's been on with him... but then you should know that."

"If he's been endangering Anya-."

"No, he hasn't, but Anya has noticed that he's becoming more reckless regarding his own safety and when I mentioned to Dawn that I was going to look at an apartment, she told me I couldn't move out of Spike's yet because, if I did, Spike would have his bags packed in five minutes flat the way you were treating him. So, Buffy, what is going on?"

"It's personal."

"There was a time you would have felt able to talk to me about it."

"There was a time when you didn't disappear when I needed you most."

Giles gave a tired sigh. "I left because I thought it was necessary and I suppose I deserve your disdain... but as your watcher I have to ask if there is something going on between you and Spike that is having an affect on your slaying or perhaps is the reason for the total lack of it... And as your friend I have to ask what happened to the almost unbelievably happy girl I met when I came back from England and ask why you're putting hours into planning a wedding and creating a home to share with a man you no longer seem to want to be in the same room with."

"It's not-. I mean-. Giles, just butt out. You don't understand. You can't understand, not without going through it."

"Buffy, I tried to warn you, before you rushed so rashly into it, that performing a bond between you both was not something to be taken lightly. If you did not wish him to be part of your life in every sense, if you weren't sure, then you should never have gone ahead with it, but wisely or unwisely you did and you have to either live with that fact and embrace what you have done or end it. To push him away entirely because you find yourself unable to cope with the intimacy the claim forces on you is too cruel."

"That's not it. There-."

"No? Dawn says you flinch if he even touches you. She said he doesn't even try any more. If that isn't because you're afraid to share your feelings with him, then the only other explanation is such that..." Giles fixed his slayer with a long, hard look.

"Spike wouldn't hurt me."

"Then, perhaps you should extend him the same courtesy..." the watcher suggested, turning away to find a towel to wipe his face. "Or just admit it was a mistake, stake him, free yourself and end his pain. I've no doubt he's probably done plenty to deserve it, but it seems rather late in the day to decide it's your job to punish him for past sins... at least, if you want your relationship to work."

Giles bluntly stated the two choices that were open to her and then left her to vent her ire on the equipment. His hope that Spike wouldn't find himself on the wrong end of a stake was rather unexpected, unlike the crash that intimated he would have to rehang the punchbag before tomorrow's training session.








"Where did you find them?" Tara asked before her mouth dropped open, surprised by the unexpected flash of violet lightning that illuminated Spike's eyes as he passed the orbs to her.

"Buffy's knicker drawer an' yeah, yeah, they're working again, which kinda makes checking for your demon prince redundant."

"We have to give them back, you know."

"With The First up to goodness only knows what?"

"That's not the point. We'll deal with The First, and it's not like physical strength is going to help out there, anyway, but when we've done that, there'll be something else or someone else. There will always be some excuse why we need to keep them just a bit longer, but it wouldn't be right. He sacrificed his life to protect his people and he misses them."

Spike's face twisted into an embarrassed scowl. "That wasn't the only reason I wanted to hold onto them a bit longer."

"Spike, I know it's hard for you shut away all day, but if The Council find out that you can walk in sunshine with impunity let alone the unstoppable strength and the invulnerability, some of them are bound to see it as their duty to destroy the orbs before they fall into the hands of someone who would abuse their power. We already thought they were broken once. We need to return them before they are broken for real."

"I know that. I just-. I wanted to take Buffy somewhere special for her honeymoon. She deserves better than all night drives and days on her own, but then..."

"Don't you dare say she deserves better than you," Tara warned.

"Why not?"

"Because I can see it in your auras. I can see how good you are together when things are right and I can see how hurt you've been because she's keeping you at arm's length. She just isn't ready to share how she feels about... things, yet."

"But-."

"Grief makes people irrational. It'll be fine. She wouldn't be running around organising things for the wedding or labouring for Xander if she wasn't expecting there-."

The doorbell cut off whatever Tara had been planning to say and she bustled to the door, leaving Spike in the shady dining room, at least until he caught sight of the look on Tara's face when she saw who was there. His sensitive senses caught an unmistakable musk in the air and Rogue's frantic and hostile barking could be heard from one end of the neighbourhood to the other.
 
Chapter 4.02
 

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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
They stand alone in the fallout rain
You're all hung up on little pains
Yea Yea (everyone's hung up)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.02
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


"Tara, pet, why don't you go and stick the kettle on? I'll look after our guest once I get this mangy mutt to shut up," Spike suggested. His voice hardened as he tried to discipline the dog. "Rogue! Here!" He pointed at a spot beside his legs. The mongrel was far too obsessed with protecting her owners to actually pay attention to any of them, however, and Spike was forced to sidle along the edge of the parallelogram of sunlight that shone through the open doorway until he could reach out to snatch Rogue's collar and pull her into the shade, his hand smoking slightly in the process.

Finally, he had the dog's attention. "Shut up, ya dozy bitch!" he told her, the command far more softly spoken than the words might suggest. As he spoke he reached around from behind her and pulled her chin slowly upwards until she was forced not only to be silent but to look at him. "Shhh. Doesn't matter how big you grow you ain't gonna be top dog when there's a werewolf around."

Oz had waited patiently on the doorstep while Spike had ushered Tara away and calmed the canine. Now, he took his chance to move into the doorway where he could actually see the vampire.

"Spike," he greeted him with a totally neutral equanimity and the slightest nod of his head.

The blond returned the nod and gestured toward the living room. "You're probably gonna want to grab yourself a seat."

Oz hesitated. "Buffy?" The redhead's eyes wandered as if to see if the slayer were about to emerge from one of the other rooms. "She sent me an email about Willow..."

Spike's suspicions hardened that bit nearer to being fact.

"She's out, but I dare say if I give her a bell she'll head back. How long ago was it that you got this email?"

"About a week ago..." Spike breathed a sigh of relief until the younger man continued. "I mean she sent it maybe three weeks ago, give or take, but I didn't get it until last week. I wrote back and told her I'd head down as soon as I could get someone to cover for me."

"She probably hasn't been near the computer in a fortnight. So I'm guessing she told you Red was in a mess..."

"Look, am I missing something here? The look that girl gave me was more than just running into your ex's ex and this is starting to feel like twenty questions, so why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Okay, if that's how you want it." Spike made his way into the living room with Rogue following at his heels and lifted a folded newspaper clipping from underneath one of the ornaments on the mantelpiece, passing it to the younger man. He watched Oz's face as his eyes scanned the article, Oz's knees suddenly weak enough to make him finally take the seat he had been offered minutes before.

"Of course, the gas leak wasn't really a gas leak. The simple version is that she made herself go boom, tryin' to exorcise some Big Bad out of Cordelia, but it's really a mite more complicated." Spike partially eschewed his normal penchant for nicknames for the sake of clarity.

"She's dead? No one told me."

"Reckon Buffy was the only one as knew how to get a hold of you. She never mentioned that she'd got in touch an' she hasn't exactly been herself since it happened... I'll ring her. She'll want to see you." Spike headed through to the kitchen to get the handset for the cordless, keeping an eye on Oz from a distance while he made the call so that the other man had a few minutes to let the news sink in.

"The Magic Box, Anya speaking. How may we help you?"

"You can tell Buffy that Red's wolf boy just showed up an' he might appreciate havin' someone around as he has actually been formally introduced to an' as isn't the love of his ex's life."

"Oz is there? As in at Buffy's house?"

"Turns out Buff called in the reinforcements to help with Crone Willow, but forgot to let him know about Dead Willow. Just ask her to get that pretty arse of hers back here pronto. I'm not sure how long we've got before he rabbits and however calm he looks, he shouldn't be driving when he's just had that sort of news 'bout someone he cares enough to pack up his life for."

Tara brushed past Spike, a cup in either hand, giving him a quiet smile as she passed. She set one of the mugs down on the coffee table in front of the sofa where Oz was sitting, and took the other with her as she sat in one of the armchairs. "Camomile tea," she informed the lycanthrope when she saw him sniffing the air. "It's supposed to be good for shock."








Spike melted away into the background, slipping out into the dubious shade of the back porch as soon as Buffy arrived. As he had pointed out to Anya, somehow, with the exception of the lycanthrope's part in thwarting Spike's plans for the Gem of Amarra, he and Oz had crossed paths only once, when the vampire had helped to rescue the lycanthrope from the Initiative. The fact that it had been part of Adam's scheme to get the Scoobies to trust him so that he could then lure them into the middle of a massacre did sort of mitigate any claim to heroism on his part, though. To all intents and purposes the two men were strangers and Spike was diplomatic enough to butt out as soon as those closer to Oz arrived. Buffy didn't need to be trying to cope with her problems with him on top of the situation with the werewolf.

He hadn't been there for long when Tara joined him, taking a seat on the step while he was forced to sit slightly further back.

"There's a definite old school vibe in there."

"To be expected, love."

"Did you know that she had asked him to come?"

Spike shrugged. "Buffy's pretty much a power unto herself, when she isn't beating said self to crap about stuff beyond her control. I'm guessing she didn't want to say anything until she heard he was coming."

"Do you think he would have been able to help?" Tara half turned when she felt Spike's eyes on her.

"You mean, do I think she loved him enough to change for him when she couldn't do it for you? No, no an' a thousand times no, but maybe seein' through his eyes how different she'd become from the girl he used to know might have helped. I guess we'll never find out now."








"I'm so sorry, Oz. I just wasn't thinking at all." Buffy took the seat next to Oz, but somehow even she didn't feel comfortable enough to hug the self-possessed young man. For all his sociability, Oz had always seemed a very private individual and any public displays of affection had always been solely for the girl they now mourned.

Oz's lip curled down at the corners marginally less than before. "Buffy, don't worry about it. It's hardly email material. 'I'm getting married to Spike and we'd like you to come,' that's the sort of thing you put in an email, not 'Willow's dead' ."

"I should have... When I died she took the bus to LA to tell Angel. I should have..."

Giles interrupted Buffy's recriminations. "I don't think you can take all the responsibility solely upon yourself. We were all equally remiss. Even if we didn't realise that you had managed to track Oz down more directly, we should have tried contacting his parents to make sure they were aware of the news and would be able to pass it on."

"Not to rain on the parade of blame, but mom and dad moved to New York not long after I started at Sunnydale U, so I doubt you would have had much luck. It doesn't matter anyway. Things happened the way they did. It's of the past." The redhead looked around the room, obviously uncomfortable with so much personal attention.

He sat his empty mug back down on the coffee table and as he spoke he rose to his feet. "Look, I should head across to Devon's place and check if he'll let me crash there. I guess I need to think this through and work some stuff out."

"You've had a bit of a shock. Perhaps it might be better if you left your van here and I drove you over," Giles offered and only about an eighth of the reason for his graciousness was so that he could show off his shiny new 4 x 4.

For a fraction of a second, Oz looked as if he might refuse, but of all the early Scoobies he had always been the most level-headed. "Sure. I'll go sort out what I need from the van. Anya, tell Xander I said hi, just in case I don't get around to seeing him."

Buffy struggled to find words to say goodbye. "Ehm, if you don't end up making plans with Devon you're welcome to come over for dinner tonight. Xander and Anya will be coming anyway and there's always a sofa to crash on if things don't work out with Devon."

"Thanks, Buffy, but I guess I need some alone time. I'll probably just dump my things and then go for a walk or something."

There was a feeling that the slayer understood. "Sure, but if you happen to find yourself in the area and you're hungry, feel free to drop in."

Oz simply gave an almost imperceptible nod and headed for the door, Giles following behind him.

"Anya, I'll take you back to the shop once I drop off Oz. Buffy, might I suggest that you consider your training completed for the day and concentrate on other matters?" Giles' look made it plain that his question to the slayer was of the purely rhetorical variety.
 
Chapter 4.03
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

I'm sure you love someone
And someone loves you too
Any port in a storm is OK
You blow my mind with
All the things you say


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.03
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


Giles pushed open the door to Spike's apartment and then handed Oz the keys. "I'm afraid there's only one bedroom, but you should have more privacy here than you would have at Buffy's house. I'll get her set of keys when I go back to pick up Anya. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I probably won't be back before ninish.

If you do go out for a walk after dark, be careful. The Watchers' Council and their potential slayers are out in force at the moment. They might not be as well equipped as the Initiative was, but they're probably every bit as dangerous. Of course, under normal circumstances they wouldn't be aware of your condition but it has been established that an emotional response can bring on the change and now must be an emotional time."

Oz neither confirmed nor denied Giles' assumption. Instead, his eyes scanned the room, taking in the framed posters on the wall and the sealed packing crates stacked by the side of the counter. "Kind of a new direction?"

"The posters and some of the furnishings belong to Spike. The rest come with the flat. He was renting the place, but when I came back from England, he moved in with Buffy... or perhaps it would be more precise to say that the fact he had moved in with Buffy became official. I suspect this place was never much more than a smokescreen for the benefit of Social Services."

Giles scanned the room, pointing out which doors led to the bathroom and the bedroom and where he kept his whisky before his gaze became more serious. "One last word of warning... You may remember, back when you were in your final year at high school, there was a demon called The First Evil, who tormented Angel, almost to the point of committing suicide, by masquerading as his victims. It's back, it's stronger and it seems to be working on a more strategic level this time around. So far, other than causing general disquiet in the demon community as a whole by using dreams as some sort of call to arms, it seems to be taking some time to regroup after trying unsuccessfully to turn Spike to its purposes. Nevertheless, it can take the form of any dead person or anyone who has died, so if you see anything which you know you shouldn't be seeing, be very careful. It won't think twice about taking advantage of the situation, if it suits its purposes. If in any doubt about anyone, and that includes Buffy and Spike both of whom are vulnerable to impersonation, remember that it is unable to take corporeal form."

Giles sighed. "All very melodramatic, I know, but at a time like this, even under normal circumstances, it's easy to imagine that you might have caught sight of a loved one in a crowd, or imagine that you can feel their presence somehow and those perceptions are just the tool The First needs to gain a foothold in your psyche."

Giles made another visual sweep of the apartment as if to try to reassure himself that he had covered everything. "Is there anything else I can tell you?"

Oz shook his head. Later, he might get the watcher to fill in the blanks on what had happened to Willow, but first he just needed some time to process the fact that she was gone.

"Well, I'll be going then. If you do manage to get in touch with Devon later and you decide to relocate, just leave me a note."

The watcher finally closed the door behind him, leaving the werewolf alone to contemplate his eventful return to Sunnydale.

Oz let his kitbag fall to the floor and dropped onto the black leather settee. "Home Sweet Home," he told himself in a voice thick with irony.








"I'm sorry, Tara," Buffy gave the Wiccan a half-smile. "It must have been really hard just seeing Oz like that with no warning. With everything that happened I just completely forgot that I'd written to him."

"It-. I'll be fine. It was just... unexpected." Tara looked over to Giles, who had just arrived back. "There is something else that we all need to discuss, though. I was thinking maybe we could do the whole Scooby meeting thing tonight when Xander's here? If you can make it."

"That shouldn't be a problem. I was planning on trying to give Oz some space in any case."

Anya tapped her foot impatiently from where she stood in the open front door. "Come on, Giles. You know a lot of people like to come to the shop in their lunch hour and we've been closed for nearly an hour now."

Giles' eyes narrowed even as he made his way to the door. "Perhaps you would like me to sit or beg while you're at it?" Buffy heard him question as he and Anya made their way back to the car.

The slayer closed the door behind them, turning to Tara. "Anything I can be doing for this meeting?"

Tara gently shook her head. "I'm still working on some research type stuff. I'll be heading over to Wes's in a few minutes to pick Bee's brains. We've got something we want to try."

Buffy looked disappointed. "O-okay. Well, if you need me you know where I am."

Tara didn't say anything but her eyes drifted in the direction of the porch where Spike was still sitting as if to point out that others might be in more need of Buffy's time.








Buffy heard the door close behind the Wiccan as she left the house and she knew she was alone with Spike. Dawn, Brandon, Janice and a few of the other kids from their class had headed out for the beach for the day and Buffy wasn't expecting them back until around sundown. Giles had all but forbidden her to return to The Magic Box and she was left alone with all the thoughts she had been trying to keep too busy to examine for the last fortnight.

She tried to work out how she could get out of this massive hole she had managed to dig for herself. She wished they had never gone ahead with the claim. Giles was right. She hadn't realised what they were getting into. It was Spike's fault. She'd told him she was only about ninety-five percent certain. He should have made her wait until she didn't have any doubts at all. She sighed. 'Yeah, right,' a sarcastic little voice inside her said. 'It's all his fault and I'm just an innocent bystander!' However, even if she knew he wasn't to blame, part of her still felt that he was, and with just one touch he would know it.

The same touch would also have told him that she found his relief at Willow's death repellent. She could understand it, sort of. Dawn and she were the centre of his world and somehow, every time Willow got out of control Dawn seemed to be the one who suffered. With Willow dead, Spike felt more secure. She could see all too well where he was coming from. The truth was that she hated herself no less for the part of her that felt the same way, but her feelings, however much she was ashamed of them and wanted to keep them hidden, were just a small part of a massive cocktail of regret, inadequacy and longing for the redhead to somehow be returned to them. In many ways it was a reversal of the situation they had been in when Drusilla had been killed. Nevertheless, even though she knew it was unfair of her, she couldn't help but feel that where Drusilla was a monster, making her own lack of concern understandable, Willow's life as a human being had an innate sanctity and yet she barely registered on Spike's radar except as a potential threat. Spike could love. He did love, but a dead body was still just leftovers to him. If he hurt, it was because she did and she envied him that detachment at the same time she resented him for it.

She hated her vulnerability. She hated that with him she couldn't ignore those feelings within her that she despised. She hated that in the confusion of her grief, it was as if he knew what she was feeling before she did, as if he could separate out all the different emotions she was feeling, take them apart and analyse them in his intuitive way almost before she was even aware of their existence. She hated him being inside her head, for knowing her better than anyone should, and all she could do to protect herself was to push him away. It wasn't planned and this was probably as much as she had dared to think it through. It was instinctive.

She loved him. Somehow, she doubted that fact would ever change. It just hurt to be with him, to have to look so closely in the dark mirror that he presented her with.

...And yet, Giles was right. There was no going back. She couldn't unmake the claim and she knew that once... if they could make it through this quagmire of pain, then it could be good again. She had been happy. They were both happy. A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of Spike's laughing face as he spun her round, or the way he would look into her eyes as they made love, his gaze more intimate than the physical joining of their bodies. God, she wanted so much to see him smile at her again... but how could she explain? How could she tell him how ugly she felt inside? If only they could somehow move past all that without having to examine it to death. The wounds were less fresh now, there still, but maybe she could banish those thoughts to the back of her mind.

An idea began to form and Buffy moved to the wardrobe, searching for the packages she had brought back after her first LA shopping trip. The satin and lace had been intended for their honeymoon, but her current need was more immediate.








Spike looked at the few remaining cigarettes in his packet as he pulled out another and used the butt of the previous one to light it. Chain-smoking really hammered the supplies. He'd have to buy another carton later when it was dark. Rogue bounded up to him and dropped her spit-covered tennis ball by his side for him to throw it out into the back yard once more.

In the shade, the breeze could make it seem quite chilly, but Spike doubted that going back inside would be a very good idea. Buffy needed space and he was trying to give her it, but it was getting harder every passing day and he was beginning to think it would be better for him to leave the house altogether before his frustration drove him to do something he would regret later. It was ridiculous, considering he was paying nine hundred bucks a month in rent that he was actually contemplating going back to the crypt. He just didn't know how much longer he could watch her in so much pain and feel so helpless to do anything. At least somewhere else he wouldn't have to watch her try to avoid his eyes, or dig holes in his palms with his nails to stop himself from grabbing her and pinning her against the wall until she told him, one way or another, what was going on in that head of hers.

They had come so far. He had been sure that she loved him and then suddenly she made him feel like an outsider again. He knew she was confused, that somehow it was all tied in with her grief, but surely she knew that he wanted to help her. She had to know that for him hell was simply being separated from her in any way, but still the situation dragged on.

His head tilted slightly to one side as he heard the window of their bedroom being opened. Soft romantic music drifted down to him, music they had once made love to. Spike lay back and screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying to resist the siren call, sure that Buffy was probably busy doing something and had just turned the tape in the machine over without checking what it was and that the window was only open because the room could get stuffy. As he lay there, trying to get his feelings and his body under some sort of control again, the scent of his favourite perfume informed him that this was no accident. Buffy hadn't been wearing any scent that morning other than her deodorant, and if she was picking something for herself she would have chosen something lighter for a daytime perfume. The sensuous musky odour could only have been chosen to add to his torment.

Rogue bounded over once more, and this time instead of tossing her ball for her again he grasped her collar and pulled her back into the house, slamming the back door behind them. Once he was sure the dog couldn't wander off, he bounded up the stairs, pain and anger almost lending him wings. When he pushed open the bedroom door the sight before him made his blood boil. Buffy was curled on their bed, pale pink satin and lace encasing the lines of her body, pushing her pert breasts even higher and drawing in her waist so tight he was sure he could span it with his two hands.

Her eyes clouded over with lust as she eyed him standing in the doorway. Spike was sickened. He felt cheap and violated, that of all they had shared, the thing that would make her break down the walls she had been hiding behind wasn't him. It was just his body.








Buffy knew she had miscalculated as she saw his lip curl in disdain. Even as he turned on his heel she raced after him.

"Spike, stop! Wait! Please?"

While her commands didn't work, her plea at least made him pause but by then he was halfway down the stairs.

"Please what?" he asked. "Please fuck you like some whore? You spend weeks trying to distance yourself from me and then this?"

"Please, Spike, I just didn't know how to explain. I thought if we made love, then after or during it would come through bit by bit, without my having to put it in to words."

"If all you wanted was for me to understand, princess, then all you had to do was join me on that porch and take my hand. You didn't have to play games or turn it into some sort of circus."

"Okay, so I screwed up. What do you want me to say?"

"Sorry might be a welcome change... for a start."

Buffy's hand reached out and down from where she stood two steps higher on the staircase than Spike. Her fingertips brushed his cheek and as clearly as if she had said the words he felt it in his heart. There was a whole host of conflicting emotions but most of all he could feel her love and her regret at having offended him and for hurting him by keeping him at a distance. "I'm sorry."

Part of Spike wanted to draw out this moment, to make her pay for the forgiveness she sought, but this was Buffy. He loved her and he would do anything for her... especially when she was wearing a corset that propped her breasts up at eye level and barely covered her nipples.

"I know I should argue some more," Spike protested, "but since the blood is all leaving my brain, somehow I just can't think what about."

Buffy leaned in towards him, gasping when the tip of his tongue brushed the upper curve of her breast and one hand stroked her butt where her pastel pink thong left it bare, each caress surprisingly redolent of reverence as well as desire.

"I thought you were upset at me for wearing this?"

"I was upset at you for wearing it when we had stuff we needed to sort out. You're sorry. I forgive you... 'cause when it comes to you I'm a great soft tart. Don't do it again, if you can help it. It's sorted out. Now , you can seduce me all you want."

"I wasn't trying to manipulate you," Buffy tried to explain as she wrapped first one leg and then the other around his waist. "I just wanted to make it obvious that I wanted you to touch me again."

As Spike carried her back to their bedroom, the bulge in his trousers brushing against her satin-swathed centre, he made her a promise. "I'm going to touch you like you've never been touched before."

 
Chapter 4.04
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support. Also, a special thanks to MG, who has kindly stepped in to lend a hand while t_geyer takes a well-earned break. Unfortunately for the Americans in the audience she's a fellow Scot, so if Buffy ends up sounding Glaswegian instead of Californian for the next week or so until normal service is resumed, please bear with us as at the moment we don't have anyone to spot the Transatlantic differences.

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

I'm sure you love someone
And someone loves you too

(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.04
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


"There are ways to touch me that you haven't already tried?" Buffy asked with a gently teasing lilt as Spike carried her into their room, kicking the door shut behind them.

"There are a few subtle variations on a recurring theme." Spike's honeyed drawl was enough to make the muscles in the pit of Buffy's stomach tighten. His hands spanned her waist, picking her up and lifting her away from his body, causing her to pout when she had to lower her legs to stand on her own two feet. The vampire smirked at her obvious impatience. "Best shut those windows, poodle, unless of course you want a stray breeze to blow the curtains open at an inopportune moment."

"Poodle? Aren't you confusing me with one of your other women?" Buffy's gaze alighted on the armchair that Rogue had somehow teleported into at some point during their arguing and making up. The sleepy look the puppy gave her seemed to imply that she had been there for hours and wanted to know what the big deal was. Buffy grudgingly decided they had a far better chance of not being disturbed if they left her where she was, as opposed to having her whining and scratching on the opposite side of one of the doors.

"Not sure what she is, but it's beginning to look more like she's part pony than part poodle. Windows?" Spike reminded her, sending her off with a pat on the butt.

The blonde looked back over her shoulder and almost managed a glower. "If I didn't owe you big time, I might take this discussion further." As she moved to make sure the room would remain free from direct sunlight, she could hear Spike pulling open drawers behind her. When she turned around the vampire's hands were full of soft, white silk.

"Oh, no!" she muttered, shaking her head.

"Oh, yes, honey," the vampire countered, a core of steel in the velvet softness of his voice. "You might not have realised it at the time, but you chose the game when you picked that costume." His eyes wandered over her baby-pink satin corset and matching panties and her pale, sheer hold ups with a rose lace pattern on her thighs. He nodded at the champagne stilettos on the floor next to the bed, where she had slipped them off to better chase after him. "I think those are meant to be part of the outfit. Put them on." For a second, Buffy looked to be about to protest at his high-handed manner, but Spike was having none of it. "You owe me, baby. Besides you know I won't tease you for more than an hour or two. You've kept me waiting for sixteen days and..." His eyes shifted to the lime green LED of Buffy's alarm clock. "...Nine hours, give or take."

Instead Buffy switched to begging. "Spike, please? Can't we just make love the normal way?"

Spike's hand reached out to cup her cheek as, having already slipped the shoes on, she swayed elegantly towards him. His touch was reassuring, love and lust far outweighing any residual resentment at her treatment of him. "This isn't a punishment. Trust me," he whispered in her ear.

Spike pushed all but one of the long slim scarves into the pocket of his tight black jeans so that they looked like a white water cascade, shifting irresistibly as he moved. He lifted her left wrist. "Hold it out, baby."

Still slightly nervous, Buffy did so and Spike placed the centre of the scarf over her wrist, wrapping it around three times to provide some cushioning before tying the ends in a tight knot that left the ends of the scarf trailing from her pulse point. He pulled another of the scarves from his pocket, having to use one hand to stop the others from following along with it. "Other arm, baby." Buffy was helpless to resist the husky whisper, even though she had little idea what the vampire had in mind.

When the second scarf had been attached to her right wrist in a similar manner, he led her to the foot of their bed. Placing her hands on top of the metal framework, shoulder width apart, he picked up the trailing ends of each scarf and tied them in a loose loop around one of the long vertical bars that made up the foot of the bed.

Examining her bonds Buffy doubted that Spike was planning on face to face contact for their union. The obvious position was for her to be bent over with him behind her, but the way he had attached the scarves also left the possibility of her kneeling or even with a little strain on her arms lying face down on the floor.

Spike ducked under one of her arms to stand between her and the end of the bed. His cool lips brushed against hers with an unbelievable tenderness and the last of Buffy's apprehensions melted away. A low moan rose in her throat and she would have arched against him, only the corset was like a satin prison, remaining ramrod straight from her tailbone to just under her shoulder blades as her body moved within it.

She didn't have to bear that particular frustration for long, however. Spike stepped back and pulling two of the remaining scarves from his pocket, he ducked beneath her arm once more, the sound of his footfalls telling her that he was behind her. He folded the two scarves in half lengthways and layered them one on top of the other before placing them over Buffy's eyes and tying them tight enough that there was no chance of them accidentally slipping off.

Buffy's gasp of surprise showed that whatever she had been expecting that wasn't it. "Spike?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

Her only answer was the press of a very male body against her back. Even the corset, which she was now beginning to hate with a passion because its armour-like rigidity denied her so many sensations, couldn't totally disguise the feel of his erection pressing against her, heavy denim brushing her thighs. Strong hands slid around her waist and then down until his fingertips teased the vulnerable flesh of her inner thighs. Gentle lips nuzzled against her neck and then sharp but careful teeth nibbled at her earlobe but the vampire avoided her claim mark, knowing that that would bring the situation to an end far more quickly than he had intended.

A questing fingertip moved back upwards, gliding along the edge of her panties until the corset got in his way. "How many pairs of knickers did you buy to match this thing?" The slightest sibilance in his voice when he whispered in her ear told her that he had not bothered to maintain his human form and that knowledge made Buffy squirm even more against him in anticipation.

Letting her head drop back against his shoulder, she answered, "three," in a breathy whisper.

"Good," Spike answered with barely a pause in his assault on her neck.

Unable to see what he was doing, Buffy was intensely attuned to both his touch and the sounds he made as he hooked the fragile panties from under the bottom of the corset and made first one side and then the other fall away with a tearing sound that made her feel damp just thinking of its contained power. Then, he was gone.

She had to use all her concentration to catch the sound of him taking a deep breath over Rogue's gentle snoring. "Already wet for me, baby? Can't wait for me to fill that succulent pussy, can you?"

Buffy heard the familiar thuds of two heavy boots being pulled off and discarded. "Talk to me, Buffy. Your body says you want me, but I want to hear you say it."

Buffy hesitated, still not quite as loquacious during sex as her vampiric partner. There was a rustle of material from behind and off to one side, and then something soft hit her arm, slithering over it with a waft of Spike's cologne before dropping to the floor. Behind closed eyelids Buffy conjured images of an alabaster chest and rippling abdominal muscles, no longer hidden by his black silk shirt. She was unable to deny him any longer. "I want you. God, do I want you!"

A fingertip ran down the centre of her back, plucking ever so slightly at every point where the ribbon fastening the corset crossed over until, halfway down, it came to the bow that was securing it. Buffy tried to reverse toward him but, short of pulling the bed with her, she had reached the edge of her bounds. The vampire was obviously working at arms length, only the very occasional brush of a fingertip telling its message of anticipation, love and desire, though even the brush of the ribbon as he unfastened it made her skin tingle.

Buffy sighed. Soon the self-inflicted implement of torture would be gone and they would make love, skin on skin, muscle against muscle.

Her hopes were dashed as something cool and firm pressed into the small of her back and she felt the corset cinch in even tighter around her. Somewhat belatedly she worked out that it was Spike's knee that was pressing against her.

"Spike, I can't breathe..."

Buffy jumped as he answered her, realising from the feel of soft skin against her butt that his shirt was not the only clothing he had removed. "You can breathe just enough to make it fun, love. Trust me. Take shallower breaths. Don't try to fill your lungs." The rasp of ribbon let her know that he had refastened the bow that bound her.

"Spike, I realise you probably have way more experience with corsets than I have... but that was on dead people."

Cool flesh brushed against her inner arms and Spike's voice came from in front of her once more. "Would I ever take a chance on hurting you, my sweet thing?" A tender finger traced the curve of her breast where it nestled on the superstructure of stays and satin before she was fairly certain that he turned his back to her.

"Buffy, I'm going to untie your wrists, but first I want you to promise me that you won't take off the blindfold."

The slayer nodded her assent but she still couldn't help reiterating her complaints about her attire. "My insides feel like they're all squished together and these shoes are killing me."

"That's sort of the point, beautiful. The other, not the shoes, they just help with the height difference."

"Wh-." Buffy's mouth dropped open as she realised what he meant. "Oh god." Spike was such a tight fit in any case and if she understood him correctly, he'd just laced her up so she could hardly breathe so that things would be even tighter. Adrenaline surged through her veins and she didn't know whether it was in anticipation or fear.

Spike's lips closed over hers, dry, firm and full, his touch offering reassurance. His hands curved over her shoulder, one long slim finger drawn to the mark that branded her as being his, brushing over it so lightly that if her mouth had been free Buffy would have gasped for breath. As always a flush ran through her body bringing with it a trembling weakness in her limbs. She clutched at him for support, savouring the feel of his tapering back, deceptively muscular shoulders narrowing to that almost impossibly slim waist. Her legs were already slightly spread, just to provide her with more stability on her stilettos and with a shimmy of his hips Spike pushed his dick between her thighs. Slowly his head moved back and forth, almost stroking her wet swollen lips until he too was slick with her fluids. Unconsciously, she opened her mouth to him, their tongues caressing to the same rhythm as their lower bodies, matching the music on the tape that Buffy had put on what seemed like hours earlier. Before long, any worries she had had were forgotten.

She finally threw her head back gasping for air, taking longer than normal to recover because she could only manage shallow breaths.

A husky whisper sounded in her ear, close enough that she could feel his breath. "Tell me what you want, Buffy." It wasn't so much a command as a plea. Under the guise of his normal dirty talk, the vampire was asking for confirmation that the last couple of weeks were just an aberration.

Buffy struggled to answer as she tried to regulate her breathing once more, her words coming out between gasps. "I want you, Spike. I want you any way you'll have me, but most of all I want to look into your eyes as we make love."

Strong arms suddenly lifted her off her feet, tossing her onto the bed, far more solicitous of her wellbeing when she couldn't see. She knew that under normal circumstances he would most likely have swept her feet from under her and screwed her into the carpet. She parted her legs wide as she felt Spike settle over her, propping himself up on his elbows. "Take me, Spike. Please. Make me feel whole."

Spike slid the blindfold from her eyes and even in the dim light of the room with all the curtains drawn she could see a mottled pattern on his chest, but his words made her dismiss it until later. "Guide me in, baby."

Reaching down, she used both hands to stroke and fondle him, one hand pumping him slowly whilst with the other she gripped the end of his shaft, using her thumb in a circling motion to spread the fluid that leaked from the tip. When she lifted her hips and pushed the first couple of inches inside she was relieved to find the sensations no different from normal. Suddenly, Spike drove into her with one massive push and she screamed his name but not from any pain. Spike had made sure that she was ready for him, but her walls pressed so tightly that his movement couldn't help but hit every sensitive nerve ending inside her.

Blue eyes locked unblinkingly with hazel as he slowly withdrew, watching every flicker that intimated her pleasure as he pulled slowly out of her. This time as he rammed deep inside her, she pushed her feet flat to the mattress and lifted her hips. Time after time, he plunged into her as far as he could go and then pulled out incredibly slowly, her nerve endings responding like fireworks on the fourth of July.

Buffy's eyes never left his the whole time. "Spike, baby, gonna come soon. Come with me... please, Spike."

In response, his thrusts gradually became more frequent until Buffy could hold off no longer. Her whole body shuddered as her orgasm swept through her, her knees giving way so that she couldn't lift herself to match Spike's actions any more. Still he moved faster and faster inside her and every piston stroke sent out tremors that seemed to prolong her shuddering climax until with one last thrust he arched his back and spilled his semen deep inside her.








Buffy reopened her eyes, surprised to find Spike lying next to her as opposed to on top of her. He gently stroked her hair, in a way that even if they hadn't shared an empathic bond would have said over and over again that he loved her. Buffy nuzzled into his hand, realising when she moved that the lingerie of the Spanish Inquisition (which she admitted, to herself at least, had turned out to be not quite as tortuous as she had anticipated) had been discarded.

She fixed him with a teasing glance. "This one doesn't count," she told him.

Spike looked puzzled and slightly concerned. "What do you mean it doesn't count?"

"In your running total for how many times you've 'shagged me senseless'... Due to assistance from partial asphyxiation, it doesn't count."

"Oh?" Spike smirked. "I guess in that case it's a one all draw."

Buffy mock scowled at his tacit admission. "You couldn't have passed out some time when I was awake to gloat about it?" she teased.
 
Chapter 4.05
 

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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support. A big thank you also to MG for helping out while t_geyer takes a well-deserved and overdue holiday.

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Angels and demons and screaming saints
You're all normal and they're insane


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.05
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


Buffy sighed and snuggled fractionally closer to her man, revelling in the feather-light caresses his dextrous hands bestowed. It wasn't as if, simply by being together, everything was right with the world. It didn't make the pain go away or let her escape the guilt she carried for her less charitable feelings, even if for half an hour or so she had forgotten them. It did make everything bearable though... and it wasn't just the sex, not even mostly the sex. It was him, and the strength his love gave her.

Tears welled up below her lowered lashes and her whispered words came out with a catch in them. "I'm sorry."

Instantly, she felt Spike's body shift from languor to attentiveness, his thumb brushing away her tears as his husky whispers tried to anchor her. "Hey, now, what's to be sorry for?"

Buffy gave a deep sniff and rolled to bury her face into his neck. "I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not, love." Spike's hands switched to stroking her hair. "A mite stubborn now and then, never an idiot."

"I am. I've been awful to you and I didn't really want to be but I just... It hurts worse when I try to hide from you than... I just didn't want you to see those bits of me..."

Her tears seemed to burn into him almost like holy water as they ran down his collar bone and onto the pillow, but he didn't try to shush her or make her stop. "Let it out, sweet pea. What did you ever think I might see in you that could make me love you any less?"

"But if you see it, it's real... and- and..."

Spike's hands gently framed either side of her face, pulling it away slightly from his neck and tilting it back. "Look at me, kitten." Buffy's eyelids flicked up, her lashes clumped together with tears, but when she met his gaze she was transfixed by his solemnity. "You are a champion. You are a hero. You are 'The Chosen One' , but that doesn't give anyone the right to expect you to be some sort of personification of messianic virtue. You're a human being and human beings are not, despite what the council might say, inherently virtuous. Having dark thoughts doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you human. The fact that you feel guilty about having them, that you try not to act on them... that means... that means that you're trying to be a better person. That means you're the woman your mother brought you up to be... beautiful, strong, proud and loving."

The tears ran unchecked over his fingers as he held her but Buffy still couldn't look away from those indigo eyes that swam in front of her, not even to blink.

"I-I-I hurt you. I-I wish you'd just tied me up and forced me to see..."

"Never tie you up, least not without you wanting it. Had to let you work it out for yourself. You're a wild thing, beautiful, and when a wild thing wants its freedom, there ain't nothing you can do but stand back and let it go. You try an' keep it somewhere it doesn't want to be an' it'll break both your hearts." Spike placed gentle kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose and then her lips. "You let them go, and you just hope that they might want to come back."

The vulnerability in his eyes showed that this had been a lesson he'd learned the hard way, his efforts to keep Dru driving her farther from him, but she knew it had cost him dearly to stand by that belief and Buffy gave him a watery smile.

"I had to come back, Spike. You're my home. More than any building, maybe even more than Dawn. Sometimes I even think that's why I came back from heaven, so that I could have this... So that I could be with you... and if it is why, I don't regret it. I mean, trying to adjust at first, I just couldn't do it... but this doesn't seem like hell any more. I think, maybe, this is my reward."

Spike couldn't help the dry chuckle that escaped him as he rolled them both so that Buffy lay on top of him. "Much as I appreciate the thought, love, I think if I were you, I'd be askin' for a refund. Things haven't exactly been paradise, either for the pair of us, or for anybody else 'round here."

"No, but I do have the one thing I never had before. A man who loves me for everything I am, rather than in spite of what I am, someone who'll never leave me, someone who's my equal. Coming back gave me a second chance to find you. Heaven's still there. When my time comes again, it'll be waiting, but I'm hoping that this time I'll be able to share it with you."

"I promised you, didn't I?" He lifted his head to press his lips against hers. "Can't guarantee that I'll manage it, but you know if it means bein' with you that I won't stop tryin'."

"I know." Again, Buffy graced him with a smile. "And that's why I think this is a gift."

It was as she laid her head down on his chest that she once more noticed the bruising on his ribcage, yellow and green, obviously fading, but covering a large portion of his torso.

Her hand reached out to stroke it as if she could soothe it better. "What's this?"

"That, pet, is a boot print."

"Well, I hope the owner of that boot is dust."

"Not hardly," Spike volunteered. "You'd think after all these years I'd know that surprisin' a slayer's liable to get me a bruise or two for me troubles."

"Faith? Faith did this?" Buffy's eyes glowed with a possessive fury. "She's still in town? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Yes, yes, yes and I figured it'd keep until you were back in the swing of things again."

Buffy's expression told him she wasn't entirely happy with his explanation.

"It's not like we've had much of a chance to chat, pet. She's campin' out at The Poof's old place. Turns out our old friend Quentin more or less told her if she didn't play ball then he'd arrange for Social Services to pay a visit, so she's been roughin' it out there ever since, livin' on cold baked beans. Picked up her scent a couple of nights ago an' decided to see where it took me."

"So she moved out because if she stayed it was going to get us into trouble?"

"Looks that way, not that she'd really want word gettin' back to the cops about where she was either, but..."

"I don't buy it. She goes and talks to Quentin, disappears for two weeks and then all of a sudden you just happen to run into her. She's up to her old tricks again. She's just found a new sugar daddy."

Spike sighed. "Don't think so. That place smelled like she'd been living there for a fortnight, but I guess you'll have to make up your own mind. Just leave it till after midnight if you do go to visit, otherwise you're bound to run into one of Quentin's school outings. Why they haven't realised that all the demons are just stayin' in until they all get home for their curfew and goin' out later, I have no idea..."

"Are Clem and his family okay?" Buffy asked, suddenly realising that, with all the new players in town, her couple of weeks off were enough to put her out of touch with the whole dynamic.

"Lily was fine, last I heard. She mostly sticks close to home an' Wes has pretty much made it clear what'll happen if anybody touches Rosa, not that most of that lot would even notice that she isn't entirely human. Some snotty East Coast princess got overly big for her britches and gave Clem a black eye last week. Then, Ha Nath came out the ladies an' wiped the floor with the silly, little cow." Spike shrugged. "Marie bought him a 42 inch plasma telly an' a DVD player and hooked him up for all the film channels on the condition he doesn't go back to the cinema again and orders his junk food in. My guess is he'll cope."

"He was at the movies?"

"You know Clem. Took his new bird to see some chick flick, film finished, she went to the loo an' while he was waiting in the foyer one of QT's little starlets saw through his not so cunning disguise an' decided that gave her the right to kick his head in."

"How badly did she get hurt?"

"Bad enough to end up at the hospital, not bad enough for them to keep her in... Broken nose, two black eyes, couple of cracked ribs an' I don't think she'll be leading with her right again any time soon. Nothin' compared with what she had in mind for Clem. It's not that bitch I'm worried about."

"I know..." Buffy tried to soothe the vamp with her voice. "If Clem had been alone..."

"Clem's okay, for now, physically, at any rate. The problem from our point of view is that he's not the only one. All these wet behind the ears school girls are takin' away any neutral ground that there used to be in this town. However it might seem, most of the demons 'round these parts spend their time mindin' their own business, an' for all they'll run their mouths a bit all you've ever had to do is pick off the exceptions. Now, we've got The First puttin' out some recruitment call an' folks as would probably have ignored it an' done their own thing, are findin' that they can't do that any more. Travers is forcin' them into pickin' sides in this and they aren't goin' to be pickin' ours."

"Has Wes talked to Travers about this?"

"He's tried, but it suits Travers better to think that Wes has been corrupted from their wonderful moral stance than to see the truth in what he says."

"This has got to stop."

Spike was fairly certain that, had she not been horizontal, her little foot would have been stamping in annoyance. "I've had enough of those bimbos. First, trying to shoot you, then beating up Clem, stirring up all sorts of trouble-."

As Buffy spoke, Spike's lips slowly curved into a lopsided smile, his eyes acquiring an appreciative gleam as Buffy's animation fired his passion. "An' don't forget the three-hour moans from Bitlet about how they can't go to The Bronze without at least half a dozen of the slappers hittin' on 'er bloke. S'not just the demons as hate them. It's every local female 'tween fourteen an' twenty."

"Between twelve and twelve hundred. One of them made a move on Xander the other night when they were out. Anya was not amused, especially since he was wearing his wedding band."

"S'that so? But then if they'll try it on with a guy they know is a vampire I suppose a ring isn't really gonna stop them."

Buffy's indignant gasp and possessive glare had Spike's narrow hips writhing under her as he tried to find a more comfortable position for his increasingly hard dick. Buffy obliged by pushing herself up so that she straddled him rather than lying on top of him and then lifting her hips so that she was positioned directly over him.

"I hope..." she whispered with an edge of warning in her voice, lowering herself just an inch. "...That you..." she continued, drawing out her words as she eased fractionally lower and then paused momentarily as she felt the muscles at the entrance to her vagina glide over his glans, before sliding down him with measured slowness "...Told... them... you... were... spoken... for." As she finished speaking her hips finally rested on his and she ground against him.

"I think they already knew that, pet, but they seemed to think you weren't taking proper care of me, seein' as how I was out on my own."

Buffy clenched her internal muscles, squeezing him tight from root to tip. "So what did you tell them?" she asked, waiting for Spike's eyes to re-open and for him to once more gather breath to speak.

"Well, I told the first one to bugger off and let me have a drink in peace." Buffy slid upwards without relaxing her hold on him until he was half in half out of her warmth. "And the second?"

"The second one, Bitlet overheard when she was getting served at the bar an' told her to get her skanky Russian arse away from her sister's future husband."

Buffy froze in position, her eye narrowing as she asked, "How many more were there?"

"A few," Spike conceded, "but I think they all got the message when I told the pushy one of the bunch that if she wanted something cool an' firm between her legs..." Buffy's breath hitched and her muscles relaxed as she lost her concentration, watching the tip of Spike's tongue run along the edge of his upper teeth. "...Then, she should fuck off home an' try out the stake she had in her handbag."

As Spike's hands came to rest on her hips, gently pushing her back down, she moved with him. Now that her curiosity had been satisfied, she was more than ready to work on a different type of satisfaction.
 
Chapter 4.06
 

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


SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

You always knew there'd
Be a price to pay

(The Tourists)


Chapter 4.06
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002

As always, it took Xander a few minutes to work up to full eating speed. He knew that the food was a vast improvement on anything Buffy had ever served up and better even than most of the take-out places she used to order from, but just knowing it was prepared by dead hands gave him the willies. He knew it was irrational, but instead of Spike's hands as they actually were, he kept imagining puffy bits of zombie flesh sloughing off into whatever he was serving. It really did gross him out, at least until he ate enough of whatever the vampire served up to make him forget. Three weeks ago, he wouldn't have touched anything if he knew Spike had prepared it. Now, as part of the 'new' Xander campaign he forced the tender meat down and almost managed a convincing show of appreciation as he did it.

Anya gave him an encouraging smile, knowing exactly what he was thinking. He still had a long way to go but for the first time ever she felt like Xander was actually trying to change, to see things from her perspective, instead of simply trying to make her conform to his very human womanly ideal.

"Well, if everyone's finished now..." Giles began as Xander finally pushed his plate to one side. "Perhaps we could be enlightened as to why we're all here... while we're waiting on dessert." He looked around the table, where not only the usual Scoobies, but Wes, Bee and even Brandon were seated, until his gaze connected with Tara's.

"I-it's the orbs," the blonde witch stammered ever so slightly at being the centre of attention. "E-ever since we did that trance when Spike was poisoned, we've known that the orbs actually work by harnessing the spirit of a Nezzla demon. I don't know how, but when I did the trance it was like I intuitively knew things about him, like I knew that, however he was transformed, it was a sacrifice on his part that he undertook so that his people could live in peace. I knew he was disorientated at being taken away from them but that he didn't blame us for the fact that he was here.

Since then... well, since I finished my exams really, I've been doing some research. There's not a lot that I can find out about them, though. The book where Spike originally found the orbs mentioned gave details of how to find them, but you needed some artefact that seems to have gone missing. It wasn't in the stuff that Buffy found at the nerds' old place and by now that whole building will have been picked clean by the police, so, for some time, the whole question of whether we should return them to their rightful keepers was kinda moot. I mean those caves go on for miles. Without some sort of idea where we're headed we could wander around down there until we starved to death.

Then, well, Bee came in... She managed to find a few more references in some of the demonic texts, enough to hint that even though their communication seems to be largely telepathic, they do have a ceremonial language that has similar roots to one of the languages she speaks. After what happened at The Magic Box, when they stopped working, I didn't know whether the demon's spirit would still be trapped or whether when they were drained it was either freed or consumed. As it turns out, the spirit is held within the orbs, but the energy it uses is drawn from all around it and then stored until it's needed. Willow drained the orbs until there were no reserves and it took them some time to recharge, but when Spike found them this afternoon, they were working again.

I did the trance again today. With Bee to act as a translator, we, well, it's not like we could really hold a proper conversation... It's sort of like a modern day Italian trying to speak medieval Latin, but we managed to communicate enough to know that he wants to go home and he can show us the way."

"I see..." Giles' response fell slightly on the cool side of neutral. "I'm sure your intentions are all very good but I'm not sure that now is a time when we can afford to give up any sort of advantage we might happen to have."

Bee's eyes narrowed as she stood up on platform heels that still left her well short of the watcher's height when he rose to meet her challenge. "So, if it would help you, you would be prepared to keep a human being imprisoned against her will? Or is it just okay because it's the spirit of a demon?"

"I swore a vow when I joined the council, as did Wesley, to do whatever was necessary to protect mankind from the forces of evil. Yes, unpleasant as such a duty might be, if for some reason they were a threat I would keep a human prisoner."

"If they posed a threat?" the demi-demon urged him to clarify his position.

"Well, yes... that's what I said."

Turning to Wesley her voice softened only slightly. "What about you? You would hold a human prisoner if they posed some sort of threat?"

"If they posed a threat... or if I had some sort of pressing need that only they could help with and they were unable or unlikely to co-operate of their own free will, then, yes, I would hold them under duress. I suppose it comes down to how to serve the greater good."

Bee sighed. "You can't serve the greater good, you can't serve any good by perpetrating evil... And, you," she rounded on Giles. "Unless you're prepared to admit to having a double standard I don't see how you can use the argument of the orbs being a threat to justify keeping them. Spike?"

The vampire sighed. "Havin' them around is kinda handy an', personally, I've never had much of a problem holdin' anyone prisoner as happened to suit, so I can't say as that exactly bothers me, but Glinda's not happy about the idea. Under ideal circumstances, I'd rather keep hold of them for at least another couple of months, but I'd as soon not have her stakin' me in me sleep so she can set her demon guy free." The wink only the witch saw showed he didn't really think she was a threat, but then he wasn't about to own up to wanting to make her happy in front of such a large and potentially disbelieving audience.

"Buffy?"

The slayer shook her head. "I'll sit this one out. I can see both sides of the argument and I know morally I should agree with Tara, but then there's the selfish part of me that loves spending time with Spike in the sun. We still don't know what The First is up to or what could be lurking just around the corner for that matter. I'm sure whatever we decide, we'll regret it, so I'll leave it up to you guys to sort it out."

"Well, I won't," Dawn interrupted indignantly. "Spike needs those orbs. I mean what happens if Social Services turn up for a surprise visit and we can't open the curtains. You all talk about how wrong it is to keep this demon a prisoner, but what about Spike? Without them, he's the prisoner."

The sadness in Tara's eyes didn't match her conciliatory smile. "Dawn, Spike can't use those orbs any more, at least not to walk around in daylight. If he did, then the council would feel duty bound to destroy them. If Giles' suspicions are correct Quentin Travers has already tried once to have Spike killed. The orbs on their own just by their very existence would constitute a threat they would be unable to ignore. Even if we could somehow get them to accept that Spike wasn't a threat to them, which I suspect would be all but impossible, they couldn't risk the possibility that they might fall into the hands of another vampire."

"Okay, well, when you work out a spell that lets him walk in sunlight, then you can give the orbs back to whoever they came from-."

"Like hell she will, Bitlet!" Dawn was stunned by the vehemence of Spike's reaction. "If anyone ever came up with a spell to let vampires walk in sunlight, then, you might as well all walk out and shoot yourselves now. Best case scenario, your council would obliterate anyone that even knew about it. Worst case, your whole damn planet would be overrun in a couple of months at the outside."

Xander cleared his throat loudly. "I kinda believe that all this arguing is forgetting to take into account one thing..."

Everyone turned around to look at the man as if Rogue had suddenly stood up on her hind legs and spoke. "As I recall, Blondie actually gave those orbs to me for a wedding present. That would make this my decision."

"Xan-." Giles tried to interrupt but the brunette cut him off.

"I know I'm not meant to be the brains of the operation, but I think this is more about heart than head, in any case. The way I see it, with the council here, there and everywhere Spike can't afford to be using the orbs to go wandering around in the sun all day, anyway, but the real deciding factor is this... What if it was Buffy? What if at some point down the line, the only way that she could protect the people... and I use that word in its loosest possible sense, I hasten to add, but, say, the only way she could protect the people she loved was to allow her soul to be captured in some sort of amulet. That's fine so long as the people she cares about are there to take care of this amulet, but what happens if it ends up in the hands of total strangers? What if these demons had that amulet with Buffy inside?

I don't think we have a choice. We have to give them back."

Spike's eyes searched the boy's face and found not a hint of duplicity. He wasn't making excuses to justify taking the orbs from the vampire out of pettiness. He really meant the words he spoke and put like that, there was no way the vampire could argue with him. The boy was growing up. When Xander's gaze met his, the vampire gave the slightest nod. It could have meant almost anything but when the younger man returned it Spike knew it had been interpreted as he meant it, a subtle show of respect, not of course, that he probably wouldn't be calling the boy worse than muck again by the end of the night, but just this once, the boy had managed to do something right without someone else pointing him in the right direction first.
 
Chapter 4.07
 

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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


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.07
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


Leaving Brandon and Dawn with the washing up, Buffy beckoned Giles onto the back porch as he placed the stack of dirty plates and cutlery that he had been carrying on the counter next to the sink.

"Yes?" he asked as he slipped through the door and pulled it to behind him. He couldn't help feeling satisfaction at the contented smile on Buffy's face as she leant back against her fiancé, pulling the arm that wasn't occupied with his cigarette around her waist. The watcher in him still wasn't totally reconciled to the cause of her happiness, but as a man, he felt fortunate to see his daughter, in all but name, so at peace.

"We have a problem, Giles."

The watcher simply propped himself against the doorjamb and waited for Buffy to elucidate further.

"Having the council and all the potentials here should make my work easier. That isn't how it's turning out."

"In what way?"

"Spike?" Buffy prompted the vampire to explain.

The blond launched one of his precious few remaining cigarettes out into the middle of the lawn only half-finished. His head tilted on one side as he considered how to explain and then straightened again when he made his decision. "You watchers, you're all supposed to know your history, right?"

Giles gave a gentle inclination of his head. "Yes?"

"Then you know how the Germans managed to hold so much territory in the last war with relatively few troops..."

"I think I can see where you're going, but why don't you go on."

"They worked by rewardin' those people who collaborated with them. Those that let them get on with running things their way, they mostly left alone... unless they had the misfortune to be born with the wrong DNA... but whenever anyone interfered with how they wanted things to be, they went in hard. They knew how to use fear to their advantage. If one of theirs got hurt, they'd take out everyone who had the least connection to it, an' if they couldn't do that they'd pick a dozen people at random and kill them instead. Now, Buffy's never been big on the random slaughter... but that other bit, findin' the ones responsible an' kickin' their arses, she's had that off to a fine art for years..." He paused and gave a self-deprecating grin. "...With the occasional notable exception."

The blond brushed his lips against the top of the slayer's honey locks. Then, with his head still angled forward he looked up to pin the watcher with his gaze. "By rights, once her identity became common knowledge she should have been wiped off the map. It's simple arithmetic. No matter how good anyone is, if you throw enough opposition at them, sooner or later, you'll take them down. There are hundreds of demons live in Sunnydale itself and you can double or triple that if you count the surroundin' countryside. So why's she still stood here... other than Red's hocus pocus? Because them as are lookin' for trouble have mostly all learned that with her around, here ain't the place to look. A bit of fun is all well an' good, but to most folks, demon or human, it's not worth dyin' for. Them as don't interfere with the human folk, Buffy's never really interfered with them, so it's never been in their best interest to do anythin' to disturb the status quo. Buffy is alive simply because there have never been as many demons as you would need to ensure a win with enough incentive to want to risk takin' her on.

Your boss an' his little choir girls, though? They're a whole different ball game. Hell, they're like a bunch of part-timers from the Vauxhall Conference tryin' to play against bloody Man U. Folks'll only be pushed so far, an' then, they'll push right back, Rupert, an' demon folks ain't known for their patience."

"Well, I can't say that I agree with everything that's been going on around here, but in case you haven't noticed, it's not as if Quentin is interested in getting my input on policy decisions."

"More chance of you talking him 'round than there is me... an' besides from what I hear Young Giles in there already tried the direct approach when he found out what happened with Clem. Travers more or less patted him on the head and told him now that the council were here they'd help him get his head straight again. Of course, the fact the dopey tart didn't have an unbroken bone in her right hand, didn't exactly help Wes's argument that Clem and his lady were the innocent parties."

"Clem? Lily's son? He hurt someone?" Giles seemed genuinely shocked at the very thought.

"Don't you bloody watchers even talk to one another?"

Buffy twisted in Spike's arms, pressing a petite finger against his lips. "One of the evil watchers' apprentices attacked Clem in the middle of the cinema foyer, with no provocation other than the fact he isn't human. His girlfriend is big on payback. That's a feeling I can relate to. In fact, if she hadn't been there and he had been more seriously hurt, I would have been hunting down our little girl-power freak myself... once I found out about it, that is." She leaned back and gave as much of a disapproving glare as she could currently manage to her fiancé. It ended up somewhere nearer an adoring gaze.

"I take it he came to no permanent harm, then?"

"What do you think, watcher? He might not have been physically hurt worth mentioning, but some stuff is every bit as bad. Apart from not knowin' if he so much as goes to the video shop whether he's gonna make it back without bein' set on by a bunch of adolescent harridans, what the hell do you think it does to the womenfolk, wonderin' every time he does go out if he's gonna just disappear like his brother did? Wonderin' how the hell they could go through that again with The Bite Size? I think if she could afford to walk away from her job an' the mortgage on the apartment block, an' if it weren't for Boy Watcher, Marie would pack up and get the hell out of town.

Look, I know you an' the big boss don't exactly see eye to eye, but you're the watcher in charge of the best damn slayer in living memory. That's got to at least buy you some clout with some of that crowd. It's a bloody council, right? That means there's folks other than QT who get to have their say? Talk to them, an' see if you can do it while they're still in a good mood from last night..."

Buffy looked puzzled. "Last night? What happened last night?"

Spike shook his head in disbelief at her ignorance. "England got through to the next round?"

Buffy continued to look blank.

"World cup. Proper football... Why did you think I'd been over the road so much the last couple of weeks?"

"I just thought with us not talking that maybe you and Wes were bonding ."

"Well, you were right, but for people from civilised countries that involves beer and football."

"And uptight watcher guys watch football? Not that Wes is uptight..."

Giles took off his glasses. "When it's the World Cup? Most of them." He scrubbed self-consciously at the lenses as if to avoid looking at Buffy whilst he owned up to the fact that council members took an interest in such uncouth matters. "In fact there's normally a fair few wagers, with the mix of nationalities..."

"It's obviously a guy thing..." Buffy screwed up her face. "An English guy thing, at least. We tend to go for a bit more contact in our sport."

"Yeah, right," Spike replied obviously sceptical. "You hide behind a mass of armour and paddin' to play cut-rate rugby an' you go for more contact?

Football isn't about blood an' guts... well, not since Vinnie Jones decided to switch to actin'. It's about finesse, poetry, passion an' if you think it's just a man thing try comin' over the road with me after patrol."

"But you said you weren't going to patrol until after Xander left tonight. We won't get back before two."

The blond nodded. "Uh-huh... an' kick off's at half-four. Not that I would mind watchin' the Brazil game before we go out, but then, I can't see Costa Rica puttin' up much of a fight."

"Who on earth has kick off at half-past four in the morning?"

"Well, see, slayer, that would be those pesky time difference things again. You might think it's half past four in the morning but the people over in Japan and Korea think it's half past eight at night. What's up? Is the slayer gonna be too tuckered out to stay up an' watch the footie?" His tone implied it was a dare.

"I just don't think it would be that interesting and it'd be weird watching with a whole bunch of English guys..."

"And Marie an', if she can get away with it, the mite. After all, it's the Mexicans as are playin'."

"Mexico's playing England?"

"No, pet. Mexico's playin' Italy."

"You're sitting up till half past four in the morning, when you could be in bed..." Buffy left the words 'with me' unsaid. "...And it's not even your country that's playing?"

Spike shrugged. "Have to size up the opposition..." He looked down at her with that same irresistible, soul-melting gaze that normally meant he was about to suggest something kinky. "Your lot are playin' Poland same time tomorrow."
 
Chapter 4.08
 

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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Angels and demons and screaming saints
You're all normal and they're insane
They stand alone in the fallout rain
You're all hung up on little pains
Yea Yea (everyone's hung up)


(The Tourists)


Chapter 4.08
Wednesday, June 12th, 2002


"So when do we do this take back the marbles thing?" Xander asked almost casually as he affixed the drywall that Buffy and Spike held in place.

"We don't," Buffy announced. "The point of giving you those things in the first place was to try to prevent you getting hurt. We're not going to let you go into that sort of danger."

"What's the danger? It's not like we're stealing the things. We're taking them back," Xander protested.

Spike raised an imperfect eyebrow and tilted his head on one side to look at the man. "An' what if these demons have got some superstition about anyone other than the proper guardians touchin' their holiest of holies? Think your brand new missus is gonna approve?"

Anya answered the question herself, from her seat on the stairs. "No, she isn't. I want you here with me, Xander, not dead in some cave miles underground."

"But, Ahn-."

"Demon bint's right. We don't want any more people involved in this than need be an' you don't need to be. Given a choice, I'd go with me, the junior watcher an' Bee. Thing is I don't know if the watcher can keep up that trance thing the way the good witch could."

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Buffy's coy look had Xander backing away from his position between the two.

"I don't think so. This little detour is a luxury. Anyone as goes has to be expendable, an' you, sugar lips, are anything but."

"That is such a crock of macho bullshit!" Buffy sputtered, almost dropping her grip on the board she held, to close on the vampire. It wasn't anger that filled her eyes, though, but concern.

"Doesn't make it less true," the vampire countered, his voice firm but soft.

"Please , will you two stop even pretending to fight," Anya interrupted. "You're both so damn glowy, it's just ridiculous. Do you really think that there's anyone in the room who doesn't know that you've spent all afternoon since we left giving each other orgasms until you've overdosed on happy hormones?"

"There was actually someone in the room trying very hard not to acknowledge the fact," Xander told her.

Spike sighed and lowered his head so he looked at his future wife through a veil of dark lashes. "Bitlet needs you , love. If anything happens down there, then you've at least got a chance of sortin' out the whole thing with Quentin an' his buddies. The good guys can't afford to lose a slayer. That gives you leverage. Without you, they'd stake me soon as look at me.

I can see better in the dark than you can. If there's a rockfall, it's not like I'm gonna suffocate. If any of the caves are flooded, which is more than possible at that depth, then I don't need to worry about breathin' or hypothermia and we can't both go, 'cause that way, if there is trouble, then no one up here will know."

Buffy shook her head. "The fight thing only works when we're close together. I haven't picked up on a single fight you've been in this past couple of weeks."

"You haven't picked up on any of the fights I've been in because I've been concentratin' on makin' sure you didn't, pet. Didn't want you worryin' about me when your head was already chock full of other things."

"You've been thinking about this way too much." Buffy didn't so much concede the argument as put it on hold until she had a chance to think her way around the problem.

Somehow, without either of them being aware of having moved, she was wrapped in his arms, cool hands reassuringly stroking her hair and arm as she rested her cheek against his chest.

"I don't want you to go without me," she whispered so quietly against his neck that human ears would have been oblivious, even if Xander wasn't preoccupied with trying to affix the drywall more firmly before it fell under its own weight from the support framework he had built.

Spike's sotto voce reply was likewise ignored. "I know, love, but we can't always have everything we want."








"Thank you." Buffy slid her hand into his as they stepped off the porch.

"Wasn't aware I'd done anything, pet."

"You played nice with Xander... and you talked him out of tagging along on your pot-holing expedition."

"But into patrolling with you if we don't make it back by nightfall."

"That's not a 'but'. That's an 'and'."

"If you say so, sunshine." Without even a break in his stride, Spike pressed his lips against her temple, dropping her hand so that he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. Buffy's hand wriggled its way under Spike's battered leather until her thumb found a belt loop at the far side of his waist and the vampire shortened his stride to perfectly match Buffy's more petite legs. All the minute adjustments simply fell seamlessly into place, not like when she used to date Riley or even to a lesser extent Angel with their awkward half steps designed to let her catch up and the tension in their muscles from taking steps they found unnaturally short. To Buffy it was simply one more sign that she was where she belonged.






Thursday, June 13th, 2002



Sarah knew she shouldn't have been out on her own. They were supposed to have a buddy system. No one went out anywhere without their "buddy", at least not since last week, not after what had happened to Kennedy. Sarah had simply reached breaking point. She'd been unable to cope with the hideous pretend accent of her so called "buddy" any longer. She might not be a "Southern pansy" born and bred. She had only been found by her watcher, Robson, and brought from Cumbria to London three months earlier, but she was willing to bet that, even in London's East End, no one really spoke like that unless they were auditioning for Mary Poppins or My Fair Lady. She had listened to her chatter on until she thought her head would burst and finally she had sneaked out for some peace and quiet and to smoke a cigarette in blissful solitude without any of the watchers giving her disapproving looks. It hadn't even been dark, then.

Kennedy had been in training with her watcher and all her personal coaches for years. Sarah had overheard some of the French and Belgian potentials talking about her when they thought the others in the room were unable to keep up with their rapid French. They said that she had been training for too long, that she had missed her chance and that was why she hated the current slayers, because she thought they should have died so that she could be "The Chosen One". They said it was practically unheard of for a slayer to be in her twenties when she was called. Sarah didn't know if they were right. At eighteen, she almost hoped they were. Kennedy seemed to regard slayerdom as her birthright, a chance to prove she was more than just an arrogant, spoiled brat even though her assumption that she was the most worthy candidate suggested her to be simply that. Sarah thought, for all but a very elite few, it was most likely a short, hard, lonely one-way ticket to a six-sided wooden box. She did know that when Kennedy had been ambushed by a whole gang of demons, even on her own, she had managed to kill four of them and get away. Sarah had been captured by one man, one man in a battered pick up truck, asking for directions.








Patrol was quiet, too quiet, in fact, reminding Buffy of the period when the demons had been deliberately allowing themselves to be captured by The Initiative, while avoiding her grasp. They swung by to visit Lily and Clem, knowing that Marie and Rosa would already be at Wes's for the night and Rosa long tucked up in bed in the spare room.

Lily beamed with joy at seeing the two of them back in each other's company and Spike's good humour restored, but Clem seemed ill at ease as he waited for Ha Nath to visit him when she finished work. The normally cheerful demon seemed depressed about his virtual house arrest and isolation and worried that something would happen to his girl. Lily's mood soon fell to match his once more.

"They won't hunt her down, will they? Not when the girl attacked first?"

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know. They might try but I don't see..."

"They'll just watch Wes... and then they'll follow Marie... and she'll lead them to me... and then they'll find Ha Nath. I kinda wish she hadn't helped. I mean, we were in public. How much could she have hurt me in public? If Ha Nath hadn't got involved-."

"Clem, I blew up a demon with a rocket launcher in the middle of Sunnydale mall once and no one said a peep. That girl could have beaten you to death if your girlfriend hadn't stepped in and I, for one, am glad she was there, but I understand why you're worried about her. If she doesn't show, any time you're meant to be meeting up, I want you to call us. Giles is trying to convince some of the council members to back off but it's going to take time. And if you want to go out somewhere with your girlfriend, I know it's not the same as going out on your own but Spike and I could double with you. I think that would be pretty safe..."

"You would?" Clem's face brightened considerably. "I wanted to take her somewhere nice next Tuesday. I couldn't decide between a meal and bowling. Then I thought maybe we could get a meal at the bowling alley. It's our one month anniversary."

Spike shook his head, not knowing whether to tease his friend for remembering dates like a girl or make some more constructive suggestions as to a rather more romantic evening, but then foursomes weren't exactly romantic to begin with and maybe Clem knew better than he did what his bird would like, so...








They avoided the first couple of groups, easily spotting them before the girls and their watchers saw them and skirting around them.

"Isn't it past their curfew by now?" Buffy muttered as they made a second detour. "How am I supposed to stay in shape if they're everywhere doing the slaying for me?"

"I thought we managed a pretty good work out this afternoon..."

Buffy flushed under his gaze. "I suspect we burned off some calories but I don't think I'll be using those moves in a fight any time soon..."

"I'm always up for a sparring session with you, pet."

"Will you stop it?" Buffy asked, changing course once more. "They're everywhere and apart from the whole modesty thing they'd probably decide you were attacking me. Do you really want to die with your pants 'round your ankles?"

The vampire's grin only widened as he contemplated the question.

Before he could speak Buffy cut him off. "And the correct answer to that is 'no', not 'it'd be a hell of a way to go'." As she noticed not only a fourth but also a fifth group of girls plus watchers Buffy decided she had had enough. There was no way they were going to get their order of Chinese food back to the mansion for Faith tonight without any of the council's lackeys spotting them. Dropping the bag, and forsaking the cover of the cemetery's foliage she half-jumped, half-stepped onto a nearby bench, demanding in a voice loud enough to attract the attention of all the groups, "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Spike's gentle laughter and his whispered, "You can't get away with 'bloody' in that accent, pet," did rather ruin the dramatic effect she had been working for, however, and she was forced to nudge him in the back with the toe of her boot before he stopped smirking. She had managed to get the attention of those around her and the oldest member of one group had moved to intercept her, followed closely by a potential who seemed to think it was her right to hear anything that might be said, a potential whose ponytail bounced as she held her head high and whose right hand was encased in plaster.

"Miss Summers, I presume." Her English was flawless, but the slightest hint of an accent indicated that perhaps Italian was her first language. Spike stepped around behind the woman, who other than giving him a brief, wary glimpse seemed to decide that she was best to let his presence go and concentrate on Buffy. His cold glare stopped Kennedy dead in her tracks at a range where she was still unable to hear what was being said between the slayer and the watcher. As she froze, Spike moved in to circle her like the predator he was, playing the game of intimidation at which he was a master. Buffy would have felt sorry for anyone else.

"You presume right. Now, why don't you tell me what you're all playing at? Any demon worthy of the name would hear your little army way before he walked into the middle of you and isn't it past their bedtimes?"

"One of the girls is missing. We're not patrolling. They're search parties."

"These parties are concentrated where... other than the graveyards?"

"Well, I believe some people went to that club in town just in case there's a more innocent explanation, but mostly we're checking out the demon hotspots."

"What about the actual Hellmouth?"

"We drove past earlier but the construction crews are working overtime. I don't see-."

Buffy was already gone, her vampire on her heels. If she had had the breath to spare she would have laughed at Spike's shouted, "This had better not make us miss the kick off."
 
Chapter 4.09
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Like freezing nights
In some cold stark lights
When you said everyone must fight
(Everyone must fight
That's what you said
Everyone must fight)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.09
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


They were still a block from the construction site when Buffy felt her bond with Spike kick in. The vampire had, by sheer force of will, managed to close the gap between them despite her slayer speed.

"What is it?" she gasped, slowing to look for enemies, her breath uneven from the prolonged run.

Spike grabbed her hand and pulled her on toward the chain link fence that surrounded the site until she resumed her former pace. "Not here. Up ahead. Blood. Lots of it." His gaze fixed on the figures moving around the perimeter of the half finished building. "That and the fact that for all those people moving around up there there's not a builder's bum cleavage in sight."

Buffy trusted to the vampire's guiding hand, knowing that if she stumbled he wouldn't let her fall and focused on his clearer view of the distant figures. The area around the site's generators was brightly lit and other lights showed throughout most of the building where a veritable crew of workmen moved around in brightly coloured hard hats. From a distance everything appeared much as it would if the crews had been working overtime, only, Spike was right. The black robes didn't go particularly well with their disguise.

"Bringers."








They barely slowed as they launched themselves at the fence, Spike clearing it in one bound, Buffy throwing herself high onto it and then using her momentum to carry her into a forward roll over the top. Black-robed figures began to spill from the building as the pair closed over the rough ground, Spike swerving slightly to grab a couple of lengths of scaffolding pole from a pile on the ground and tossing one to Buffy.

"There's too many," Buffy whispered. "It's going to take too long to fight our way through."

"Then, don't go through them." For just a fraction of a second Spike's gaze dropped to the six foot pole she carried. "I'll keep as many of them busy as I can. You, go, find the girl."

Buffy shifted her grip on the metal in her hands, letting Spike get slightly ahead. For just a second she watched with pride as Spike and the harbingers came together, the metal rod twirling in his hands with a speed and dexterity that kept his attackers at bay. The sight triggered memories of their second meeting, way back on Parent Teacher Night, and caused a heat that made her hope the situation could be resolved quickly. Then, she grabbed her moment. Planting one end of her pole in the ground between two bringers, she launched herself into the air feet first and sailed over their heads while they were still expecting an attack. Even as she loosened her grip on the pole and sprinted for the basement, Spike's makeshift staff cracked into the nearest bringer's shinbone, sending him falling on top of his neighbour.

Through Spike's eyes she saw two of The First's other minions back away from the vampire and chase after her and she could almost feel his frustration, even though he was managing to keep a further seven occupied. It didn't matter, two she could deal with easily.

She ran as if she had no more thought than to put as much distance between herself and her unseeing pursuers as possible, but as soon as she rounded the first corner, where she was hopefully obscured from their sonar or whatever "Daredevil" power they used to find their way, she pulled up as quickly as she could and reversed direction to wait for them, pressing her back against the wall. Fortune smiled on her and the harbingers took the corner two abreast, the nearest one even carrying his wickedly curved dagger unsheathed in his hand. All she had to do was reach out across his body, grab his wrist and twist. His own momentum drove him onto the blade. As his wrist snapped he was unable to hold the dagger any more and Buffy grabbed the hilt with her free hand. She kept a firm grip on the leather-bound handle as her foot rose in a front kick that connected with the blind man's hip, pushing him sideways and away to block his companion's approach and incidentally ripping the carefully sharpened blade out of the bringer by a very messy route.

She didn't have the advantage of surprise with the second one, but she was the slayer, she was armed and even if she had to keep watching for new arrivals from the basement, she had all the advantages she needed. A flurry of punches, a couple of kicks and then, as the evil monk blocked low, the blade in her hand slashed high, slicing through the arteries on his neck and leaving blood spatter in an arc across both the wall and her as he fell.

For an instant she concentrated on Spike's fight. Holding off so many opponents, the vampire seemed to be making little progress. As she watched one black-robed figure fall to his knees from the force of the blow Spike landed on his shoulder, another regained his feet and joined the circle around the blond. Nevertheless, his opponents seemed wary of getting too close and the arcs described by the deftly handled staff kept them too far at bay to use their daggers. It was pretty much a stalemate... so long as Spike didn't make a mistake, which meant it was her job to do what she had to do before he got tired enough to make one.








Somehow, Buffy wasn't surprised to see the pneumatic drill and the concrete rubble that was all that remained of Xander's attempt to ensure that the seal couldn't be used. The giant wooden wheel suspended over it, she had to admit, was new, and the lifeless corpse tied to it, her blood slowly draining, drop by drop onto the shiny metal, made her stomach heave.

"You're kinda late, girlie girl. Ah had been hopin' that your little friend there would still be alive to pass on my message so me and mah boys wouldn't need to hang around." The sneering Southern drawl came from the shadows and Buffy wished she had Spike's night sight to allow her to penetrate the gloom. The voice seemed to come from higher and higher as he continued, the scuff of leather on metal hinting as to why. "But then, a whore of Babylon such as yourself who lies down with creatures of the night probably isn't the kinda person you can rely on for good time keepin'."

"Are you anywhere near finished, yet?" Buffy's sarcasm meter hit full tilt. A long rasp of metal on stone told her that her tormentor had most likely removed his means of escape, but it wasn't like she needed a ladder to get out of a one storey hole. She ran toward the darkened corner as the voice floated down to her.

"Ah do believe Ah am... for now."

A vicious slap to her face lifted her off her feet and sent her flying back across the room, landing badly as her back impacted the sharp edge where she assumed the bringers had dug down through nine inches of concrete to clear the seal, and the back of her head colliding hard with the floor.

"Ah think you'll find mah co-worker here can provide ya with sufficient amusement for the time bein' an' maybe if ya open that gapin' maw between your legs ya might even distract him from beatin' ya to a bloody pulp. Course, he hasn't eaten in a while so that's not exactly likely... Be seein' ya."








Spike gave up his attempts to hold the harbingers at bay, ramming the hollow pole like a spear-cum-cookie cutter straight through the chest of the figure blocking his most direct route to Buffy and then sprinting through the resulting gap. He expected the monk-types to follow him, but right now his priority was to get himself between Buffy and the nightmare creature who was tossing her round like a rag doll. The bringers seemed to melt off into the darkness, not that the vampire was turning back to check. Buffy landed an occasional well-placed blow, but that first impact had her unsteady on her feet, her vision blurring in and out before the fight had even properly started.

Spike understood all too well what was going on. The feral vampire, a creature Spike had thought to be only a myth, a misshapen beast that could no more pass for human than walk in sunlight, was playing with her, brutalising her body until her blood was tinged with pain and fear. Buffy was no quitter and she wasn't going to roll over and play dead, especially when she knew he was on his way, but it was obvious that her injuries were slowing her down and every blow the creature struck sent her flying into concrete or brickwork. Still, she managed to circle around so that it had its back to Spike as he entered the basement. A deft twitch of his wrist and the blond held a stake in his hand. He flung himself across the room and thrust the stake dead-centre between the Turok Han's shoulder blades.

A pale taloned hand reached up and pulled it out as the monster turned to face him. Spike wasn't staying around for the rest of the show. Launching himself toward the corner of the room, he kicked off one wall and then its neighbour to land just behind Buffy. Despite her weak protests he scooped her into his arms and leapt for freedom, using the same escape route that the Southerner had.

Buffy stumbled as he returned her to her feet, fumbling in a pocket to press something rectangular and metallic into her hand. "It won't stop. I'll try to stall it. Try an' give me enough warning to get out the way." His eyes moved to look at the chain link enclosure where the generator was situated and with a gentle push he sent her off.
 
Chapter 4.10
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

When you said everyone must fight
(Everyone must fight
That's what you said
Everyone must fight)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.10
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


By the time Buffy looked down at the Zippo in her hand and realised that Spike had pointed her in the direction of the fuel barrels for the generator, the vampire had already thrown himself back into the basement. Colliding with the Turok Han as it tried to leap free to continue its pursuit, the vampire had fallen back onto the concrete in a tangle of limbs. The blond managed to smack his opponent's head into the solid floor a couple of times before it retaliated, razor-sharp talons ripping into the flesh of his back through leather and cotton, leaving cuts a quarter of an inch deep from his shoulder blades to his waist.

The feral vamp sank its teeth into Spike's shoulder as it rolled them both until it was on top. Spike tried to resist but the Turok Han's strength so far outmatched his own that there was little he could do. His fist slammed into the side of the other vamp's head repeatedly and hard, trying to make it lose its grip before it could tear the flesh away from his bones, all the while thanking God or whoever might be listening that it had chosen to bite at the opposite side of his neck from Buffy's claim mark.

There was no finesse to the fight and, as the pair struggled on the floor, Spike drove a knee up hard between the creature's thighs but it didn't even pause as it sat up, tearing away leather along with muscle. Spike's arm felt like a lead weight as he reached up with both hands to grip either side of its head to snap its neck in one quick jerk. Instead, the beast pulled back, eluding his grasp to rise first to its knees and then its feet. Spike swung his legs in a capoeira style sweep, hoping to bring his opponent back to the ground. He needed to keep the fight in close. Anything else gave the primitive the opportunity to break off and go after Buffy.

The Turok Han jumped the scything legs as easily as a ten-year-old skipping rope and turned his back on Spike to leap clear of the basement even as Spike flipped back to his feet. He knew all too well that Buffy's blood perfumed the air, its scent all but irresistible to any blood-drinker.

Buffy was no more than a third of the way to her goal, but she turned as the monster moved out of Spike's line of sight, ready to face off against it. Spike was already in pursuit but Buffy couldn't risk having her back to their opponent when it reached her. Nevertheless, she continued to walk slowly backward as it approached, feeling her way with her feet, edging ever closer to the drums which were stacked up against the wire, praying that when she got there she wouldn't discover that they were the empties.

Spike was gaining, but it was touch and go whether he was gaining quickly enough. With one last bound the Turok Han landed facing her, knees slightly bent and claws outstretched, almost as if it were posing, giving her a fraction of a second to appreciate fully its intimidating appearance before it attacked. Instead of freezing like a rabbit caught in the headlights, Buffy simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow as Spike threw himself headlong at the beast, using all his power to drive his undamaged shoulder into the back of the beast's legs. When Spike's attack failed to completely drop their opponent, only driving it to one knee, Buffy pivoted on her right foot, bringing her left around in an axe kick that drove the nosferatu down to the ground. Spike clambered up its back, raining punches on its kidneys and ribcage as he moved and Buffy stomped a couple of times at its head. Nothing either of them did even left a mark.

"Get movin', love. I've got him for now," Spike spat out between blows as, almost unbelievably, the other vampire began to rise to its knees, even with Spike's weight on its back.

Buffy wanted to argue, to say that it was taking both of them to hold their own, that Spike would be able to get there more quickly than she could in her battered condition, that Ugly obviously wanted to fight her rather than him, anyway, but she knew that those were all reasons it would be so much more difficult for her to get away from their opponent when the time came. So, she turned and after a few limping strides she willed her body to ignore the pain until she was jogging and then running toward the generator enclosure.

Her mate couldn't afford the time to watch her go with his own eyes. Instead, desperate to avoid being thrown off, he let the change come over him. His teeth bit into the ubervamp's neck and he wrapped his legs around its hips as he drove one hand into its stomach in a straight fingered punch that would have gutted a human. It barely penetrated the thick hides the creature wore. Spike was soon slammed onto his back and lying on the packed dirt, but still he wouldn't let go of the nightmare creature that lay on top of him. He gnawed at the long dead flesh in his mouth, working his jaw until his teeth almost met before pulling back sharply with his head. The flesh was disgusting, tasting of bitter decay, but its blood was rich and tangy as it seeped into his mouth. The other vampire responded by alternately elbowing him in the ribs and raking at his legs with its clawed hands, at least until Spike's own claws reached for its eyes and it instinctively used both hands to try to shield the sensitive area.








Buffy made it to the fence that surrounded her goal. She was about to scramble up the mesh when she realised that it went not only around but over the top of the generator and its fuel dump. Instead, she worked her way around until she found the door into the cell. The padlock had already been forced open, pieces of the mechanism shattering off inside. She looked at the barrels, stacked two high, two deep and three wide and wondered whether it was best to move them or whether to simply burst them open. She swiftly decided that she would lose too much time rolling them one by one out of the compound and instead she pulled out her stake, hoping the wood would be strong enough to pierce the metal drums.

She only remembered just in time that it might not be the best idea in the world to leave the generator running while she made her diesel swimming pool and it took her several seconds to find where to turn it off, seconds her frustrated brain told her she didn't have with Spike fighting that thing. The first four barrels provided almost no resistance when she tried to tilt them and she tossed them to the far side of the pen. She was beginning to wonder how they could possibly deal with the monster if it turned out that all the barrels were empty. Beheading was always good, but as it happened she was right out of swords and garrottes.

The fifth barrel stayed firmly in position when she leaned against it. Buffy stabbed at the drum with her stake, but even slayer strength wasn't about to drive softwood through metal. The tip just skittered off smooth sides, leaving an occasional scratch on the paint but that was all. Buffy dug her toe into the chain link next to the barrel and hauled herself up until she could get a grip on the barrel's top rim. She pulled as hard as she could until both it and the one beneath it tipped over onto their sides, barely missing her as they fell. She climbed sideways and then squirmed her way into the tiny gap between the fence and the barrels and then pushed with her back against the drums until the remaining six barrels toppled over like dominoes.

Now she could reach the caps. One by one she twisted them open, rotating the barrels so that the openings lay close to the ground allowing as much as possible of the accelerant to escape. When the trickles were unable to seep into the bone-dry earth, they joined together to almost make a wide shallow stream, following the slight slope of the land. Buffy was thankful that whoever had chosen the site for the generator had put it on the highest ground, presumably to prevent the fuel from pooling around the generator if any of the barrels were to leak. She wiped her hands on her jeans as she left the cage. Pulling Spike's lighter from her pocket, she lit the flame and waited.

Spike rolled the ubervamp until both of them lay in the direct path the diesel had chosen. He waited until the fuel permeated both their clothing and only loosened his grip on the other vamp when the fuel burned into the open wound on his shoulder. With one last kick, the misshapen creature started to make its way toward Buffy. Behind him, Spike rolled clear of the wet area. He shrugged off his coat which had kept the rest of his clothing fairly dry, tossing it off to one side. Buffy waited until the Turok Han was within ten feet before she stepped off to one side and dropped the lighter.

Smokey orange flames raced downhill, engulfing the hydrocarbon-dowsed ubervamp. Spike continued to back away as the blazing trail zipped past him and then branched off, following the trail of drips he had left behind him. A massive detonation drove both the blondes to the ground as the Turok Han exploded, leaving Spike flat on his back and unable to move as the flames snaked toward him.
 
Chapter 4.11
 

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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

We laughed a lot and we got blown away
You told me all about yourself
You said you didn't
Care for no-one else
Oh no (you said you didn't care;
Didn't care for no-one else,
No-one but yourself)

But I can tell you that
It just ain't true
I'm sure you love someone
And someone loves you too


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.11
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


Spike scuttled backward, crablike, as Buffy flipped to her feet. As she made her way around the flames trying to reach Spike's side, she called out to him. "Pants, Spike!"

The vampire looked down, noticing for the first time the tide-line on the dark denim. His duster had kept the diesel flow off of his clothing for the most part, barring some seepage on his back and shoulder where it had been ripped in the fight. However, that part of his legs that had been exposed beneath the coat's hem had soaked up the fuel like a wick.

With a whump, the blond saw his most treasured possession engulfed in the flames, the leather crackling and shifting as it burned. Unable to help himself, he watched transfixed, one arm raised to shield his eyes from what he knew must come.

"Spike! Move your butt! It's just a damn coat!"

Buffy's voice called to him from the other side of a shifting wall of flame and Spike knew he had no choice. Raising his arms to shield his face and as much of his hair as possible, he leapt through the fire. Seconds later, shards of plastic and circuitry detonated outward from where the vampire's coat lay.

Buffy gave a startled yelp, even as she forced Spike to the ground, trying to smother the flames with her denim jacket. As she patted at his legs, Spike kicked off his boots and fumbled with his belt buckle. By the time he had his zip undone, Buffy took over. One swift and much practised yank ripped the already torn jeans from his body and Buffy threw them as far to one side as she could, which just so happened to be into the nearby flames. It took another few seconds for them to put out a couple of minor leg hair conflagrations before they took off, hand in scorched hand.

They skirted the fire, leaving the compound by the side that placed them furthest from habitation.

"What the hell were you carrying round in that coat? C4?" Buffy demanded, as they reached the perimeter fence, Spike taking particular care to avoid the barbed wire on top as they clambered over rather less elegantly than they had arrived.

"Cell phone," the vampire supplied. Buffy looked blank. "The battery. Guessin' you never read all the stuff about please dispose of them safely. Car keys, keys for your place, hip flask, ciggies..."

As Spike dropped to the ground the slayer didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the figure he presented. His shirt was tattered and caked with soot, long deep scratches clearly visible on his back and legs. It provided tantalising glimpses of his bare butt as he moved, and managed no more than a token effort at hiding his genitalia.

She settled for a token pummelling, fists not even hitting his chest hard enough to leave a bruise. "Don't you dare scare me like that again!" she berated him before pulling him into her arms.

"That was too damn close," she whispered against his chest.

"Well, I guess decapitation capability just became mandatory when we're out and about."

"Guess so..." The sound of distant sirens reached them on the breeze and Buffy extricated herself from his embrace. "We better get moving." Buffy considered for a while. "We've got a reasonable chance of making it to your crypt from here, but I don't think we can risk the more populated areas with you dressed like that. I'll call Wes and get him to meet us there with some clothes. Get him to pass on the bad news to the council."

"The crypt sounds like a fine idea. Reckon the phone call can wait a bit, though." Buffy looked down and realised that, even with both of them burned and battered and Spike in a ludicrous state of undress, Little Spike was undeterred. "You wouldn't want the watcher to find me like this."

"Spi-i-ike!" Buffy's moan came out as half reproach and half blatant need. This was undoubtedly neither the time nor the place, with police and fire engines already on their way, but as always the fight had lit a fire in her blood that her fear of losing Spike had only exacerbated. She needed him, needed that pulsing cock pounding into her once more, needed his fangs in her flesh, her teeth in his, their claim renewed before she could believe that he was still here, still hers. All of it showed in her eyes.

"Second thoughts... bugger the crypt." The area where they had found themselves would at some point be the school playing fields once more, assuming the fire didn't spread to consume the whole building. For now it was scrubland, distinguished only by the line of trees planted around the property line that had been there since before the old school building had been destroyed. Picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, Spike moved them just far enough to avoid the illumination that the raging fire provided. She had barely regained her feet when his hands on her hips pinned her against the nearest tree trunk.

His lips brushed softly against her navel as he kneeled to pull off each of her boots in turn. Experienced fingers deftly unfastened her jeans, peeling the denim downward. Embarrassment made her cheeks flare pink as he carefully slid her white lacy thong from her body. Any minute now the area would be filled with policemen, firemen or even just rubberneckers. "We have to phone Wes," she barely managed to gasp out as Spike's tongue traced slithering trails on her inner thigh. "They need to know about the girl."

"No one stopping you." Spike shuffled closer and hooked first her right leg and then her left over his shoulders.

"Oh fuck!" Buffy was unable to stop her muttered comment as she found herself supported only by Spike's shoulders and the tree trunk at her back.

"I plan to." The vampire braced his arms against the trunk and Buffy instinctively opened wider, one hand tangling in his hair, the other trying to find purchase on the wood behind her as his tongue probed her nether lips, taking teasing swipes along either side before he finally spread her open. He licked away the juices that seeped from her quim, savouring the salty taste before lapping his way up to her inner lips where her clit stood proud as he pushed the ruby flesh apart.

Buffy's jacket already lay on the ground at the foot of the tree. She hadn't put it back on after using it to smother the flames and all she wore was a tissue-thin halter neck top, but still it was too much from Spike's point of view. Needing his arms to support her, and with his mouth otherwise occupied, it fell to Buffy herself.

"Undo your top, baby," he practically hummed against her clit, making her even wetter. While he waited for her to obey his instruction he nipped and sucked at the sensitive bud until Buffy wanted to scream. The sirens were closer now and she wondered if they would drown out the sound of her voice if she did. Her fingers fumbled with the button at the back of her neck, almost all her concentration on the sensations Spike's tongue was producing. Finally the lightweight fabric parted, falling around her waist in two whisper-soft wings.

"That's it, baby. My beautiful girl." Spike uttered sotto voce encouragement as Buffy cradled the full creamy orbs in her hands, massaging them gently at first and then rolling the already hardened nipples between thumb and forefinger. As she squeezed them tight, Spike drove his tongue deep inside her. Her orgasm was instantaneous, but the vampire probed inside her until he found that sweetest of spots, teasing and stroking it to draw out her pleasure for as long as possible.

After long minutes, the quivering and spasming of her muscles finally slowed, leaving her limp and boneless. Spike lifted her, supporting her weight with his palms under her thighs as he brought himself upright. His hard body pinned her against the solid wood of the ancient tree as his mouth closed over hers, teasing at first but rapidly deepening the contact when she willingly reciprocated, licking her own salty cum from where it had spilled over the vampire's chin. Buffy ripped at the remnants of the shirt he wore, buttons popping off in all directions as she pulled it open so that the trail of kisses and bite marks she planted along his jaw line could continue lower, allowing her to finally suckle on the scar that marked him as hers.

His dick surged up into her, resting in place when it reached her innermost depths, its cool smooth touch soothing the conflagration inside her and for the sweetest moment she lifted her head to savour the look she knew would fill his eyes before she mouthed the words she knew would have him pounding her already bruised back against the wood. Her tongue snaked out to lick her lips before she mouthed the two little words. "Fuck me..."

Spike didn't hold back as Buffy wrapped her legs around him. Each massive thrust drove the breath from Buffy's lungs leaving her gasping for air as she spoke the words she knew would drive him to the edge, interspersing them with his own.

"...So fuckin' hot..."

"...Only for you, my Big Bad... "

"...Oh, baby, squeeze it tight..."

"...God, deeper, Spike...Just there... Oh god, just there..."

"...Can't hold it, Buffy. Gonna cum, gonna fill you so full..."

"...Change, baby. Want it all..."

"...Oh fuck..."

Buffy sank her teeth deep into his flesh, finding her scar with prefect precision as if it called to her. With a muffled roar and the grinding of bones that accompanied the change Spike followed suit as his seed spilled deep inside her with one long cooling spurt.

Still clinging tight to each other, they sank first to their knees and then slid over onto their sides as the vision washed over them.
 
Chapter 4.12
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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.
 
Chapter 4.13
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting


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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

I always knew that
You wanted to say
You always knew there'd
Be a price to pay


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.13
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


Buffy was surprised but pleased when Oz followed Giles into The Magic Box. Her eyes brightened and her lips formed a spontaneous smile. "Does this mean you're staying?"

The redhead shrugged. "Till term starts again. I had to drop out of the project I was working on to come back and Giles makes it sound like you could use every body you can get." Oz's gaze raked over the bruises on Buffy's face and his nose twitched at the pungent smell of liniment that came from both her and Spike. "Seems he was right."

This time it was Buffy's turn to shrug. "It took me off guard but we got the job done."

"And if you had been alone?" Giles asked, his tone dry.

"Either I would have found a way to deal with it or I would have run-."

"Hey, Oz, man. You forget how to use a telephone?" Xander pushed the door open and immediately greeted the werewolf with a hearty handshake.

"I kinda needed to be a place that was else."

The brunette gave a conciliatory smile as he stepped back to wrap an arm around Anya's shoulders. "Well, it's good to see you, anyway." He looked around the room, taking in the two watchers, the two sisters, Spike, Tara and Rogue. "How about we get this show on the road? Apparently there was some sort of trouble at the site last night so the boss wants me in early to help assess the damage."

Buffy looked embarrassed. "We didn't blow it up this time," she argued as if she were offering a major point in her favour.

Xander rolled his eyes but before he could ask about what had happened Spike cut in to reply to the younger man's question. "We're still short a couple of bodies."

"Would those be any bodies in particular or did you just order breakfast in?" For once Xander's humour was devoid of his habitual bitterness and seemed to be just that.

Spike nodded in the direction of the parking lot at the front of the shop as someone pulled up with an unnecessary screech of rubber on asphalt. "Watcher's apprentice was pickin' up the dark slayer on her way in."








"Everybody clear on what they're doing?" Buffy asked.

"Isn't this kinda putting all our eggs in one basket?" Xander asked, though he was by no means the only one to look uncomfortable.

"If you can come up with a better alternative then I'll be glad to hear it."

"Well, no, but..."

"Then it's settled."








"You cannot seriously have believed that the council would consider such a plan."

Giles removed his spectacles and polished them with a deliberateness that matched his words when he finally replaced them and spoke once more. "I believe, Quentin, that the council has absolutely no choice in the matter whatsoever. The forces which are arrayed against you are such that you must accept what help is offered under whatever conditions we should choose to make."

"And whose assessment are we relying on as to what we face? A vampire and his consort? You know that the blood found at the scene was far less than should have been present? It would not be an unreasonable assumption that the vampire and his pet killed the girl themselves, else where did all that blood go?"

"Rant and rail against it all you want, but, unless you want those girls and your watchers picked off one by one, you will meet our perfectly reasonable requests. Good day, Quentin... Miss Chalmers."

Lydia waited until the heavy, polished wood door had closed behind Giles before she spoke.

"Should I begin the preparations, sir?"

"Do it." The watcher gave a sigh and when he looked up it was as if he had aged several years. "Rupert and I have had our differences over the years but he's no fool and he's an honourable man. He's right. If we let the girls be picked off one at a time, should any of them ever become the slayer, we will never regain their trust.

Get our man in The White House on the phone and then pass him over to me. I'll leave the other arrangements to you, my dear."








Buffy grabbed her jacket as the compact car pulled up outside. "You'll be here when I get back?"

"Guess that depends on the watcher..." Spike stood up from his seat next to Bee and let his gaze travel to the dining room where Wes sat cross-legged inside a circle of red sand. "Most likely, though."

"Take care." Buffy's hand reached up to stroke the vampire's cheek.

Spike gave a wicked grin. "You, too. Try not to give the drivin' instructor a heart attack."

"That is so not funny. He says I'm getting way better."

"I know you are." Spike's smile betrayed his pride. "I told you once you got over your nerves you'd be a natural. Now, bugger off. I'm payin' that guy by the hour whether you're drivin' the thing or not."

"Not even a kiss for luck?"

Spike's feet shifted closer and unconsciously Buffy held her breath, his lips inches from hers. "Since when did you need luck, kitten?" the vampire purred. "Not that I won't kiss you anyway, just because you're downright irresistible."

Bee looked up from her sketchbook to give the vamp a discouraging glance even as the door finally closed behind his fiancée. "You can't even tone it down for a couple of minutes to spare the poor woman whose every romantic involvement mutates into an asshole by the third date?"

Spike's grin showed a distinct lack of repentance. "I guess last night didn't go so well, then? We could always set you up with Rupert."

"Please! Do I look ready to raid the old folks' home? Not to mention the whole watcher/half-demon thing."

"Methinks the-."

"Shut up, blood-breath, and tell me if this is it." She passed her sketchbook over to Spike, who looked intently at the pencil drawings on the open page.

"That's the one."

"Okay, just point me in the direction of a scanner and a printer..."








Faith packed her few belongings with some remorse. It wasn't as if her memories of the mansion were particularly fond, but when she was there she could feel a connection to Angel. It was almost as if he were there helping her to do the right thing. Buffy probably wasn't ever going to forgive her. She was always going to be the bad slayer, always going to be judged wanting, looked down upon. Angel knew where she had been and he wanted her to make it. Maybe with someone to believe in her she just might and if she couldn't have the man himself then being somewhere that still had his touch was the next best thing.

For now, though, they were preparing to move into some very hostile territory.








Wes's eyes flicked open and he rose from his position on the floor. He strode into the living room, looking over the two remaining blondes and picking up a backpack that he had prepared earlier. "Are we ready to get this show on the road?"

"Bloody hell, watcher. It took way longer last time. I thought Buffy would be back before we headed out."

"Sorry to disappoint but, as we don't know how long I'll be able to maintain this for, I suggest we get a move on."

Spike picked up the pouch with the orbs and pushed them into his pocket, hating the fact that though the globes could do so much to keep Buffy safe, they couldn't risk keeping them with the council around. He picked up a couple of blankets and slipped three swords from Buffy's weapons chest in between their folds.

"Whose car are we taking?" Wes asked.

Spike gave a lopsided half smile as he passed the bundle he was carrying to the watcher. "You two can take whatever car you want. I'm going for one last daytime bike ride."

"In that case we better get a description of where the entrance to the cave system is before we head out." There followed what in effect was a game of twenty questions, since Wes couldn't actually hear the demon's replies, only make guesses from its lip movements, so that mostly Bee tried to frame questions requiring only yes or no answers. This went on for five minutes before Spike got bored and pulled a large scale map of the area out of one of the cabinets in the dining room. After that, it was a simple case of 'Left, left, left, stop. Up, stop.'

There was a clatter on the stairs as Spike picked up his sunglasses and Dawn and Tara stood in the hallway. "You weren't planning on going without saying goodbye were you?" the witch asked.

"An' have Buffy sayin' you two got a proper tarrah and she didn't?"

"Well, if sticking your tongue down her throat for ten minutes doesn't class as a proper goodbye, I hate to think what you're going to do with these two," Bee drawled sarcastically before turning on a smile for the girls. "When you finish packing, the sketch is... Well, it's in my sketchbook, which is around here somewhere, and I made copies but I..."

"Put them down somewhere?" Tara asked, familiar by now with Bee's absent mindedness. "We'll find them and if we get a chance we'll make a start on the research. And as to what we 're going to do with him ... I'm not settling for less than a hug."

As she stepped forward Spike's arms wrapped around her and held her close. "An' I can remember when she was a shy young thing," he teased.

"Yeah, well I was never shy around you," Dawn announced as she and the Wicca switched places.

"For cryin' out loud, ya daft bints, I'm comin' back, y' know."








Spike tried to memorise the feel of the sun's warmth on his cool flesh, the way its light reflected off the water, every last detail of the all too brief trip. Almost before it had begun he pulled in next to Bee's Sunbeam. With an occasional direction from their spirit guide they soon found the entrance to the cave. Spike stowed the blankets in an alcove off to one side, in case it was still light when they returned. Then, he passed out the swords, saving the one with the heaviest, most brutal blade for himself.

Wes pulled a medium sized Maglite from the inside pocket of his jacket, but Bee shook her head. "Save it in case we need it later." She turned to face away from the two men, her head bowed and her arms drawn in around her. Only when the change was complete did she face the men again.

Spike's jaw hung open as her radiance illuminated the area for several feet around her. "Knew you weren't entirely human, pet, but it never occurred for a second that you was one of them ."

"Get over it, curly. And I'm only half one of them. Now, pass the orbs over to Wes. Tara seemed to reckon that she got some sort of feel for what it was thinking when she carried them while the spell was in effect. Chances are he should get some sort of feel for what's the right way, or at least get an uncomfortable feeling if we go the wrong way or something."

Spike handed over the orbs and, as Wes seemed to get his bearings and set off with Bee by his side illuminating the way, the vampire followed on behind. "Hi-bloody-ho!" he muttered loudly as they set off downward into the dark.
 
Chapter 4.14
 

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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Any port in a storm is OK
You blow my mind with
All the things you say


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.14
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


"Spike?" Buffy dashed up the path and into the house, anxious to pass on the news that her instructor had pronounced her ready to take on her driving test. At the expression on Tara's face when the Wiccan emerged from the kitchen, she froze on the spot.

"He's already gone, hasn't he?"

Tara gave a solemn nod. "I guess because Wes was more familiar with the 'spell' this time 'round it didn't take him so long."

"Dawn?"

"Oz took her over in his van with the bigger bits and pieces. I said I would wait here until you got back and we'd take the rest of the stuff in the car."

Buffy's attention was suddenly fixed on a flattened patch on the carpet which was a few shades brighter than the surrounding pile. "She packed the TV?"

Tara gave a half-smile, "She said, if she didn't, Spike would do it when he got back... And to be honest, I figured there was more chance of keeping her where we can keep an eye on her with the TV there."

Buffy sighed deeply. "Guess so. Better go claim some territory before we end up sharing a broom closet with fifteen teenaged girls."








"Turok Han are nothing but a myth."

Giles resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, refusing to show any sign of weakness in front of the insolent young pup who confronted him. "In that case, I'm sure you won't mind being nominated as first in line to take one on, should one make an appearance. In the meantime, however, you and your little group of helpers will go through the volumes as the others unpack them and look for references to these mythical creatures so that, equipped with the requisite knowledge, the slayers can avenge your untimely death at the hands of something which doesn't exist."

"I- I-." The young man spluttered his righteous indignation, but Giles had already turned his attention to the next group of watchers.

The smile on the face of the young man who confronted him was filled with wry amusement. "I guess living in California hasn't improved your patience any... Uncle Giles?"

The appellation made Giles take a second look at the Puck-like countenance before him, suddenly equating the self-assured young man with a coltish teenager he hadn't seen in over a decade. "James?"

"One and only."

"R-right, well, no doubt we'll have a chance to catch up later-."

"But for now you've got a job for us..."

"Quite." Giles passed over the copies that Bee had made of the sketches she had done this morning and James kept one and passed the others around the group he seemed to head up. "We believe that this was the weapon used in last night's murder and the fact that it featured prominently in a slayer dream suggests that its use was more than simple happenstance."

James seemed to weigh Giles' words carefully, before commenting. "So this drawing is based on a dream? ...Drawn by someone other than the original dreamer?"

Giles nodded his confirmation.

The younger man turned to those around him. "Okay, you heard the man. Let's hit the books but bear in mind that there may be some level of inaccuracy in either how the dream has been remembered or in how the artist has interpreted the description. Any possible identifications, bring them to me or Mr Giles." As the man steered those under his command toward the growing piles of books, he further subdivided the research, setting some to try to identify what they could from the style of the weapon, trying to tie down its time and place of origin. Others, he set to investigate whether the pattern on the blade was simply that, or if some meaning could be interpreted from it and still others he instructed to find all they could about ritual bloodlettings.

When that group had dispersed, Giles was surprised to find himself face to face with Lydia Chalmers. "And what would you like me to look into?" she asked the older watcher.

"I rather expected that you would be tied up arranging other matters," Giles commented, somewhat flustered.

"I'm good at delegating and I made sure that those to whom I delegated were aware I'd be here if they had any questions."

"In that case, perhaps you can help me find the relevant crates for any information you have on The First."

The blonde shook her head regretfully. "I'm afraid the books on that subject were split over as many different crates as possible, in case of misadventure, but I can have the relevant volumes brought to you as they are found."

Giles sighed. "That would be most helpful."

The woman smiled in return. "Things will settle down once everyone works out where they fit in. In the meantime, I'll see if I can round up someone to make some tea and find enough biscuits for a library full of watchers."








Buffy couldn't say she was exactly impressed with the accommodations that she and Spike had been allocated. However, at least the council hadn't decided to simply add the Scoobies in with either the potentials, who were to share rows of bunk beds in the barracks that had once been a ballroom, or to the marginally more private classrooms that had once been bedrooms that the watchers were now sharing six or eight to a room. Instead, the Sunnydale residents had been allocated rooms under the eaves of the converted mansion in what she was sure would once have been referred to as the servants' quarters.

She and Spike had the room nearest the "back" stairs at one side, with Faith and Dawn sharing the opposite room on the other side of the narrow corridor that ran down the centre of the roof space. Dawn had allocated the room beside Spike and Buffy's to Xander and Anya and the one beside that to Wes. It was yet to be decided whether Marie and her extended family would be joining the others in their tactical consolidation. Bee and Tara were sandwiched between the slayer and the one-time Key on one side and Giles and Oz on the other. There was an empty room on either side and then the remainder of the roof space was one larger room where the TV had already been installed.

Dawn watched her sister's face as Buffy surveyed the tiny space, taking in the doubled over sheet that Dawn had attached to the ceiling joists with thumb tacks so that it diffused the light from the tiny window set flush with the roof tiles and the fact that Dawn had pushed the two low narrow cots side by side instead of one against each side wall. Even though the bottoms of the beds were against the joists that supported the roof, the door still hit the headboard of the one nearest the centre of the room before it was fully open so that they had needed to slide into the room sideways and close the door before they could walk around the beds, and then only barely, and beyond the first few feet into the room it was impossible for even Buffy to stand upright.

"I checked out the basement but there's this old coal boiler down there and I guess people would be coming in and out all the time and they're putting bunk beds in all the bigger rooms, even for the watchers, though I think Travers has a room to himself because he's sort of just put a cot in his office if you see what I mean, and I thought that you and Faith should be nearest the stairs in case of trouble and if Xander and Anya kept you awake with the loud, obnoxious sex then at least you could retaliate and vice versa and I put Bee and Tara together because they seem to get on and neither of them know Faith, not that I really want to share with Faith but if it gets too much I can always go visit you or Tara and I put Wes on his own in case Marie visited and the other rooms are kinda full of crap anyway but if Clem and everyone decide to fort up then we can shift it into the bit where the TV is and it's not like there's much in the way of sunlight so it's pretty okay for Spike-."

"Breathe, Dawnie. It'll do fine." Buffy slid the holdalls that she carried under the edge of the bunks.

"That's good because I think some of the watchers would have peed in their pants if they ended up bunking in with Spike."

Buffy couldn't help the smirk that briefly graced her lips, even though she was sure her mother would have disapproved of her sister's remark. "Come on. Let's go see how Faith is getting on with her 'Slayer Masterclass'... and then, I might just need to borrow your boyfriend for an hour or two."








"I don't suppose our friend here can tell us how much further it is in any sort of measurement that we might understand?" Spike asked as Wes chalked another arrow that pointed back the way they had come onto the tunnel wall.

Wes's voice had a slightly nervous tone as he answered the vampire. "I'm, em, fairly certain that it isn't much farther, actually."

"An' what makes you think that?" Spike asked irritably. "You didn't even wait for the great nightlight, here, to translate." Spike wasn't about to admit it, but the glow from Bee's body set off a headache similar to that which some people get from sitting around for too long in areas with fluorescent lighting. After four hours of spiralling downward, the vampire was almost remembering the chip fondly.

It seemed the tunnel must have widened out slightly, as the watcher moved to the right and Bee moved to the left, allowing the vampire to see more than Bee's rear view for the first time in the last ten minutes.

"They do." The watcher nodded toward the demon that pointed a trident at his, thankfully, invulnerable chest, even as its companion recovered from its surprise at seeing Bee, to go down on one knee by her feet, bowing its head before her mercury gaze.
 
Chapter 4.15
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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
They stand alone in the fallout rain
You're all hung up on little pains
Yea Yea (everyone's hung up)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.15
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


It was almost as if Quentin had been waiting for their return. His gaze trailed over the slayer, her sister and their dog with no little disdain before settling on the spiky haired youth with black nail polish who carried their bags.

"I see that a mere apocalypse is insufficient to curb your yen for retail therapy."

Buffy returned the council head's gaze with a saccharine smile. "But isn't that the best time to shop... when the world's going to be sucked into hell before you need to pay the credit card bills?" she commented disingenuously.

Quentin's only rebuttal was a brief snort. "Is this yet another of your entourage? He certainly has the look of one of your paramours... or he would if it weren't for the fact he's openly walking around in daylight."

Dawn scowled at the older man and linked an arm through Brandon's, impeded slightly by the bulky bags he carried. "I guess good taste just runs in the family."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she attempted to stare the watcher down. "I would say that I hate to be rude, but I think Spike's beginning to rub off on me, so how about you just get to the point instead?"

"Then, perhaps, if it won't prove too great a strain for your sister and her... young gentleman to take care of your shopping on their own, you would accompany me to my office?"

"I wouldn't care to go anywhere with you without knowing why I'm doing it."

"I simply need you to sign some paperwork to finalise some of the arrangements that your Mr Giles stipulated as the price of your co-operation in these matters." The watcher frowned as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "That and one other small matter."








Buffy looked at the cheque and its accompanying sheet of calculations in disbelief.

"I can assure you it's perfectly correct," the watcher insisted, not realising that her expression stemmed from the fact that Giles had neglected to mention the few little perks he had added onto the list of things Buffy had requested. "A salary, calculated at the same rate as a watcher in charge of a slayer, plus an additional clothing allowance to cover wear and tear, all backdated to the time you were called, minus some deductions for that period when you were retired from active duty."

"Why don't you just say what you mean? Dead is so much shorter."

The watcher continued on regardless as if Buffy hadn't spoken. "I know that taxes and other deductions whittle it down somewhat, but I assure you that it has all been fairly calculated. I simply need you to sign to say you have received the cheque."

"And Faith?"

"Faith's earnings, for the brief period where she wasn't actually incarcerated or attempting to help bring about an apocalypse, have been offset against the cost of certain services we are to provide on her behalf, though perhaps once this particular situation is resolved we may write off any remaining debt on her part."

"And what services would those be?"

"We have had to go to considerable effort on your colleague's behalf, to not only arrange her continued freedom, but to ensure that she need not go through a lengthy appeals process but instead be a free woman with almost immediate effect."

Buffy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Ya, right! So you can do the whole red tape thing, like when you threatened to have Giles deported, but the only way she'd walk straight away was if you got her a presidential pardon or something."

Quentin's eyes narrowed at her scathing tone. "That was the agreement that Mr Giles insisted upon. As a former employee, he, perhaps, is more aware of exactly what the council's capabilities are than a young girl who failed to even complete college."

Buffy scrawled a signature to say she had received the cheque and lifted it and the accompanying paperwork from the desk. Her tone was icy cold as she asked, "Are we done, yet?"

"Almost."

Quentin held open the door of his office for Buffy to go through and then pulled open the door opposite which turned out to be a small cupboard. As soon as the door opened a loud yowling struck up from a wriggling pillowcase on the floor. "I would be obliged if you would take this animal back to its owner and make sure that it does not return to the library."

Buffy unceremoniously pushed past the older man and undid the cord which held the top of the sack closed, freeing the Siamese. "His owner is elsewhere and, as far as I'm concerned, Rupert is one of the team. If he wants to be in your mouldy old library, he can go where he pleases. Get used to it. You're in my world now... and, okay... maybe I can't hit someone who's practically a senior citizen, but I'm sure if you upset Bee by abusing her cat again and I asked Giles really nicely he would do it for me."

Even as Buffy gave her opinion, the cat strolled back to sit outside the nearby library doors and, when one of the watchers pushed the door open, it slipped between his legs. Soon the haughty feline was strolling from table to table, checking what progress the various researchers had made in his absence. Then, he insisted on curling up in Giles' lap as the watcher read through his piles of ancient texts, occasionally kneading at the most uncomfortable areas possible. After all, it was Giles' decision to combine a visit to Dunkin' Donuts with a brisk walk to clear away the stuffy feeling from being in the library all morning, which had allowed Quentin's minions to imprison the cat ...and the watcher hadn't even sought him out on his return.








The fact that the confrontation wasn't entirely unexpected did little to make Spike feel more comfortable. The demons were pointing sharp, potentially lethal objects in the direction of at least one of his friends (and part of Spike's brain still stuttered in reluctance over his use of such a word in respect to a watcher, even a rebel one). He had more than a sneaking suspicion that if there were three sentries, rather than two, a trident would be pointed in his direction, too. Even though he knew the weapon couldn't harm Wes as long as he carried the orbs, the vampire's first instinct, his every instinct, was still telling him to fight first and worry about it later. The fact that one of the demons seemed intent on bowing down to possibly literally kiss the feet of Madame Glowy-Arse, who was largely responsible for the headache that was contributing to the vampire's less than pleasant mood, in no way improved matters.

Even as Bee opened her mouth to speak in a language that sounded like it belonged in a middle-eastern bazaar, but which matched no tongue of which Spike was aware, the vampire clenched and unclenched his fists, tightening his grip on the heavy sword he carried. The half demon had only spoken a handful of syllables when the demon facing Wesley lowered his weapon and briefly bowed his head in greeting. Bee, however, continued talking for some time.

When the demon that knelt before her finally got a chance to respond she seemed somewhat taken aback by his reply.

"What's up, ducks?" Spike asked.

"Em, well, nothing really..."

Spike rolled his eyes. "What did you tell him?"

"Not really him. More it. They have this whole asexual thing going. Just the usual formal greeting... blessings on its house... live a life of peace and harmony... many strong offspring... spiritual enlightenment."

"And it said?"

"It said verbal communication is unnecessary and inefficient and that The Nezla Khan had already informed it of our purpose. They request that we sheathe our weapons as best we can and follow them."

"Follow them where?" Wes asked, sounding more curious than anything else.

Bee's admirer spoke as it rose from its position on the floor. The men looked to Bee for a translation as the two Nezla demons moved off obviously expecting them to follow and making no move to protect their backs from the visitors.

"They're taking us to see their high priest."

"They understood what I said?" Wes asked.

This time the Nezla's reply was preceded by something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Bee's mouth formed into a perfect O as the demon's words sunk in.

"They understood what you thought," she told the watcher in an awed whisper.

"Wha'? They know what we're all thinking? Or just Percy, here, 'cause he's got the marbles?"

The demon's response brought laughter to Bee's lips, purer somehow in tone than any human laughter. "He says you have no need to guard your mind, Spike. The Nezla Khan has told them that the strength of your heart is such that on closer acquaintance it compensates for the occasional roughness of your thoughts."

"Hmmph. Very nice of him, I'm sure." Spike didn't sound entirely convinced as they followed the demons deeper into the cavern system.








Wesley's gaze travelled across to where Bee walked beside him and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he closed it again and kept on walking. One of the two Nezlas looked back toward the brunette and shook his head almost pityingly. After several single file bits of corridor Wes could no longer tell whether it was the demon who had threatened him or the one who had almost seemed to worship Bee. It was that look that finally prompted the watcher to speak.

"Is it normal for demons to fall down and worship at your feet?"

Bee seemed to consider this for a brief period. "It happens occasionally... with the more enlightened ones... Even with an odd human, now and again."

"And this is something to do with what Spike said when he saw you in demon form, perhaps?"

This prompted a snort of amusement from the vampire as he brought up the rear once more. "You might say that," he replied his voice rich with irony. "Kinda thought with that huge watcher brain of yours you'd have sussed all this out."

"Is it really that important?" Bee asked.

"Not if you don't wish to tell me." The watcher tried his best not to sound disappointed but Bee could tell his feelings were hurt by her reluctance to share.

Bee's mercury gaze met Spike's piercing blue and the vampire gave a resigned sigh.

"Okay," he started as he turned his gaze to the watcher. "Apart from our little firefly here, who else do you know as can do the whole Blackpool illuminations bit?"

"We-ell, there's Cordelia. Hers is a bit more golden whereas Bee's is more sort of silvery but-"

"Right, and the cheerleader can do this how?"

"Because she was made part demon, but I don't-."

"An' what other party tricks does step-grandmamma have up her sleeve? Forget the seer thing that predates the rest."

"Well, she did that sort of cleansing thing on Connor-."

"And?"

"She sort of hovered once?"

"Okay, so what do we call a glowy humanoid as can hover in mid-air?"

It seemed like Spike could hear the racing beat of the human's heart as he hesitated to state the conclusion he had inferred from Spike's hints. "A fairy?" The vampire's right hand reached up to cover his eyes but the watcher carried on somewhat uncertainly in any case as if he were more thinking out loud than anything else. "Except she doesn't have any wings but that could be because they're both partly human."

"Watcher, forget the bloody wings. I wouldn't be surprised if our little glowworm could grow herself a pair if she saw fit but that's beside the point. They're only for decoration anyway... Not all demonkind are from the hell-dimensions. Did it never occur to you that if the cheerleader was bein' set up to be home for a higher power that it might not really want to live inside some sort of hellspawn? ...Not that when it comes down to it there's all that much difference except that damn holy light of theirs."

"An angel?" Wes's eyes bulged as he looked at Bee. "You're an angel?"

"Half an angel," Bee insisted.

His eyes widened even further. "Cordy's an angel? Cordy? We are talking about the same person here, aren't we?"
 
Chapter 4.16
 

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Angels and demons and screaming saints
You're all normal and they're insane
They stand alone in the fallout rain
You're all hung up on little pains
Yea Yea (everyone's hung up)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.16
Thursday, June 13th, 2002


Faith wandered nonchalantly into the communal area of the roof space, her face flushed and her hair still damp from her recent shower, dressed only in a short robe that she had borrowed from Buffy. The robe didn't cover as much of Faith's rather more ample cleavage as it did of Buffy's. Brandon's wandering gaze earned him a swift elbow in the ribs from Dawn and a sultry smile from the brunette slayer before his eyes fixed firmly on the toecaps of his boots.

Buffy pointedly cleared her throat at the by-play before questioning her counterpart. "How did it go today?"

Faith shrugged. "The rugrats are nothing but a liability. Anything under thirteen I figured we might as well leave with the watchers. We'd have to be really desperate before we'd consider sending them into a fight. The rest I've split up into groups like we figured."

"How many of them are ready to go out on patrols?"

"That depends... Are you talking as ready as Xander and Willow back in the good old days or ready enough to have a hope in hell of getting out of there alive if they run into one of those Cro-Mag vamps of yours?"

Buffy gave a bitter smile. "Alive would be-." The blonde's words froze on her lips. Seconds stretched into minutes before her lips took on a warmer curve than before. "Looks like we've got first contact, guys, but so far no fight. Dawn, can you go and find Giles and the others? Tell them that they met up with a couple of sentries who seem to be taking them somewhere but that it faded out when Spike started to relax again."

Her younger sister scrambled up from her seat on a slightly dilapidated sofa, the tug on Brandon's hand making it plain that she had no plans to leave him unsupervised with a semi-naked Faith. Naturally, since Spike had managed to evade her, Rogue trotted along behind Dawn as the next best option. Buffy couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Quentin's face if he saw the dog following her sister into the library, but amusing as that might be she had no desire for a team of council operatives to follow their allies' trail in order to take back that which they had gone to considerable trouble to return to their rightful owners. "And, Dawn... Be discreet!"

"Yeah, right! And who's the one who's going to be using a cell phone?" Dawn retorted, gesturing in the direction of the device Buffy had taken from her pocket in preparation for passing on the news to Marie.








The tension in the air caused Dawn to sidle as quietly as possible over to the table Tara and Oz were sharing, with one hand clasped in Brandon's and the other firmly on Rogue's collar.

Giles' face took on an uncharacteristic sneer as he faced off against what was undoubtedly a senior watcher. If he'd been your average Joe Public, Dawn would have said he was going grey and had a beer gut. For some reason, this guy struck her rather as portly and distinguished with his neatly trimmed beard. No doubt he and Quentin were the best of chums. Dawn edged around as Giles' voice dropped to the low, controlled tone that even Buffy wasn't particularly fond of dealing with, ready to take position at his back should her support be required.

"I'm surprised you didn't do your homework better. Had you done so, you would realise that having withstood torture at the hands of one of the more notorious vampires known to the council, I would hardly fall in line for an overblown bully such as yourself."

"I had merely hoped that you possessed the civility and good breeding to treat those whose experience in these matters exceeds your own with a modicum of respect."

"Length of service does not necessarily equate directly with experience. You may have managed to make your slayer into a cowed automaton who followed the council's every wish, but that is most likely why she only lived four months after she was called. Wesley was fortunate that he got the chance to escape your clutches and become a man instead of the simpering imbecile into which your domineering ways moulded him."

The older man exhaled in a derisive snort. "Wesley's mother made him soft, not I, but discussing my son's many inadequacies now will only lead to having to repeat myself when and if he deigns to return."

Dawn's shocked gasp as she realised the identity of Giles' aggressor did nothing to halt Roger Wyndam-Pryce's vitriolic rant, though the disparaging glance he gave her and her friends as she and Brandon stepped up on Giles' right and Tara and Oz moved to stand on his left did allow him a second's pause. Rogue's growl was a steady rumble and Dawn was forced to hold tight on her collar for fear that, should she attack, the watcher would doubtless ensure she was destroyed.

"Nevertheless, Wesley has now rejoined the council, as have you, you would do well to remember. If you know where he is, it would behove you to tell me."

"Wesley works for the council on a part-time basis, as do I. Whatsoever we may choose to do in our spare time and whomever we may associate with, it is of no concern to either you or anyone else within the council."

"And yet it is written that no man may serve two masters. How can either of you serve the council and at the same time harbour those who are its enemy?"

"I cannot answer for Wesley but the money I am paid by the council buys only my services, not my soul. I follow the dictates of the council only so far as they do not conflict with those of my conscience. If this means that at some point in the future the council and I shall part paths again, it does not unduly distress me. I have long since learned that the council's way of doing things is far from the only way to get things done, even though its resources can prove useful from time to time."

"And your conscience fails to trouble you even though you seek to protect the very demons that ambushed one of the potentials you are purportedly protecting?"

"The demon, singular, of whom you speak, could, indeed, consider herself under my protection, such as it is, if she were to need it. However, it would appear that the account of the situation which you may have heard is somewhat divergent from the truth. Rather than being ambushed, the psychotic-in-training that you're trying to defend chose to make an unprovoked attack on an essentially harmless being, who was simply waiting for his friend to return from the ladies room at the local cinema, where, far from wreaking havoc or lying in wait, the couple had been doing nothing more morally reprehensible than watching Nicole Kidman prance around in something that purports to be a musical. The fact that, on her return, Clem's girlfriend was able to prevent the girl causing any damage in excess of a black eye, I consider a matter of extreme good fortune. I also consider her to be extremely forbearing in that she limited her retribution to ensuring that the hand which was raised against her loved one would not do so again any time soon. No doubt, the girl in question would not have been such a model of restraint had our friend, who was attacked, truly been on his own." Giles' emphasis on the word friend did not go unnoticed.

"So you make no attempt to hide the fact that you and Wesley are both consorting, not only with William the Bloody but with other demons, and that your relationships extend beyond professional expediency and are in fact personal?"

Giles squared his chin and looked the other watcher squarely in the eye, making no effort to hide his low opinion of the other man. "When demons live in peace with those around them, seeking little more than the chance to live quietly and protect their own... when they prove to be steadfast and true allies and help those I care for, at their own personal risk, then I find them deserving of my friendship and loyalty. That is more than can be said for most of the humans in this room who it seems, even in the council's time of direst need, are too caught up in prejudice and politics to see the situation in front of their eyes for what it really is. If you'll excuse me, my friends and I have more constructive things to do with our time."

Giles turned on his heel and, completely ignoring the other watcher, began to make his way around the various groups of researchers in the library to get updates on their progress. Wes's father was still standing in stunned silence at Giles' blatant disregard as Oz's nose twitched and a slow, lopsided smile formed on his face.

Dawn nudged the werewolf and whispered in his ear, wanting to know what had amused him so. Oz simply nodded toward the elder watcher's expensively tailored and now slightly speckled trouser leg. "I don't think the cat likes him any better than Giles does."








After leaving a brief, cryptic message for Marie with Lori, Buffy returned her attention to the other slayer. "So... how bad is it?"

Faith shrugged. "We've got girls who've never seen a day's training in their lives and one or two that were learning martial arts when they were still in diapers but they've never had to take on anyone that was actually trying to kill them. They know fancy names for all the moves but they think the bad guys are gonna walk up to them, bow and issue a formal challenge. I reckon we might have a dozen we can lick into good enough shape to patrol by the end of the week."

"It's a start."

"So, how are we gonna do this? One person teaching the same two groups all the time or rotate them round?"

"Rotate the groups, rotate the patrols but we each take overall responsibility for two of the groups. That way if they have a problem they know who to come to. Split the four best groups between the two of us. Make sure I get the one with Clem's little princess, otherwise she'll spend all her time complaining to you about me. Give Spike the two worst ones."

"Ain't that a little unfair to Debbie Harry?"

"Probably, but Spike's the only guy I know who can put the fear of hell into them until they can catch up but still be able to see if any of them are going to break. He'll get more of the weak ones through than either of us could."

"That's..." Faith seemed to pause, unsure how to express what she wanted to say. "The Buffy I used to know would have wanted to do it all herself. You must trust him a hell of a lot."

"Yeah..." Buffy's answer was little more than a whisper. "Yeah, I do. He's earned it."








Wesley could not have said what it was that made him follow their escorts' lead and kneel before the demon he assumed was their senior priest when they reached his chamber, nor if his motivation was the same as Spike's or Bee's. It could have been simple instinct or a sense of self-preservation. It could have simply been a sense of etiquette so finely tuned during his formative years that it was now almost second nature. Most likely, he suspected, it was the aura of sanctity that seemed to emanate from the demon, the feeling that here was a being worthy of the respect. Wes felt that if he were to meet the Dalai Lama, the renowned holy man's presence would be little different from that of the demon they currently faced with their heads bowed.

Unlike the others of his kind, he needed no translator but somehow conveyed his thoughts to the group fully formed without resorting to anything as crude as words or language. The three visitors rose as one at his silent bidding and it seemed that he offered each his personal thanks for the orbs' safe return. Wes tried not to notice as Spike's lips formed into a smile so serene it seemed alien on his pale visage and a few stray tears overflowed from his bright eyes. The vampire blocked Wes's view of Bee's face yet he knew that she could not fail to be equally overcome by the experience, just as he knew that none of them would ever ask or tell of the profundity of their encounter. It simply wouldn't be possible to adequately put it into words.








In an attic, miles away, a quiet tear fell onto the notebook where Buffy was drawing up schedules and lesson plans. Her communion with her mate, for once, wasn't a result of adrenaline-fuelled battle, but the gift of an improbably holy demon. It wasn't the only gift he gave them. He also gave them a promise.
 
Chapter 4.17
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

Angels and demons and screaming saints
You're all normal and they're insane
They stand alone in the fallout rain
You're all hung up on little pains
Yea Yea (everyone's hung up)


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.17
Friday, June 14th, 2002


"Who is it?" Buffy called out in a voice she hoped wasn't loud enough to wake Xander and Anya in the room next to hers. It had been a long time since she had answered a knock with a simple 'come in'. Her hair remained slightly damp from her post-patrol shower and she wore one of the black satin pyjama tops her fiancé had given her along with a pair of matching panties. It had been a couple of hours since her return and still there had been no further news from Spike and the others since early the previous evening.

"It's Lydia... Lydia Chalmers. Can I come in?" The watcher's voice was equally hushed.

Buffy gave a sigh, wondering what further surprises this day was going to bring. "Sure. Why not?" Buffy asked. "It's your place after all."

Buffy shuffled back on the cots until her back rested against the wall, her bare legs crossed in the lotus position, leaving the outside edge of the beds free for the watcher to sit on. "Help yourself to a seat. It's not all that comfortable, but it's all we've got." Buffy's gaze strayed between the lower lip which the other blonde seemed to only just prevent herself from chewing to the envelope in her hands, the name William etched in an anally miniaturised and unbelievably tidy script.

"Thank you. I'm sure it will be perfectly serviceable though I'm sorry we've been unable to offer you more luxurious accommodation."

Buffy shrugged. "Our bad. We pretty much invited ourselves, not the other way 'round. Anyway, how can I help?"

"More the reverse, actually... I thought you might have need of this." The watcher passed over the envelope, which turned out not to be sealed.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "May I?"

"I thought you might wish to check its contents before you passed it on, but for obvious reasons it needed to be addressed to William."

Buffy opened the single sheet of writing paper inside and read aloud. "Dear William, provided you mean no harm to those within its walls, you will always be welcome in my home. L. Chalmers." Buffy raised her eyes to meet those partially obscured behind the other woman's spectacles. "Thank you. It would have been rather awkward if that particular problem had presented itself in the middle of the night, though he never seemed to have a problem getting into the high school."

"Yes, well, given the other school's location, it did have a rather unfortunate motto, and we did deliberately arrange for myself and a couple of the teaching staff to take up residence on the property to make it more difficult for nocturnal callers to gain access. So far as I'm aware, it has yet to be put to the test but I thought it would be as well to err on the side of caution, just in case you and the others class as guests rather than residents."

"You've erred on the side of caution all 'round, it seems."

The watcher flushed slightly, her eyes dropping to the quilt that Buffy had brought from Revello Drive. "I don't know exactly what happened between Quentin and Robin Wood. I do know that it wouldn't be unreasonable for William to desire some sort of revenge, but the fact remains that Quentin is a good man."

Buffy's expression clearly betrayed her scepticism.

"I know he can seem ruthless and unbending. I know he can even at times seem inhuman, but he does what he does for the same reasons you perform your own duty, so that most of the world can live their lives as if demons don't exist."

"He treats people... slayers as if they're just pieces on a chess board."

"As must any general. This is a war... the longest war. I would never wish to stand in his shoes. I wouldn't want to be responsible for sending girls like those downstairs to almost certain death, but there must be people who can make those decisions."

The watcher removed her glasses, letting her gaze rest firmly on Buffy's hazel eyes before she continued. "William and Drusilla killed Quentin's grandfather before he was even born. His father disappeared, presumed killed, before he reached his teens. He had two sons both a few years older than me, both killed by vampires. If he's unable to see those qualities that mean William has been able to change, it's not so surprising. If he's retreated into a world where he has no wish to care for those he must sacrifice to protect the remainder of humanity, it doesn't make him an evil man or a bad one. It simply means he's a lonely one, whose life begins and ends with the duty he performs. To him William represented a threat, and he saw it as his responsibility to do something about that threat. For now, rather unwillingly, he must accept William as an ally. Perhaps this will force him to change his view. Perhaps when the situation with The First is resolved he'll try to arrange another way to have William killed. However, so long as the 'truce' Mr Giles negotiated remains in effect Quentin will not make a move against William and I cannot allow William to harm him."

Buffy was stunned by the other woman's words. "You love him?" she whispered incredulously.

"No," Lydia replied sadly as she rose and moved toward the door. "I admire him. I respect him. On occasion, though he would find such an idea abhorrent, I even pity him, but I think any part of his personality that might once have inspired love died long ago."

The slayer nodded slowly. "He's safe, until the 'truce' is ended, but if he makes any attempt to harm Spike, you would do well to warn him that there are more of us than he might think who care about the platinum butt pain... a lot more."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," the watcher whispered as she closed the room door behind her.








Dawn rolled her eyes and snuggled in further against Brandon's side. "He's fine, Buffy. You know that if he was in trouble you would know about it."

Buffy stopped her pacing momentarily. "But it's four in the morning... and the soccer starts in half an hour. They're already doing the pre-match stuff. He would have been here if he could."

"Wearing a hole in the floorboards isn't going to help, and Rogue's claws make irritating clicking noises when she follows you."

"But he hasn't had anything to eat or anything."

"He's a big, butch vampire... okay, a slightly taller than me, lean, tough vampire, but I don't think missing a couple of meals is going to hurt."

Buffy was just about to point out that Spike didn't need to be any leaner than he already was when Rogue took off down the stairs at full pelt. Just after that those with human hearing picked up the sounds of a couple of distant engines coming closer. Snatching the letter Lydia had given her earlier from the arm of one of the chairs, Buffy set off in pursuit of the canine, unmindful of her own bare feet and the fact that her pyjama top only covered her to mid-thigh.








Lights still burned in the library as Bee's car and Spike's motorcycle pulled up side by side in the gravelled area at the front of the school building. Before Spike could turn off the engine and put the motorbike on its stand, the main door opened and Rogue streaked across the intervening ground as if she hadn't seen the vampire in weeks, closely followed by an equally eager slayer. The vampire dismounted and let the dog's momentum bowl him over as she impacted, rolling around on the ground with her and ruffling her fur in welcome for a few seconds. When Buffy came to stand over them, he arched that deliciously scarred eyebrow. "Not going to join us, pet?"

"I'll save my rolling around for somewhere I won't get gravel rash. Now, get up off your butt and say hello like you're pleased to see me," Buffy teased.

The vamp gave a mock salute before flipping to his feet in one agile move that made Buffy's stomach do somersaults. The pair melded together as if they were magnets of opposing polarities. Even Rogue finally gave up on receiving any further petting as their lip-lock continued on with no sign of abating, deciding to accost Wes and Bee instead. The watcher scratched behind the dog's ears and waited until Buffy came up for air, her eyes glazed with passion and her pupils dilated. Then, he noisily cleared his throat. "Maybe you could show us where our rooms are before you get too carried away?"

"Huh? What?" Buffy muttered before she finally absorbed the question. "Back stairs off the kitchen at the far end, top floor. Bee's second on the right. You're third on the left. Brandon's watching the soccer in the main room straight ahead. If you want a shower, then the changing rooms are next to the gym." She nodded in the opposite direction from that she had indicated for the kitchens.

Wes and Bee both shook their heads. "More in need of some sleep than a shower," the kohl-eyed blonde admitted, but the couple were once more oblivious to anyone except each other.

Spike scooped Buffy into his arms, dawdling as he made his way toward the school's front doors to allow the watcher and his assistant to get ahead of them. Buffy's arms wrapped around his neck and she nibbled at his lower lip with her teeth, teasing at the cool flesh. "Missed you," she whispered into his mouth in a minty fresh breath.

"Show me where those showers are an' I'll make it up to you, pet," the vamp promised, but as he made to shoulder his way through the doors he came up against an unbreachable barrier. Before he could get into full stride with his litany of words beginning with the letter 'B' that would never be shown on Sesame Street, Buffy's thumb brushed over his cheekbone in a soothing gesture.

"S'okay." She opened out the now rather crushed envelope and showed him the note inside. The barrier gave way as if it had no more substance than wet tissue paper, and Spike staggered slightly as it ceased to support his weight.

Adjusting his grip once more, he rubbed his nose against Buffy's as he carried her toward the showers. "Who's my smart girl?" he asked, his voice rumbling in his throat.

"That would actually be the watcher, but if you want to say thank you, I can pass the message on."

"I'll work on it." The vampire's lips smashed into hers with a force that took her breath away, her lips opening eagerly to allow his tongue entrance, her own returning his every caress with equal fervour.

She struggled for air as he pushed his way through the door marked 'girls' changing rooms'. "What about the soccer?" she gasped.

"Screw the bloody football," Spike retorted.
 
Chapter 4.18
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting


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

SECTION 4 - ANGELS AND DEMONS

I'm sure you love someone
And someone loves you too


(The Tourists)




Chapter 4.18
Friday, June 14th, 2002


Wes and Bee were still making their way along the ground floor corridor that led to the kitchen when one of the library doors opened. Neither paid any particular attention until they recognised Giles' hushed tones.

"Wesley? Bee?"

The pair turned around, weariness etched into their features but nevertheless, a smile crept onto Wes's lips and finally reached his eyes when he noticed the tumbler of amber liquid in Giles' hand.

"I don't suppose there's more where that came from?" Wes asked.

"I think it could be arranged. James and I were just catching up a bit before we turn in... and celebrating a small breakthrough on the research. I take it your own endeavours were successfully resolved." The returning heroes noticed the young man at Giles' shoulder for the first time and Wes took his cue from the elder man's discretion.

"Matters have been brought to the desired conclusion, you could say."

The youngest of the watchers cleared his throat, and Bee's appraising gaze scanned him from head to toe. His hair was brown, but the sort of shade she suspected would take on a distinct coppery tinge before too long in the California sun. The locks were rumpled as if he had run anxious fingers through it over the course of long hours. Unsurprisingly, given the time, so late that it would soon be early, his eyes betrayed his tiredness but there was also a glint of good humour, and slight creases at the side of his mouth told of a face more used to smiles and laughter than frowns. The white shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone and his necktie loosened did little to hide his broad-shouldered physique. "I think, maybe, I should be going." While it was equally correct as the speech of the other two watchers, the younger man's voice had a slight lilt that Bee found endearing.

"Don't leave on our account." Bee nodded at the glass he had slid onto an adjacent table. "That would be a waste of good whisky."

"Right then..." Giles stepped away from the door, allowing Bee and Wes to follow him in and making introductions as he poured two more measures of single malt. "James, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Buffy's other watcher, and Bee, who is his business partner. They work as private investigators... with particular reference to cases that may involve the local demonic population. Bee, Wesley, this is James Urquhart. I suppose you could say that his father was my mentor during my early years as a watcher."

"You mentioned a breakthrough?" Wes enquired as he took a seat at the table the two men had obviously been sharing, nodding his acknowledgement of the introduction as he did so.

"Yes," Giles responded, eyes glittering with enthusiasm. "Actually, it was James who found it. Perhaps he should tell you."

"Assuming you don't want me to explode, either literally or figuratively, one of you should tell me," Bee hinted.

"Well, it's your drawings..." Giles began before nodding to the younger watcher who took up the tale.

"We thought at first the etchings on the blade were simply a design, possibly with some significance, like the naturalist elements of Celtic art, but I'm almost certain now that it's not simply a design, but that they're characters in an ancient demonic language..."

Bee picked up her original sketch, holding it at first so that the stylised bumblebee with which she signed her work and the date were at the bottom left of the page, but then as the young man continued to speak she held it first sideways and then upside down, her eyes flicking from one view of the blade to the other and back again.

"We think it's a language called-."

"Tawarick." Bee dashed the heel of her right hand against her forehead as she held the sketch in her left before raising her glass to take a swift sip.

"Ye-es," the young watcher looked at the woman before him in some surprise. "We didn't spot it at first because of how the words wind around the blade. If we'd only had one view we would never have been able to do it. How did you know? It's one of the more common demon languages, but it's still relatively rare for anyone outside the council to be aware of it, and this particular piece seems to be one of the earliest written versions available."

Giles gave the younger man a wry grin. "As you will probably learn, our Bee is a lady of many talents, few of which are ordinary."

"Well, as I was saying, it's a very old version of the language so it may take some time to translate it but at least we know what it is now," James elaborated, somewhat perplexed.

Giles and Wes, however, simply looked at the petite blonde with whom they shared a table. Bee might not have seen the significance of what she had drawn as she drew it, but her mind had been on other things. Both men were confident, once she recognised the language, that she would hold the key to its translation without the need for primers or grammatical texts.

"'Let the blood that I spill be consecrated to the oldest evil.' It's sort of convoluted and when I say 'I', I mean the knife... or the blood that the knife spills will be consecrated to The First."

"Lovely," Wes drawled. "And do we know if there is some sort of link between the knife and the 'oversized Alchemy trinket' as Spike calls it?"

"Not yet," Giles admitted, "but I'll try to focus some of the research teams in that direction tomorrow... check out the iconography from the communities where this form of Tawarick was in use and so on."

Wes stifled a yawn and Giles' eyes darted over to him. "I have some other news, as well, of a more personal nature. It appears that Quentin is not above using whatever means he can to lure those of us capable of rational, independent thought back into line with council policy. Your father is here - somewhere in the building. I wouldn't be surprised to find that he was camped out in your room, waiting for you to return. From the... conversation I had with him earlier it would appear that Quentin has filled him in on all our most grievous sins... from their point of view, at least. He knows about Marie, her existence if not her name, and he's heard his own twisted little version of what happened with Clem and how you tried to speak up on his behalf to Quentin."

Giles couldn't help the knot of sympathy that curled in his stomach at Wes's look of dismay. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm reliably informed that the other Rupert felt it imperative to announce to the world in the most pungent terms possible that he owned your father's trousers."

First Wes's face twisted into a smile and then a small chuckle escaped. "Amazingly enough, yes... yes, it does."








Spike carried Buffy through a short stretch of corridor before pushing open a second swing door that led to the changing rooms proper. On their left, was a bank of metal lockers while, to their right, was an area with benches and coat-hooks set out like the letter 'm' but rotated a quarter turn clockwise. Buffy squirmed in Spike's arms until he gradually lowered her feet to the ground, but the arm around her back refused to relinquish its hold and his lips continued to pay homage to the graceful column of Buffy's neck as her head arched back.

The slayer tugged at the edges of Spike's shirt, using it to draw him with her as she shuffled backwards until her heels brushed against the lockers. She moaned in impatience as Spike's lips brushed and nibbled from jaw line to barely exposed collarbone on her sensitive skin, everywhere except over his claim mark. She pushed up on her tiptoes and slipped her hands around Spike's waist and down. Her fingers pressed into firm, denim-bound buttocks as she ground her hips against him. If he could tease, so could she. She waited until the vampire groaned loudly before she pulled one hand away, reaching out for the combination padlock that secured the topmost locker at the end, where, several hours earlier, she had left her toiletries and a spare towel. Even if she could have focused her vision on the dial, she doubted that she would have remembered the combination. Spike dropped to his knees, the nails of her other hand raking his back through his shirt and T-shirt. Then, he began unbuttoning her oversized satin top one agonizingly deliberate button at a time, his lips worshipping at the narrow line of flesh he exposed down the centre of her body. The feeling of adoration was as real to her as the touch of his lips and her fingers clenched around the lock until it broke apart in her hand.

Finally, the last button was undone and cool fingers slipped under the waistband of her panties at the left and the right, sliding the slick fabric slowly down until she could step daintily out of them one tiny foot at a time. His mouth pressed cool kisses along her inner thigh to her knee and calf, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He cupped her foot as she raised it off the ground, teasing her ticklish instep until she gasped and then his eyes caught hers with a positively evil gleam as he closed those pouting lips over her big toe and sucked. Buffy arched back, rattling the lockers behind her as the sensation surged through her body in a rush of adrenaline-charged blood, setting off warm tingles in her stomach and a rush of dampness at the apex of her legs.

"Ohh god! Oh god!" she cried, the cabinets behind her shaking as they supported her trembling body. The purely physical effects of the vampire's touch roiled through Buffy's being, vying for supremacy with the emotions it engendered. Not least of these was an empathic satisfaction bordering on smugness. Her vampire was getting decidedly cocky about the effect he had on her.

Spike rose to his feet once more, barely letting his hands skim her flanks as he did so, his teasing touch making her squirm far more than a firmer hand would have done. As she began to recover her senses, her fingers tugged frantically at the hem of his t-shirt, trying to pull it free from the waist of his jeans, but the vampire stepped away with a gloating smile as Buffy held onto the lockers to stop her quivering knees from giving way. "What's the rush, kitten?" he almost whispered, his voice husky with desire. He waited until he was out of reach of her questing fingertips before he tantalisingly stripped his own clothes away.

First was the midnight blue shirt, which slipped gently from his arms to reveal corded muscles. Then as she watched, mesmerized by his pale, strong fingers, he opened his belt and the top two fastenings on his button-fly jeans, relieving the strain on the material just enough to let him ease loose the hem of his t-shirt and give her fleeting glimpses of flesh as he moved. The black cotton jersey glided over his head in slow motion to land on the bench beside him, exposing starkly defined abdominal muscles and a thin vertical line of dark hair that drew her focus once more to the open V at the waist of his jeans. As soon as Buffy realised she was staring, her eyes shifted nervously to Spike's face. The vampire's knowing expression held her gaze as he raised one eyebrow and ran the tip of his tongue over his upper teeth. The simple suggestion hit its mark every time and Buffy felt another rush of heat between her thighs.

Keeping his eyes on her face, he sat on the bench to untie the laces of his left boot and toe it off before dropping his sock inside it. Once he had repeated his actions to bare his right foot, he stood again.

His hands dropped once more to the front of his jeans and Buffy couldn't help the way her attention flicked up and down between there and his lust-darkened eyes as he swaggered a couple of paces forward. He spoke in a drawn out sultry drawl, undoing one button for each word until there were no more left. "Reckon... I... could... join... the Chippendales, pet?"

"Nugh!" Buffy knew that actual words existed. She just couldn't quite convince her mouth to make any as Spike turned so that he had to watch her over his shoulder, pushing the heavy denim over his perfect butt and down his legs until, at last, he was naked.

"Was that a 'no', love?" he asked as he straightened and turned back to face her. "Don't you think I'm good enough looking?" His bottom lip stuck out in a mock pout that he knew she would be unable to resist and he came back to her with that inimitable snake-hipped strut. His eyes met hers and then looked down between them while his hands eased the pyjama jacket from her shoulders and, without a backward glance, tossed it to hit the wall behind him and slide down until it pooled on the bench. "Or maybe you think the other ladies would think I was under endowed?" This last was asked with the wicked grin of a male more than secure in his own virility.

This time Buffy's answer came out almost as a growl. "Mine!" Dragging his head down until she could reach, she seared him with her lips on his before she ran the tip of her tongue along his jaw and down his neck, her teeth pressing hard against the flesh covering his collarbone but not quite breaking the surface. "Mine?" she repeated. The bond between them echoed with both their maelstrom emotions but she needed somehow to hear it in words.

"Yours... always yours... for eternity and a day ..." Spike's voice rose and his hips thrust against her, shaking the lockers once more as Buffy bit down hard. "My beautiful, possessive girl."

She didn't bother to reply in words. Instead, she let her lips work their way down to a flat, pink nipple, sucking briefly on the already erect bud before biting down on the raised nub at its centre. The vampire's animalistic roar echoed around the room and by the time his fiancée worked out what he had done from her semi-inverted position and her view of a spectacularly firm ass, she barely had time to grab the toiletries bag that sat just inside her now gaping locker.

More to excite her mate further than from any real desire to be set free, she wriggled and squirmed on Spike's shoulder as he carried her around the end of the row of lockers toward the shower area behind. "Put me down, you fiend! I am so going to make you pay."

Spike had no intention of releasing his captive and Buffy's cries of protest ended in a sharp gasp as the hand that had formerly been holding her bottom in place curled between her thighs, stroking the slick flesh that was hidden there. There were no shower cubicles, just one large slightly sunken tiled area with a long row of showerheads. The vampire turned on shower after shower, letting them heat up before he worked his way backward along the line to adjust the scalding water to a temperature that wouldn't burn his mate.

"Isn't one shower enough for you?" Buffy teased as he finally lowered her to the floor, the hot spray splashing over both their bodies. "Or is your ego so big it needs the other three?"

"You really think we're going to stay upright the whole time?" the demon countered.

Hazel eyes gleamed with amusement as she dropped her bag on the floor just beyond the sunken area and reached down to circle the base of his shaft with a tiny hand. "I'll be very disappointed if you don't."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a lady." Spike slipped a foot between Buffy's and swept her off-balance, twisting as they fell together so that his body cushioned her impact with the unforgiving tile. His scream as he realised that the slayer had far too much practice keeping hold of her stake was, however, quite a manly one. After all, vampires get off on certain types of pain.

The falling water cooled rapidly and the drops that splashed their skin as Buffy straddled his thighs were only a few degrees above normal human body temperature. Droplets pounded tiny hammer blows on their flesh until the nerve endings screamed at the lightest touch. Buffy lowered her head as Spike propped himself up on his elbows to watch her. Her lips placed tiny nibbling kisses along the ridge that ran up the broad shaft between whispered promises. "I think... maybe... I should... just... make sure... everything's still... in working order." Her grip on him as they fell had already pulled back his foreskin and as she finished speaking, her mouth closed over the sensitive glans and a swirl of her tongue swept away the tiny pearl of pre-cum that decorated the tip.

Spike's hand tenderly caressing her cheek and wiping her dampened tresses away from her face made her hesitate as she lowered her mouth to take him in deeper. "I'm supposed to be making it up to you for leaving you all alone, remember?" His gentle touch eased her back up. The water slicking their bodies made it simple for him to draw her up his body and roll her beneath him.

He slid into her with the grace and slow momentum of a huge ocean liner inexorably making its way down the slipway to its true home in the water. His lips claimed hers in butterfly caresses allowing her the necessary time to adjust to his presence inside her. Then, he pulled back, his eyes locking with hers as he propped himself on his elbows and withdrew from her warmth. Desire played its part in the sensations that swept through their mutual bond but that element was dwarfed by the devotion that Spike let his tempered movements convey. Matching him in every way, her hips lifting from the ground with each stroke, his mate allowed her love for him to present itself in its most sensitive form. Hours seemed to pass with them moving beneath the artificial downpour that framed their world until inevitably, linked as they were, body and mind, they shuddered together to their silent completion.
 
Chapter 5.01
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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

Sorry about the long break between updates. I'm going to try to make up for it by doing a nice big batch of chapters (which also means I'm going to be skipping the proof-reading, so apolopgies for any typos that got past me and my beta first time around).

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.01
Friday, June 14th, 2002


"Hello, father." Wesley's voice might have sounded cool to anyone less familiar with him but both Bee and the man sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a china teacup and reading the previous day's London Times, knew better.

In a grand gesture the broadsheet was lowered to rest on the stainless steel surface and the elder watcher peered at his timepiece. "Ah, Wesley, so good of you to finally grace us with your presence." He sniffed as if he could smell the whisky on Wes's breath even from six feet away. "I'd hate to interrupt your drinking."

"I-I'm sure if p-perhaps you had let me know in advance about your arrival, then I would have arranged to b-be here."

"Don't you think that if you expected me to let you know of my whereabouts, you should have let your mother and I know that you were no longer living in Los Angeles? Or perhaps that slipped your mind along with your manners?"

"Wh-wh-..." Before Wes could point out that his mother, at least, had always had his cell phone number, he found himself struggling to keep up with the next accusation of inadequacy. "Of course. Father, may I present Bianca Weston, my business partner?"

Bee calmly extended an exquisitely lacquered hand, playing Roger Wyndam-Pryce at his own game, her hazel eyes somehow seeming as chill as the mercury glare of her other countenance. "Mr Wyndam-Pryce."

"B-Bee has proven of invaluable help to me even in the short period since I returned to Sunnydale. She has a true gift for languages and an amazing facility for magical lore."

"Hmmph!" Roger took Bee's hand and shook it with rather more enthusiasm than Wes had really expected. "It's just as well Wesley has someone to keep him right. There was a famous sorcerer in England in the 1700s, Thaddeus Weston. I don't suppose that there's a family connection?"

"There's a few generations in between, but his brother Robert moved out to California and then somewhere down the line you get to me."

"That's quite a prestigious lineage for someone who finds herself working with Wesley," the elder Wyndam-Pryce offered.

Bee gave a thin-lipped smile, her eyes on Roger rather than Wesley. "Every family has their black sheep."

Roger gave a snort of amusement as if he had no inkling that Bee's jibe was aimed at him rather than his son. "That is a fact I find difficult to deny with the evidence so clearly before us, although I'm sure no one in your own family would feel that way about you."

"No, that's true. In my family a person's worth isn't seen as being dependent on them being a carbon copy of previous generations.

Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, it's been a very long day." Bee gave Wes's father a curt nod and, out of his line of sight, treated her partner to a broad smile and a wink before she made her way to the stairs in the back corner of the room.

The climb to the attic seemed like a marathon after their underground trek but at least the whisky dulled the pain of her aching muscles slightly, though it didn't help much when Rogue pushed her way past out of nowhere on the narrow stairs.

Drawn by the light at the far end of the corridor, Bee made her way to the room where Dawn and Brandon were curled on the sofa.

"How're we doing?" She nodded at the screen.

"Not good. You let in two goals in the first five minutes," Brandon explained. "Unless Korea beats Portugal, it looks like you're going out."

Dawn gave a snort and punched her boyfriend playfully in the arm. "Notice, since we're losing, Brand has suddenly decided that he's Irish rather than American, even though he's only been there for holidays."

"I'll have you know I was born in Dublin's fair city and hold dual nationality," the green-eyed youth proclaimed.

"What's happened to Buffy, anyway?" her sister asked. "I'm assuming Spike came back with you?"

Bee smiled. "I think he mentioned a shower."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "At least they're not getting down and dirty in the parking lot."

"Have you seen Rupert?" Bee asked.

"He was in your room, last I saw. Tara gave him his meals like you said and set up his tray."

Bee smiled her thanks. "Well, since we're doing so abysmally and Rupert's already taken care of, I'll head for bed."

The blonde slipped off her boots before tiptoeing back to the door where a sheet of Scooby Doo writing paper read 'Tara & Bee'. A sliver of reflected light cast a pale glow over Tara's bunk as she stood in the doorway getting her bearings. Rupert half-opened an ice-blue eye from where he lay on top of Tara's blankets, curled in the space between the witch's tummy and her thighs. He seemed to condemn his owner for her prolonged absence and made no effort to move. When Bee saw the slight dampness that remained on the other girl's cheeks, however, she found it hard to begrudge her a little bit of feline companionship. The Wiccan put on such a brave face it was hard to remember it was less than three weeks since Willow's death.








Wes's father waited until Bee's footsteps faded into the distance before he made any further comments. "I take it that she isn't the demon floozy I heard you've been tramping around with?"

"Wh-what?" For a few seconds anger stiffened Wes's resolve, lending him the strength he needed to stand up to his domineering father. "Marie is neither a demon nor a floozy and I would be obliged if you would keep any such opinions to yourself."

"There's no need to overreact, Wesley. Perhaps if you were to actually let your mother and I know about your lady friends before you move them into your house, then we wouldn't have to rely on second hand gossip to find out about them."

"Marie and I are not living together. N-not that there would be anything wrong with it i-if we were."

"Really? Then, if you're so sure this whole assignation is nothing to be ashamed of, why is it that my peers have found it necessary to tell me about it, whilst you prefer to keep us in the dark? Or perhaps you intended to confer our family name on some demon spawn and present it as a fait-accompli?"

Wes wilted under his father's probing gaze, suddenly too tired to argue or attempt to justify his actions. "No, father."

"You do realise that for six generations your family has been dedicated to the ideals of the watcher's council. I had been hoping that, your previous debacle not withstanding, you would make it seven. However, even you must realise that this relationship is completely unsuitable for a member of the council."

"If you say so, father." Before Wesley could even add that if that were the case he would willingly renounce any connection to The Council of Watchers, his father was plunging onward.

"I'm glad that's settled, then. I suppose at some point you were going to get around to asking after your mother."

"H-how is mother?"

"Sturdy as ever."

"Look, father, for those of us whose body clocks aren't on British Summer Time it's actually rather late and I'll have work to do later, so I'd really rather get some sleep."

"Interesting that you can make time to gallivant around with notorious vampires - I'm assuming that William the Bloody is the reason the slayer came flying through here in her underwear and has yet to return - until the early hours of the morning but you can't spare a few minutes to talk to your own father when he's flown through eight time zones to visit."

"Spike and I were not gallivanting..." Even to his own ears Wesley sounded beaten down.

"Then, perhaps you would care to tell me what exactly it is that you were doing whilst those watchers worthy of their salary were researching what The First is up to?"

"No, father, I wouldn't." Wes made his way to the foot of the stairs and paused before his weary footsteps scuffed their way upwards. "No doubt we'll continue this discussion in the morning. Goodnight."








Buffy stretched on tiptoe to lather her shampoo through Spike's white-blond curls, her breasts brushing against the firm musculature of his back.

"Did you know Giles was going to blackmail the council into paying up seven years worth of salary?"

Even with his back to her she knew that playful smirk was on his lips. "He might have mentioned it."

"And you never thought I might want to know?" She gripped a handful of the peroxided locks and tugged on them in a gentle reprimand.

"Thought if they came through it'd be the kind of surprise you could cope with... an' if they decided to keep bein' wankers there was no point you bein' disappointed."

"I think maybe, for that, I should just keep all the things I bought this morning."

The vampire turned to face her, his arms slipping around her waist as his forehead rested against hers, the suds from his hair starting to slide onto both their faces. "Has someone been getting me pressies?"

Buffy took a half-step back and raised a hand to her face, wiping the soap from her brow before it reached her eyes. "No, no pressies. Prizes."

A lascivious smile lit up Spike's face as he tilted his head back slightly to let the shampoo rinse away down his back, watching her under lowered eyelids. "Prizes for what?"

"You wish!" Buffy retorted. "Tomorrow morning, in the gym, an hour before we start with the potentials. I get into staking position, you lose. You get into position to drain me or break my neck, I lose."

"So..." The vampire's head tilted slightly to one side as his eyes met Buffy's in a teasing stare. "What do I get when I win?"

"Aside from an overgrown ego?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "If you win, there may be a leather duster involved and a hip flask, possibly a cell phone, some keys, a few other bits and pieces..."

"Sounds to me like you don't get as much out of the deal if I lose, as I do if I win."

"Well, that's true, but the way I look at it, you could have bought a new coat any time you wanted, but the old one meant something because you had to beat a slayer to get it. So, if you want this one, you have to go through me... and if you can't, then Brandon's going to be a very happy guy come his next birthday. He's more or less your size, which is why we dragged him with us. Have to say, he looks pretty darn hot in it. If I were a few years younger..."

Spike's low growl was barely audible over the susurration of the flowing water but Buffy knew it was all in jest, just as he knew that there was no one else she was interested in.

"...And I wasn't totally gone on some sexy hunk of undead Billy Idol wannabe... Actually, are you sure you're not Billy Idol? He did kinda disappear after the 80s? I only have your word for it that you're over a hundred. Maybe that's just vampire big-talk. Maybe you're really only fifteen. Maybe Drusilla turned you after a concert or something and that's why you've been in hiding, except-."

Spike's hair had long been soap-free and Buffy's chatter was simply too adorable. His lips claimed hers in mid babble.








It was quite some time later before Buffy claimed a new locker, pushing Spike's boots and dirty clothes inside and then perching her toiletry bag on top. She peeled the sticky label with the combination from the back of the padlock and tucked it underneath the lapel of her pyjama jacket. Even as she taunted Spike about how he could traumatise some poor kiddie wandering around in nothing but a towel, her eyes were drifting shut as if they were weighted with lead.

"Come on, pet." The vampire scooped her into his arms. "Time you got some sleep."

"I'm the slayer," she slurred. "I don't need no steenking sleep."

Spike smiled indulgently and kissed the tip of the slayer's nose. "Course not, love."

The library was dark as they went past but lights still burned in the kitchen. Buffy didn't even notice the watcher who was still sitting at the kitchen table, but Spike did. It wasn't so much a double-take that told him the identity of the old man as a double sniff. The vampire put a little extra swagger in his step. After all, if his towel fell down then he'd simply make an even bigger impression.

"Daddy Wyndam-Pryce, I do believe." Spike's cocky grin set the watcher's teeth quite on edge. "I would offer to shake hands, but they're kinda full right now." By now the vampire was already at the foot of the stairs, mounting them sideways to avoid bumping his precious cargo. "Don't wait breakfast for us," he called back down the stairwell as if he thought the watcher was on kitchen duty. "We're kinda shagged out."








"Look, kid, I don't know what the problem is." The dungareed, dreadlocked potential loomed over her much, much smaller Asian counterpart, the four year old having to be dragged in the direction of the girls' changing rooms. "I don't speak Chinese. All I know is that I was told to see that your ass went in the shower."

"It's okay. I'll see to her." Lydia crouched down so that she could speak to the tot eye to eye. Her camisole top and boxers exposed several feet of shapely if rather pale leg and her hair spilled in loose waves almost to her waist. Stroking the young girl's hair and soothing her gently until she could get her to say what was wrong, the watcher eventually replied in Cantonese. "No, honey, it's not haunted. There aren't any ghosts. You just heard some naughty, rude people trying to scare you..."
 
Chapter 5.02
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting


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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.02
Friday, June 14th, 2002


Brandon leant over to whisper as quietly as he could in Dawn's ear. "She's gonna let him win, right? I mean all that stuff... she bought it for him. She's hardly going to just give it all to someone else?"

Dawn's eyes flicked briefly from where her sister was doing stretches to warm up and Spike was stripping down to just his jeans to look at her boyfriend. "You wanna bet? If Spike thinks she's letting him win he won't touch that stuff with a twenty foot pole... and Buffy knows it. There's more chance that he'll throw it than she will."

"Huh?"

"Spike's... Spike. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's not exactly a fluffy puppy, but he won't go all out unless Buffy pushes him into it. He won't want to risk hurting her... even though he knows that she'll heal up quicker than he will... or, at least she used to heal up quicker than him, but then he started healing quicker and now I don't know... Anyway, he'll be looking to make one decisive move. Buffy'll pummel him into the ground if that's what she has to do to prove she's not taking it easy on him."

"So you think Buffy's going to win?"

"I'd say that depends more or less on one thing..."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's that?"

"That's easy," Tara responded from where she stood at Dawn's other side, her mouth curving into a mischievous, asymmetrical smile. "It's all down to how much Spike wants to win."








It seemed that word had somehow spread about the contest. At first there were just the extended Scoobies, or at least those who hadn't found other things to occupy their time. Bee and Wes were still in their respective beds, making up for their late night. Anya had already left for the magic shop. Xander was holding off as long as possible before heading for the high school construction site but would probably have to leave before the bout reached its climax. Oz had resisted the lure of the combat and headed straight for the library to pick up where he had left off on the previous day's research but the remaining occupants of the upper floor had all come to line the walls of the gym and watch the fight. Even Giles had chosen to leave instructions for the various research groups and come to watch, unable to resist the urge to coach his slayer as she fought.

Then, as Spike tilted his head first to one side and then the other until his neck cracked, James slipped into the room, followed a few seconds later by Lydia, Quentin and Roger Wyndam-Pryce. As the bout progressed potentials and watchers made their way quietly into the room in twos and threes and fours.








Spike raised an eyebrow as Buffy appeared to call a halt to her warm up. "Ready, pet?"

The slayer indicated the time on the clock that adorned the wall of the gym. "Still a couple of minutes to go," she teased as she closed the gap between them. She checked that the vampire's trim body shielded her from the view of any spectators, especially teenaged ones, her small hand reaching out to cup Spike's cheek and draw his lips down to hers. His arms slid around her waist, drawing her in so she was caught in a Spike-scented intoxication of spicy cologne, sex and cigarettes.

"Aren't you frightened I'll make an early start?" he asked as he tipped his head forward at the end of the kiss so that they rested forehead to forehead.

"Nope, 'cause I'd just disqualify you."

"An' who made you the referee?" Spike crooned in a voice smooth as satin. "Seems like you might not be exactly impartial."

Buffy's eyes moved to the clock behind his head once more before she stole another long-lasting kiss, pressing her whole body against his as she did so, even slipping one thigh between the vampire's and grinding her hipbone against him. "Like The Big Bad is going to play by the rules?" she asked as the clock's minute hand slipped the last ratchet to reach the vertical.

She tried to lodge her heel behind Spike's while he was distracted by her amorous endeavour, but whether he had been paying more attention to the subtle ticking of the clock than she was aware or whether he reacted to the switch in her mood as she stifled her own arousal and brought her slayer persona to the fore, he slipped deftly away from her.

"You're going to have to do better than that, love." The vampire moved easily backward toward the vaulting horse, beckoning his opponent forward, both hands raised, palms inwards, flexing his fingers in an age old gesture that meant 'Bring it on'.

Buffy's hand dipped into the back of her waistband... and came up empty.

"Looking for this?" The vampire pulled a heavy metal pin from behind his back, throwing it to the far end of the room, where it slid into a corner. "Shouldn't go getting all up close an' personal with the opposition."

It took no more than a fraction of a second for Buffy's eyes to scan the room, looking for an alternative weapon as she equally swiftly considered the various options. She had a feeling that Quentin would happily present her with a bill for any equipment she broke into kindling. Vaulting horses and balance beams, she suspected, were probably expensive.

Along one long wall were several large windows, interspersed with sets of double doors. All were currently shrouded by heavy drapes. Pull down, or simply open, enough curtains and the vampire would find his movements severely hampered. Part of her felt that this would be rather unfair, as in the normal run of things, the Gem of Amara aside, the slayer of slayers would not be hunting his prey in daylight. She hadn't allowed Spike the advantage of surprise and, with strength and speed already in her favour, it seemed unsportsmanlike to use a factor that would not be relevant had he chosen the time and place of their encounter.

On the opposite wall, much like in The Magic Box training room, was mounted an array of weapons. Many of them were of little more than nuisance value when fighting a vampire, throwing daggers and the like which could cause superficial wounds but were unlikely to incapacitate. Several swords and axes of various sizes and designs also graced the board, but should she misjudge the point when she needed to pull a beheading blow or should Spike step into the swing, Quentin might find it diverting but she would not. This left her with limited options, but it wasn't as if she was totally unprepared for this eventuality. It was Spike himself who had taught her that a slayer needs her weapon and Buffy had listened, though she wasn't averse to breaking necks when she ran out of other alternatives. One of the quivers on the board contained not wooden crossbow bolts, but metal ones. Like the pin the vampire had discarded, the bolts had been daubed with fluorescent paint to denote that for the purposes of their fight an injury from any of these items was to be regarded as fatal if it pierced the vampire's heart.

Buffy sprinted for the board, taking a slightly curved path to try to stay out of reach of the damnably attractive demon she had to fight, until she could reach her chosen weapon. Instead of coming towards her to cut her off as she had expected, Spike turned and, with no more than a couple of steps run up, leapt on top of the vaulting horse. The higher position meant he would be able to launch himself into a flying tackle that could take her down as soon as she tried to pass between the vaulting horse and the wall. However, by the time Buffy realised this, her forward momentum didn't really allow her to stop or change course. Instead, she threw herself into a pair of tightly curled forward rolls, one following straight after the other. She uncoiled, right next to the quiver of arrows she wanted, but it was as if a metal bar slammed into her stomach. As she fell backwards, she saw Spike spin to a stop, his right leg lowering from the horizontal to its normal position. 'Okay, no metal bar then, just firm, strong vampire leg muscle,' she thought before giving herself a mental shake to clear the 'bad' Spike images from her brain.

Flipping to her feet, she found that Spike had reached the quiver of crossbow bolts before her, launching them into the same corner of the room as the metal pin.

"How..." Buffy couldn't prevent the puzzlement she felt from showing even as she launched into a series of kicks and punches, all successfully evaded or blocked by her opponent.

The vampire grinned. "Smell that paint a mile off, love," he replied, launching his own counter offensive, which seemed to Buffy not so much designed to cause injury as to wear her down.

'Okay, two can play at that game,' Buffy decided.








The bout had taken on more of the appearance of a sparring match. At times, each fighter seemed to gain the ascendancy, but things in general were running more in Spike's favour than his fiancée's. It seemed as if Buffy was just a fraction slower in anticipating the vampire's moves whereas Spike seemed to know what Buffy was going to do almost as soon as she did.

"You're dropping your shoulder!" Giles coached from the sidelines.

Aside from an almost involuntary eye roll, Buffy ignored the watcher. 'You try keeping your shoulder up when you've been going toe-to-toe for an hour with an opponent that doesn't even get out of breath.'

As her fist struck out she felt it clasped in an iron grip. Spike pulled her off-balance and before she could right herself, he had stepped behind her, without releasing her hand, so that her arm was wrapped uselessly around her body. The familiar crunch of shifting bone sounded by her ear and two sharp canines barely grazed her neck. The fight was over.








"Okay, give!" Dawn insisted as she slid her tray onto the table and sat down opposite the blond vamp. Brandon slipped into the seat beside her.

"Wha', Nibblet?" Spike swung a leather-clad arm and the mug at the end of it toward the teen. "Don't think you really want to swap breakfasts."

"Gross! No-o-o! I mean tell me what was going on in that fight. Last time I saw you two sparring, it was a lot more even than that... Unless somebody wasn't really trying?" She gave her sister, who was just joining them, a pointed look.

"Heyyyy! I was trying!"

"Yeah, Bit, I'd have known if she wasn't really going for it."

Contrary to her previous protestations, Buffy seemed to take exception to Spike's confident assertion. "How do you know? Maybe I just didn't want to take all the stuff back?"

Spike smirked like a tomcat who not only got the cream but the tuna and unlimited access to a female in heat as well. "I know, love, because if you hadn't been thinking of it as a proper fight - at least after I took away your toy stake, you were - you wouldn't have been broadcasting all your moves to me as you thought them."

Buffy's jaw dropped a fraction of an inch.

"Remember what I told you about blocking you so that you didn't pick up on my fights when you weren't talking. All that practice came in handy."

"You cheater!" Buffy sputtered.

"What did you expect, pet? I am evil." With a grin, the blond tugged slightly at the cuff of his new leather duster so the sleeve sat just as he wanted it to. "It's all part of my sinister charm."

Buffy found herself unable to argue.
 
Chapter 5.03
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.03
Friday, June 14th, 2002


"How's the case going?" Wes asked, taking a long sip from the glass of red wine that he had ordered to accompany his pasta.

"The case is going fine," Marie responded with a tight little smile. "But that's not why you called, is it?"

The crystal peal of Wes's glass as his trembling hand replaced it upon their table seemed distressingly loud in the half empty restaurant. "No. No, it isn't, I'm afraid."

"So what exactly did your father have to say?"

"Bee?"

Marie gave a nonchalant shrug, tilted her head on one side and raised an eyebrow all at the same time in a combination of gestures that could have meant anything from, 'What do you think?' to 'Could be,' or even 'Well, it wasn't you, was it?'

Wes nervously swirled his wine as if he was savouring the bouquet, but when the liquid spilled over the edge of his glass to leave a carmine bloom on the white of the tablecloth, it was obvious his attention was elsewhere. Marie reached out and pressed her hand over his until the base of the glass rested squarely on the table. Her sad gaze travelled from the shaking hand she still held, up to meet Wes's eyes in a way that would have made him ashamed to do anything other than return her attention like for like.

"He-. Em-. He intimated that, in his opinion, it was inappropriate for a watcher to be involved with someone who had a half-demon child."

"And?" Wes found himself completely unable to judge Marie's reaction. Years of courtroom stand-offs schooled her features into an unreadable mask.

"And there was some sort of diatribe about the family name or some such."

Marie kept her voice decidedly neutral in tone. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'And what was your response to that?'."

"Em, well, I'm..."

"You agreed with him."

Wes hadn't even realised the warmth of Marie's hand until it was gone. "Well, yes, but not the way you mean." He rushed his words in an effort to explain. "I know that a sizeable proportion of the council would find our situation to be inappropriate, but they came to me and offered me the job, knowing that we were together and if there had been any mention of breaking off the relationship when they gave me that cheque, I would have ripped it into a dozen pieces. If I have to choose between you and the council, there really isn't any choice at all." Wes leaned across the table to gently lift Marie's fingertips from the table and this time she didn't move away.

"And if you have to choose between us and your family?" she asked in a soft voice that sounded almost timid.

Wes gave a small shrug. "My mother would never force me to make a choice like that. As for my father, I think my life might be greatly simplified if I were to sever my ties with him, but as much as I might think that, somehow, I've just never been able to make the break. After ten minutes with him, I lose track of which of my many shortcomings I'm meant to be apologising for. I can't guarantee that I'll not turn into a nervous wreck. I can't say that he won't twist my words until I'm ready to swear black is white, but what I can tell you is that, when all is said and done, my father's home is in England. Sooner or later he'll leave and when he does I'll be right here and, God willing, I'll be with you and Rosa. I just wanted to warn you there might be some rough sailing ahead."

"You think your father will make trouble for me? Querido, if he interferes with my family he'll find out the meaning of the word trouble."








Buffy looked up, yet again, from the book in which she was barely managing to pretend an interest. Every time the door of the library opened, she couldn't help but check whether it heralded her mate's return. Rotating the patrols sounded wonderful in theory, but when the rotation for the night meant that Faith and Spike were out and about while she was left to baby-sit Watcher Central, the practical side was infinitely less appealing. She was surprised to see Marie, in her post-work outfit of jeans, t-shirt and ponytail, slip through the library door. The brunette exchanged a few whispered words with Giles before he pointed her in the direction of the corner where both Wyndam Pryces were working.

Buffy lowered her head, reading the same paragraph for what she was sure was now the fifth time. This particular conflict wasn't slayer business. Of course, depending how things went she just might have to step in as Wes and Marie's friend, but for now she returned her attention, however briefly, to the text in front of her.

"I can't make any sense of this at all." She closed the book with a heavy thump.

Oz peered at the front cover and drew the book towards him. "That might be because I don't recall you taking German." He was about to swap it for one from his unread stack when Rupert nudged the topmost book from the central pile with his head so that it fell into the space Oz had made.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, kitty, I get the message. No rest for The Buffy."








"Really, Wesley, I'm sure you've forgotten half of what you learned at The Watcher's Academy."

"It's-. I just-."

"Never mind. I'll work from this one. Why don't you find something in English? That shouldn't be too taxing for you."

"Yes, fath... er." Wes stumbled over his reply as Marie came to stand in front of the desk he and his father shared, his embarrassment obvious.

Marie gave him a brief encouraging smile before the lines of her face hardened. "Mr Wyndam Pryce?"

"Yes?" The elder watcher looked up impatiently, scanning Marie from head to toe (or at least as far as his view was unimpeded by the desk) before dismissing her. "If you've come about one of the domestic positions I believe Miss Chalmers is dealing with the recruitment procedures."

"F-f-father-."

"Oh for heavens sake, boy, spit it out."

Marie refused to let the old man upset her. "I think Wes is trying to tell you that I have no need for any further employment. My position at the district attorney's office leaves me little enough time to spend with my daughter... or with your son."

"Aaaahhh." One word managed to convey a wealth of comprehension and not a little condescension. "Wesley failed to mention that you were Hispanic."

"I doubt that Wes considered it to be relevant, one way or the other."

"Under the circumstances... I suppose not," the old watcher crowed.

"And what circumstances would those be?"

"Father!"

"Querido?" Marie's eyes met her boyfriend's in an expression of sympathy. "Why don't you let your father explain what he means?" Her voice soothed Wes's frayed nerves like a potent balm, but if he had seen her at work in the courtroom, he might have realised that this was her at her most dangerous.

"I mean, of course, that my son's association with you is at an end. Wesley has returned to the watcher's council and as such he can no longer afford to maintain such an inappropriate relationship."

Marie held out her hand and Wes rose from his seat, walked around the table and took his place at her side. "Let us make ourselves clear. Our relationship will continue for as long as your son and I wish it to continue. Should you, or any other members of the council, try to pressure Wes into ending the relationship on the basis of either my heritage, or that of my daughter, you will find yourself contesting so many racism lawsuits you won't have time to deal with The First Evil, and when, at some future date, I bring my daughter with me to visit, should she be the victim of any abuse, verbal or otherwise, then I will happily arrange for restraining orders to be issued to the guilty parties."

Roger Wyndam Pryce rose from his seat, allowing him to stare down at Marie from his considerably greater height. "I doubt that any such measures would be necessary on our part. After all, the simple fact that there is no way that you could have been legally married to your child's father shows you to be an immoral who-."

Wes's fist smacked into his father's jaw, knocking his bridgework loose and sending it flying. In the hushed library, the sound brought all the 'Scoobies' to their feet ready to intervene if necessary.

"Father, I suspect that it's rather late for us to ever have anything resembling a civilised relationship and I cannot make you leave, as this is not my home, but I strongly suggest that you learn to treat all my associates, but especially Marie and Rosa with respect or-."

The strident sound of a vehicle horn ripped through the night. Beep, beeeep, beeeep... Beep... Beep, beep, beep.

The noise drew watchers and Scoobies alike to gather at the library windows. A sleek Japanese motorbike pulled a one-eighty in the gravel at the front of the building. Its rider was hidden by tight blue racing leathers and a helmet, but several people in the room recognised Ha Nath's outfit and motorcycle. Only two people recognised the lanky teenaged girl who was desperately holding on behind her.

Giles and Wes began to run toward the school's main door, but as Dawn and Brandon looked to follow suit Buffy laid a firm hand on each of their shoulders. "Where do you think you're going?"
 
Chapter 5.04
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.04
Friday, June 14th, 2002


Roger Wyndam Pryce picked up his dental piece from the highly polished floor of the library and reinserted it into his mouth. With his dignity restored he made to follow Giles and Wes, no doubt intending to take control of the situation outside. Instead he found his path blocked by a young man that up to that point had largely escaped his notice, other than to be disparagingly written off as one of the slayers' motley crew of undesirables. Somehow, standing face to face with the slayer's friend, his presence seemed to far outweigh his physical stature.

"My Morse code's a little rusty," Oz admitted, referring to the way Clem's girlfriend had sounded the horn on her motorcycle, "but it seemed to me like it was Wes the ladies asked for." Marie came to stand just behind the lycanthrope's right shoulder. Tara positioned herself at his left, her expression slightly nervous at standing up to an authority figure who surely reminded her all too well of her own father, but, nevertheless, resolute.

At the other end of the room, Dawn could be heard half pleading, half arguing with her sister before both the Summers girls and Brandon turned for the door.

"This is preposterous. I will not be dictated to by a bunch of children. As senior watcher here, if there is a situation it's my duty to oversee what is happening."

"It seems to me, in the absence of one of the senior council members, that the watchers assigned to the current slayer would claim that privilege... even if we were inclined to ignore your retired status," Marie informed him. "And since at least one of the ladies in question is personally acquainted with Wes and knows Mr Giles by reputation but has good reason not to trust the council in general, I think it might be better if we adhere to protocol. I also think, even from the little I've heard of how Buffy's friends have helped her in the past, that you would be more of a fool than I already take you for, if you dismiss them as mere children."

There was a muted roar as the motorcycle took off down the school's gravelled drive, only quieting slightly as Ha Nath reached the turning onto the street before she accelerated once more.

The watcher's eyes narrowed as he reassessed the Latina as an opponent, but for once he kept his silence.

"W-Wasn't there a t-translation you were working on?" Tara suggested, as she picked up an empty cup and its saucer from the table where the watcher had been seated. "I'll make some fresh tea." The Wiccan waited anxiously until Wyndam Pryce, finally admitting that whatever had happened, he was going to have to content himself with second hand reports, returned to his former seat before she turned to leave.








Buffy passed the mug of chocolaty goodness to the young girl. "There you go. Maybe you could tell us what happened now?"

The girl shifted forward in her seat on the attic's decrepit sofa between Dawn and Brandon, her elbows resting on her knees and the mug held in both hands. She looked apprehensively at the two watchers and the slayer, as if reluctant to begin.

"It's okay, Amanda. They're all friends. You can trust them." Dawn tried to settle the girl.

"It's just... so... well, weird."

Brandon treated the girl to a reassuring smile and slid an arm around her to gently rub her back, his eyes briefly meeting Dawn's to check that the gesture of friendship didn't violate the 'girlfriend code'. "From what I can tell, weird pretty much passes for normal in Sunnydale. Just start at the beginning."

"Oh, okay... People, well they kinda say that... well, you're into all this freaky stuff." Amanda nodded toward Buffy.

"Sometimes, people are right."

"Well, see... on Friday nights my Aunt Karen goes to this Tae Kwon Do class at the Y and well, I watch my little cousin Susie... So I was on my way home and I know I'm meant to stick to the main streets but it saves like ten minutes if you cut through the park and it was only just beginning to get dark and I was late... so..." Amanda took a sip from the mug in her hands. "I'm like cutting through the park, and you know how you start to like hear things but it's really just the wind and maybe you can see shapes in the shadows but there's not really anything there but you still kinda have to convince yourself that everything's okay?"

"Sure..." Brandon encouraged her to keep going. "Only this time there was something, wasn't there?"

"Lots of somethings... or someones... I'm not really sure. I mean they kinda looked like people... only without the hair and with the eyes... Their eyes were all kinda... messed up and they... I mean it sounds weird but they were all wearing these robes and they had these weird knives... so I was thinking that maybe they were like a cult or something..."

"Or something," Buffy answered, her voice thick with a mixture of resignation and sarcasm. She could see now where Amanda's tale was going. "Sorry. On with the story. It's just that we've run into these guys before."

When the girl looked like she might stall once more Dawn interceded. "Go on, Amanda. The more you can tell us, the better the chances we can figure out what's going on."

"Well, like these guys start sorta sneakin' up on all sides, and at first... I just, y'know... think that I'm imagining it, but then, well this one , he pulls his knife and you, like, know that the wind doesn't make that sort of noise and when I look around to see where the noise is coming from there's like two of them on the path behind me and by the time I look back there's one ahead of me as well, so I figure I gotta get out of there quick as I can, y'know?"

By now the group were beginning to get used to Amanda's style of description and they mostly answered with solemn nods that encouraged her to go on without interrupting her.

"So, anyway, I just take off. I mean, it's not totally dark, yet, and I figure those guys wouldn't see so well anyway and I know the park pretty well, so I reckoned if I headed south I'd come out on Hawthorn in a few minutes and I'd be able to flag someone down, maybe... or whatever, but then there's another one of these guys right in my face and he's lookin' to cut me up with that knife of his, so I just throw my book bag at him hard as I can an' that kinda takes him by surprise so then I'm past him and I just keep running till I reach the road, but I can hear them all coming behind me, like maybe half a dozen of them. An', y'know, you would think that someone would stop, but there's like all these cars driving past like they just don't want to know, so I start running up the middle of the road because by now they're starting to get pretty close. And then there was the motorcycle and it was kinda weird 'cause like nobody can really like do that stuff outside of films. I mean she's riding along and then she's got her feet up on the seat but the bike's still doing like seventy or something and she just kicks one of these guys and he goes flying like a rag doll... Well, I mean you would, wouldn't you, if someone kicked you doing that sort of speed? And then like I thought she was gone but she musta done a U-ey but because of that sort of dip in the road I couldn't see her, 'cause next thing I know she's coming back over the brow of the hill, but now she's got like some sort of sword in her hand and before they know what's happening she takes the head off two of 'em and there's like blood all over. An' then she pulls up next to me, an', well, I'm not too sure whether I'm more scared of her than I am of the guys in the robes, but I figure at least she hasn't tried to hurt me yet, so I like get on and I'm trying to tell her which way to go to take me home but she doesn't listen and she brings me here instead and then, like, Dawn's here and like Brandon, but I don't know him so well, 'cause like only the last couple of weeks in music, but isn't this meant to be some girls' boarding school, so like he shouldn't be here at all... And I really gotta call my mom and get her to pick me up... And what are you all doing here?"

Giles did his best to give the young girl a comforting smile. "That happens to be rather a long story. How about Buffy and I take you home and we can explain it all to your parents at the same time?"








"Willy said I didn't have to tell you guys nothin'."

"And the little weasel was right..." Spike calmly lit a cigarette as Faith pulled the barman's wrist until his hand lay flat on the counter. "...Just so long as you're not too worried about me an' the slayer systematically breakin' every bone in your body."

Faith used her other hand to lift up the barman's pinkie just enough for the strain on his muscles and tendons to be painful. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Heyyy!" the young demon protested. "I thought you were meant to be the good guys..."

Spike hawked up a gobbet of phlegm from his throat and spat it to land within inches of the bartender's splayed hand, treating Faith to a quirk of the eyebrow and a winning grin when she gave him a look of distaste. After all, it was her hands that were holding the demon's in place. "You're kinda behind the times, mate. See, this fight isn't about good and evil or any of that fairy tale crap. This is about survival an' there's two sides but mostly it comes down to 'us' an' 'them as get in our way'. That right, kewpie doll?"

Faith increased the pressure on the barman's finger as she replied. "I guess, but you talk too much, Billy. Let's just get on to the crunchy noises." There was a quiet pop as the demon's finger dislocated.

"Pegaral, you psycho bitch! Try the old vineyard. Used to be some vamps holed up in the cellar down there but none of them been in here in weeks-."

A rather tinny version of 'Whisky in the Jar' interrupted the bartender's exposition. Spike rolled his eyes before pulling his new cell phone from his pocket and wandering to a quiet corner of the rather emptier than usual bar to take the call. "What's up?... Hawthorn? We'll swing by that way on our way back. Can't exactly guarantee anything, mind... Tell your sis that Willy's new barman sends his love. An' get yourself to bed before I get in tonight. No sitting up all night watching football... I don't care if all the watchers are staying up. You want to watch the England match then you get to bed now an' I might wake you up when it's time. An' if that lad of yours is hangin' 'round he can take the spare bed in Percy's room. I don't want a repeat performance of this morning when we got in, the two of you curled up on that sofa like a pair of interlockin' pretzels... Yeah, alright... Same to you... No, I'm not sayin' it. Not here. You know it anyway... Bog off an' get some kip."

Spike swaggered back to where the dark slayer was now sipping at a glass of bourbon. She pushed another toward the vampire as he approached. "I miss anything?" the blond asked.

"Vamps ain't been seen for a couple of weeks, some guy no one knows drivin' their truck around and the vines nearest the winery don't seem to be thriving too well."

Spike knocked back his shot and tossed a twenty on the bar. "Now, see, wouldn't it just have been simpler to tell us what we wanted to know without all the theatrics?"

The demon slunk from his safe haven, as far away from the pair as the bar would allow, to grab the bill. As his good hand snatched out to reach for the money, Spike grabbed it and pulled the bartender close enough to land a resounding right jab on the demon's nose.

"...And then, you wouldn't have used a nasty name like that in front of the lady and I wouldn't have had to break your nose." Spike left the twenty on the bar and made for the door. "Come on, pet. We've got places to be an' I want to be back in time to watch the Krauts an' see if I can convince Glinda to put a hex on 'em or somethin'."
 
Chapter 5.05
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.05
Friday, June 14th, 2002


"Don't you want your salmon, Rupie-bear?" Bee stood at the library door rubbing her thumb against the first two fingers on her right hand to summon the feline. The cat, however, remained in its spot on the desk that Oz had only recently vacated for the night. "It's poached, just the way you like it... and with a teeny bit of butter melted on top."

The blonde gave a sigh and began to make her way over to the table. "What have you found, darling? Let mommy see." The demi-angel pulled the book nearest the cat toward her and scanned the open pages. Almost without being aware of her actions, she pulled out the chair that Buffy had abandoned at Amanda's dramatic arrival and lowered herself into it, only for the Siamese to leave the room. Perhaps it was time for dinner after all. It wasn't as if he hadn't earned it. Bee scooped the book up into her arms and followed behind the suddenly hungry cat, reading as she went.








"We need these." Bee slapped a floppy magnetic backed sheet of whiteboard down onto the table between Giles and James. The sheet had a prominent logo for a well known brand of cat food and had once had a drawing of a black and white cat at the top. Giles vaguely recognised it as having recently been attached to one of the fridges in the kitchen so that people could use it to make a note for whoever was doing the shopping if stocks of a particular item were running low. Bee had seen it and proclaimed the illustration to be an affront to every member of the feline race, impugning their dignity in an unforgivable manner. She had grudgingly agreed that until such time as a less offensive substitute could be found that cutting the picture from the top and consigning that part to the rubbish where it belonged would be an acceptable compromise.

It was, however, the comprehensive series of titles listed in slightly smudged black ink that drew both watchers' attention. As their eyes skimmed the list, each item it included (or those in languages that the watchers understood) seemed so obviously to be exactly the right reference with which to begin the search for information on the ceremonial knife, the goat-headed seal or The First, that they found it hard to believe they hadn't already tracked down the volumes. Then again, this was a list of a mere dozen books, from a library of tens of thousands, which was still in the process of being unpacked, not to mention the fact that Giles doubted that even the council had copies of all of them.

"Where did you get this list?" the elder watcher asked.

"From the bibliography of the other book."

"Which book?"

"Stayforth's Mythologies and Deities of the Lesser Demonic Races."

"And this is where?"

For a second, Bee looked puzzled and then she dashed off in the direction of the kitchen as fast as her high heels would allow. Both watchers abandoned their cafeteria-style dinners to follow.








"So this is where you're hiding? Here!" Faith dumped Amanda's bag of disappointingly mundane library books onto the desk that Giles and the blonde were sharing. Her eyes swept around the office without comment but she wasted no time dropping into the spacious leather sofa and swinging her legs up to rest along part of its length. "I think you can skip the testing on this one. You've definitely got a potential. No human without some sort of supernatural strength would carry 'round that weight in books for fun... well, unless she's a potential watcher.

And check out the sheet music. Seasons in the Sun?" Faith raised a quizzical eyebrow at the lack of cool. "So, what're you doing?" the slayer asked as she threw herself upright again and walked around the desk so she could see the computer screen that occupied both the researchers' attention.

"I'm searching the database of the books that were shipped from England, to see which of these we have and whether they've been unpacked yet. Mr Giles is hovering behind my shoulder like a technophobe because I lost him around the point where I said we could construct a query."

"I-I I say! I'm not a technophobe. I just prefer traditional methods."

"Despite the fact they're slower and less efficient? Even bearing in mind the fact that some of the volumes are in different languages, a simple search by author names will run far more quickly than you could currently search the shelves, never mind the lading notes for the boxes in the basement."

Faith smirked. "Well, when you find what you need I'm sure you'll pass on the Cliff notes. The kitchen is calling. I have the urge for a bacon sandwich or two."

"Spike did come back with you?"

"Well, we split up toward the end. He went to check out a lead while I played hide and seek in the park. Why d'you ask?"

"No reason really. No reason at all." Giles sounded almost embarrassed as he swiftly assured himself that his inquiry definitely did not stem from any form of concern for the vampire's wellbeing.








"But how long are you going to be?"

"Why not find yourself a tape measure and we can check that one out when I get back?"

"Spi-ike..."

The vampire considered. Even with his current plan to keep himself entertained he doubted he'd last too long before the boredom became unbearable. "Couple of hours... Three tops. Don't bother to wait up. Wes or Giles can disconnect the phone at your end when the match finishes."

"Wes might. Giles has been MIA since he went running off after Bee and that other watcher in the middle of dinner. You're sure you don't want me to come and join you?"

Spike gave a self-mocking snort of laughter. "If you came out here, my lush sweet peach, neither of us would end up watchin' the bald guys. Just prop up your phone next to the TV speaker so I can hear the commentary and get some rest."

Buffy hesitated briefly before whispering an almost inaudible, "Love you," into the receiver, and waited just long enough to catch a similar reply before she set her phone down next to the TV which was showing the warm up for the game that would decide whether Germany or Paraguay made it through to the quarter-finals of the soccer tournament.

Back at the vineyard Spike connected up the earpiece for his hands-free kit and set about finding a good location from which to keep an eye on the winery without being spotted himself.








"Don't worry about it, Roger. I'm sure one of our legal department can have the paperwork drawn up and ready for you by tomorrow lunchtime." The council head shook hands with the older man as he ushered him out of his office. "And, if you can't buy her off directly, then we'll simply do what we must to make her association with Wesley less appealing."

"That woman's far too sharp on her feet to be interested in a milk sop like Wesley for anything other than his money. She'll disappear quickly enough once she realises that she'll never get her hands on any of it."

"We'll get rid of the woman and her demon brat in no time... and once she's out of the way I'm sure we can find a nice English girl for him to meet. After all, these matters are best kept within the 'family', so to speak. Outsiders tend to have a problem with the watcher lifestyle," Quentin observed.

"Huntingdon has a daughter a few years younger than Wesley, or there's Harry's girl. Neither of them are exactly the sharpest tools in the box, but they're pretty enough to look at and they're good enough girls. Either one would give the boy more stability and at least the children would be brought up C of E." Wes's father discussed the young women who had travelled to America as little more than nannies for the youngest of the potentials as if they were brood mares.

"I'm sure we can do a little better than that. Young Wesley seems to have matured somewhat during his time in the colonies. I think it might take more than just a pretty face to hold his interest but let's not get ahead of ourselves..."






Saturday, June 15th, 2002



"Corner," Wes announced.

"Come on, Beckham..." Spike encouraged as the blond footballer lined up by the corner flag to take the kick.

"That's Mr Posh Spice, right?" Dawn asked.

"Yeah, Bit," Spike's reply was little more than a mumble as he watched the ball soar toward the box. "Ferdina-a-and! You beauty!" Spike leapt to his feet. "One-nil, one-nil, one-nil, one-nil," the vampire sang almost to the tune of the opening bars of Amazing Grace.

"There's another eighty five minutes to go, yet," Wes tried to remind his fellow countryman. "The game's not over by any means."

"Come off it, watcher! Their goalkeeper plays for Sunderland, for Christ sake. Man U strikers against a Sunderland goalie? And Owen."

The door to Spike and Buffy's room opened and a bed-headed Buffy came toddling out in her pyjamas. "Sleep isn't really an option at this point, is it?"








"Owen... Two-nil, two-nil, two-nil, two-nil! Three lions on our shirt, thirty years of hurt never stopped the dreaming!"

"Are you sure he's only had beer?" Dawn asked.

"I don't think you understand the importance of soccer to the English national psyche," Marie observed as Wes joined in with Spike's impromptu sing-along. The lawyer was impeccably dressed, ready to go straight to the office at the game's conclusion. Unlike Spike or Wes she had gone home and got a few hours sleep, getting back to the school just in time for the kick off.

"Then where's Giles?" Buffy asked.

"Giles used up all his soccer hooligan play passes when he went through his rebellious phase. Now he only gets excited over musty books," Dawn suggested. "He's probably in the library drooling over something right now."

"Well, since our little bumblebee hasn't made it upstairs either, I say good luck to him if he is," Spike interrupted his singing rather briefly to comment.








"It's coming home. It's coming, football's coming home. It's coming home..." Spike sang as the final whistle blew, the score line being three-nil in favour of the English team. The vampire caught his slayer's eye, the tip of his tongue running along the edge of his upper teeth.

Buffy flushed beneath his gaze, hating that her desire was so obvious. She set her attention on the floor, picking her way through the debris of empty beer cans that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. "I guess maybe I could fit in another hour or two before breakfast if you two are done serenading the rest of the building for the night."








Giles opened a weary eye, a stream of brilliant sunlight that broke through the narrow gap between the office curtains causing him to squint. The empty scotch bottle that sat on the desk seemed to accuse him as he stretched tired muscles. The movement brought a low moan of protest from the warm body that lay atop him on the leather couch. The watcher tilted his head downward almost afraid to confirm the identity of the woman with him.

A night spent working on the problem of finding Bee's list of books, first by locating those items in council possession and then speaking to his magic shop contacts while his companion used her own resources, had merged into an early morning of watching England's soccer triumph on a small TV tucked away in a corner of the office. Funnily enough, Giles found it difficult to remember much of the second half of the game. He wasn't entirely sure which of them had made the first move, but in a sense that was unimportant.

Long golden tresses draped both their bodies, nearly covering the red England shirt that his companion wore.

"'Morning," the blonde murmured, brushing a gentle kiss against his collarbone before she tilted her head back to look him in the eye.

"Good morning, Lydia... Or maybe that should be good afternoon."
 
Chapter 5.06
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.06
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


"Tell me that they've got their own TV and video in there," Xander begged Oz as he stumbled into the attic's main living area, his hair rumpled and a towelling robe over his black satin pyjamas.

"Nope. Why?" The werewolf continued tuning his acoustic guitar.

The brunette gave a heartfelt sigh. "Don't ask. Let's just say I was hoping I could convince Anya that they were watching porn films in there."

"Ah." The redhead made a chord and strummed over all six strings, evidently satisfied with the results since he began to absently finger a tune from the instrument.

"Little lady trying to make you keep up with that vampire stamina? Boy! Is she in for a disappointment!" Faith drawled as she too made her way into the room, looking far too alert for Xander's taste, her damp hair suggesting that she was recently returned from the shower, a large white envelope clutched in her hand.

"Heyyyy and what part of don't ask... Okay, yeah, laugh it up. At least she missed the last four hours what with going to work. So what's with the paperwork? You never struck me as the love letters type." Xander made a passing attempt to change the subject.

"Present from Quentin." Faith pulled an official looking document from the envelope. "Pretty, huh? President's signature and everything. Now all I need is his cheque book."

Oz stopped strumming to take the sheet of paper from her outstretched hand, scanning through the text that granted the slayer amnesty for her crimes. "Cool."

"Cool? This is better than cool! This is great-sex-on-a-rollercoaster wild... This is like being given my whole life back. Course if this little deal with The First goes pear-shaped that might only be a week or two, but hey..." The slayer shrugged, but her mood was obviously still buoyant.

Xander looked at the document over Oz's shoulder. "So that's it? You kill two guys, do a couple of years and then walk away with a presidential pat on the back, all forgotten and forgiven?"

Faith's eyes clouded over and then hardened before she met the carpenter's glare. "It's not forgotten. It'll never be forgotten, not by me and sure as hell not by you an' the rest of Snow White's dwarves, but I've spent as long as I need to contemplating my navel. Another couple of decades in the can isn't going to change how I feel about what happened, so, the way I see it, I'm going to put more on the positive side of the scales out here kicking some butt than I will feeling sorry for myself. You got a problem with that, then I suggest you take it up with good old George W."

Xander let his gaze drop to the floor. "No, I guess I haven't got a problem."

Oz picked up the TV remote, flicking through a couple of channels before he paused. "Wacky Races?"

Faith's smile brightened and she flung herself into one of the vacant armchairs. "Sure."

"I think there might be some popcorn left from last night, if anybody wants some," Xander offered, heading for the microwave that had originally come from Spike's crypt.








"You three should go and get some proper sleep," Tara suggested kindly as she passed mugs of coffee to Bee and James and placed a saucer of milk on the table for their feline companion.

"I've slept," Bee argued.

"Passing out in a wooden chair with your head on a book is not sleep. It's exhaustion... and no wonder, after moving round all those boxes of books in the basement to get at the ones you wanted."

"But the answer could be right here in one of these books," James protested.

"And if it is, you'll likely be so tired you miss it or fumble the translation," the Wiccan pointed out reasonably. "I can make a start on any that are in English or even have a reasonable try at something in Latin. Wes'll be here as soon as he has a shower, at least until Marie finishes at the office. He might only have had an hour or two but at least he went to bed. I'm sure Oz would help and probably Xander if you asked. Dawn would jump at the chance and she would probably drag Brandon in as well."

"Slight problem," Bee argued. "Only one of these books is in English. There were a couple of others on the list but the council didn't have copies. Giles and Lydia were making some calls last night to see if they could scare them up."

"See, even Giles went to bed. If it was urgent Giles would have been right here reading."

"Actually," Wes interrupted from the doorway, sounding rather shamefaced. "Giles didn't go to bed last night at all. We-. Ehm, well, we rather assumed that he was with Bee... unless he came upstairs after the football finished."

"Oh crap!" The words came from Bee's mouth but they rather effectively mirrored the thoughts of the whole group. After all, with the exception of a slayer, what better prize could The First claim than her beloved watcher? Coffee and books were forgotten in an instant as every person in the room headed toward the attic, hoping against hope that Giles would be in his room. Only Rupert affected an air of unconcern, sniffing at Bee's coffee mug as if considering a caffeine boost before strolling over to his saucer of milk and lapping delicately at its surface.








The room was a wreck. The beds, somehow, had ended up one upside down on top of the other pushed against one of the side walls. The holdalls that had been tidily stored away under them had ended up pushed roughly under the angle of the roof by arms, legs or other body parts, one of the bags tipping on its side as it had been moved and leaving a trail of Spike's washing in its wake. The comforter took up most of the rest of the floor and the once bare light bulb had acquired a shade that bore more than a passing resemblance to Buffy's pyjama top.

Spike pulled Buffy onto the centre of the quilt so that he could wrap its edge over her as her sweat-soaked body began to cool once more. He curled against her back, propping himself on one elbow to better watch her face, while under the quilt his free hand roamed up and down her side.

Buffy squirmed just that little bit closer, her eyes widening in mock surprise at the firmness of the flesh which rubbed against her behind as she did so. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, her voice tired but teasing.

"Marry me and keep me as a trophy husband." Unable to resist, Spike ducked his head so that he could breathe gentle kisses along the line of his lover's shoulder, his tongue snaking out to savour the salt taste of the perspiration that gathered by her collarbone.

As his lips moved to the juncture of her neck and shoulder Buffy tried to force herself to pull away slightly before the vampire could wreak more havoc by stimulating her claim mark, but as if he knew what she was thinking, Spike's lips pressed over the mark in an almost chaste kiss. "Mine," he whispered the tender acknowledgement of belonging.

Buffy nuzzled against his cheek as she answered him. "Yours... always." As she began to turn in his arms to reciprocate his caress, the vampire stilled, suddenly alert.

"Best cover up, moonbeam. That many pairs of runnin' feet has to mean trouble." Before Buffy could absorb the sudden change of pace, Spike had gained his feet and taken Buffy's robe from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. He passed it to her before grabbing the nearest pair of black jeans from the mess on the floor.








By the time Spike opened his and Buffy's bedroom door, lounging against the frame until Buffy joined him, in order to curtail her friends' view of the room behind them, Wes had already established that the other watcher had not returned to his room.

"So who actually saw him last?" Wes asked.

Faith shrugged. "He was with Watcher Wonder Woman when I got back from patrol. Something about tracking down some books. That's the last I saw of him."

"He came down to the basement at around one to give us the list of which crates contained the books we were looking for. He said he was going back to Lydia's office after that to ring 'round various book dealers and such to see whether he could locate the missing volumes," James volunteered.

"We didn't see him after that," Bee admitted. "We assumed that by the time we finished unpacking he would have gone to bed."

"Not if he called himself a red blooded Englishman, he wouldn't. He'd have to have a damn good reason to miss the match."

Bee lifted an eyebrow in James' direction.

"I'm Scottish. We didn't actually qualify," he admitted slightly sheepishly.

"Okay, when you finished in the basement did you see any signs of a struggle when you left?" Buffy asked.

"I can't say that I did, but then we were carrying the books and there weren't all that many lights on," James qualified his denial.

"Has anyone actually seen our delightful headmistress this morning?" Spike asked.

Everyone shook their heads or looked blank.

"Right then, option the first, the newest Big Bad's got both of 'em. Option the second, Travers is playin' some sort of silly buggers double-cross to try an' keep you ladies from runnin' the show. You do what he says or he pulls Rupert's bits off with rusty pliers or some such or option the third..." Spike gave a soft snort of disbelief. "He's gettin' his end away with Miss Prim an' Proper."

"Whatever," Buffy interjected. "It sounds like her office is a good place to start... but first-."

"You really really need to go pee," Spike finished for her in his best 'Buffy' voice.








Giles couldn't help wishing that Lydia had slept just a bit longer, preferably long enough for a clean getaway. He wasn't gullible enough to believe that women twenty years younger than him were just going to throw themselves at him. It wasn't as if they had any common ground between them, not in any real sense. She was Travers' protégée. At some point down the line Quentin was going to use this against him, he was sure, and if he was fool enough to allow it to carry on the end result would just be more catastrophic... Not that-. 'Control yourself, man. It wasn't that good... Okay, yes it was... but that was the point. Travers probably sent her to study at some geisha school or something. Get a hold of yourself and get out of here before you end up like Xander, being led round by your blasted prick for the rest of your life.'

He cleared his throat in preparation for politely asking her to move so that he could get dressed, but when she looked into his eyes it was as if she already knew what came next.

"Ohh!"

'Damn, she is good. That looked like real confusion and embarrassment there.'

"You want to go, don't you?"

'That vulnerable look really might have worked if I hadn't seen her whole Burmese burning eyeballs statue act... Besides it's probably just because she can't focus properly without her glasses... At least she got rid of those damn awful black things.'

As she scrambled backward to get out of his way, Giles became aware of several things at once. The first was his total lack of clothing. Second was that while his brain was back-pedalling like mad to get him out of there, certain parts of his anatomy weren't necessarily in agreement. The third thing was the frown of what looked like acute pain that crossed Lydia's face when she moved and the fourth and possibly most disturbing was the babble of voices just outside the door.

When the blonde collapsed to her hands and knees and grabbed for the wastepaper basket, her bare behind peeking provocatively from below the hem of her football shirt, he just couldn't help himself. He simply couldn't walk away from a woman being ill like that. His hands automatically stroked the long hair away from her face as her stomach wretched and heaved, bringing up bile and little else, his voice providing soothing whispers.

He was barely even aware of the crunch of metal as Buffy twisted the lock to breaking point or the press of people who practically fell through the doorway as she pushed it open.

"Oh-oh!" Buffy covered her eyes and turned to leave. "Option the third."

Spike, having delayed his entry long enough to check that he wasn't going to be scorched by a stray sunbeam, leant against the doorframe with a smirk. "So, does every woman that sees you starkers puke her guts up the morning after or is this a special case?" he drawled.








The duty security guard knocked on the door to Marie's office. "Your eleven thirty appointment is here." The lawyer quickly closed all the files she had been working on and slid them into her desk drawer.

"Thanks, Richard." Her appreciative smile faded when she realised that the man accompanying the part-time body builder was not who she expected.

"I'm afraid there has been some kind of mistake. Mr Wyndam Pryce doesn't have an appointment. I'm sorry but I'm expecting someone else. I think it would be better if he left."

The guard looked momentarily confused and Roger quickly butted in. "This will only take a few moments and I'm afraid the gentleman whose deposition you were due to take became ill. It was all rather sudden."

Marie's mouth set into a grim line. "It's okay, Richard. I'll speak to him. Let's say I'm starting my coffee break now. If Mr Wyndam Pryce hasn't left by eleven forty five, perhaps you could come and escort him out."








"It's all very simple. You sign here and now to say that you will refrain from seeing my son again and the money is yours. You know the sort of trouble that is building here. I'm offering you enough to take your daughter and the rest of your family anywhere you want within reason. Enough to allow you time to pick and choose where you want to continue your career.

The only condition is that once I leave this office the offer is null and void."

"And if I don't sign?"

"Should you refuse to sign you take the chance that Wesley might be more amenable to persuasion. His mother and I don't really use the town house any more, except for theatre trips and such. It may be time to pass it on to Wesley and if that is insufficient incentive then it's worth bearing in mind that at the moment Wesley stands to inherit a considerable sum when I die. His cousin, however, may turn out to be a better candidate for carrying on the Wyndam Pryce name. His wife is the daughter of one of the most successful watchers of the twentieth century.

Really, can you afford to take chances with your daughter's wellbeing? This is the battle the council has dreaded since its inception. Do you honestly want her in the middle of all that?

This thing with Wesley is all very new... Is it worth taking risks with your daughter's safety? More to the point, will Wesley think it's worth that much? Will he walk away from his birthright on the off chance that this thing between you might turn out to be more than a fling? Or deep down will he be glad that he doesn't have to bring up something else's brat?"

Marie picked up a pen and with a determined glare she scrawled along the dotted line.

A/N Thanks to ilpopi for suggesting certain things in his not so recent review
 
Chapter 5.07
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.07
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


A shocked gasp was enough to rapidly curtail Spike's gloating, his movements so fast as to be almost undetectable. One second he lounged in the room's doorway, the next he stood behind the slayer's sister, one hand covering her not so innocent eyes as he turned her around and marched her from the room. "I don't think you're precocious enough for that part of your education, Dawn."

"But lots-." The teenager started to protest before the warning inherent in the fact that Spike had, for once, used her given name percolated through into her consciousness.

"But nothing. You aren't going to win this argument. You know, I know and lover boy there..." Spike nodded toward Brandon, who by default had been left to grab Rogue's collar before the dog could try to investigate the bin into which Lydia was currently being sick. "...Had better bloody know that that was the last you're goin' to see of any bugger's dick until you're in college at the very earliest, so shut up, stop whining and go see if there's anything useful you can be doin'."

The vampire's voice faded as he marched the young girl along the corridor and Wes cleared his throat. "I think, now that we've ascertained that Giles and Lydia are safe, that it's time we gave them both some privacy."

"And, however belated that sentiment might be, I'm sure we both congratulate you on it." Giles' tone betrayed his impatience with the crowd of spectators, but he didn't bother to move from where he knelt on the floor with one arm around the female watcher's back and his other hand smoothing her hair away from her face. He ignored the shuffle of slightly abashed feet and waited until the door clicked shut once more before he so much as cast a glance over his shoulder to check that he and Lydia were alone.








It took some time for the blonde watcher's stomach to finally still enough that Giles felt safe to settle her once more on the sofa, finding a couple of blankets and tucking them around her before he combed all four corners of the room to find his clothes and get dressed.

He crouched down by Lydia's head and his hand tucked a corn gold lock behind her ear. "I feel that I owe you an apology."

Tired but defiant grey eyes looked into Giles' own. "I may be younger than you but I am a consenting adult, Giles. I wasn't exactly sober but then neither were you. Obviously we made a mistake, but to suggest that our responsibility is anything other than equally shared would be patronising in the extreme."

"That wasn't the apology to which I was referring." Giles did his best to sound soothing and sincere and his best was far better than he would have given himself credit for. "I'm- Well, I'm afraid that I allowed an element of paranoia to dictate my actions when I first woke up this morning. After my boorishness I would quite understand if-." The watcher rose to his feet, one hand reaching fruitlessly for the glasses that, due to a vestige of male vanity, he had failed to replace as yet, and then running through his greying hair in a gesture of frustration as he began to pace to and fro in front of the sofa.

"What I'm trying to say is that I made somewhat of an ass of myself earlier. If, however, you might be prepared to overlook that and if you feel well enough later, perhaps you might accompany me for dinner?"

Despite Giles' recent solicitousness, Lydia felt that she had good reason to be sceptical. Nevertheless, she found it a strain to keep a note of hope from her voice. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Perhaps..." Giles hastened to explain. "I don't know if it would really be safe for us to go out alone after dark and if you're still feeling fragile then, in that case, it might be easier to order in but we could probably manage some candlelight if you wanted and possibly even some privacy if I haven't...

We-. Ehm, well, we might have skipped a few of the steps in a normal courtship but it seems to me that it might be worth taking the time to get to know each other a little better before we decide whether it was a mistake. It's possible that on closer acquaintance you'll find me a crashing bore-."

"Before I answer, can I ask what brought about your change of mind? Until we were interrupted you seemed to be in rather a hurry to leave."

"I'm afraid that my reasoning doesn't make a great deal of sense."

"Try me."

"It did seem rather too good to be true that a gi- woman as young and attractive as yourself would be genuinely interested in a man my age, especially in light of your allegiance to Quentin. Then, I found myself thinking that no one would make themselves so ill simply to further some political agenda."

"You think a woman would be more likely to sleep with a man she wasn't attracted to than to wilfully make herself ill?"

"Well, no... It was around that point in my deliberations that I realised my logic might be somewhat spurious. I know that my earlier conclusions don't reflect particularly well on my opinion of you but-."

"That would be rather an understatement." The words themselves may have been harsh but Giles' head swung around to look her in the eye, hoping that he had heard the underlying humour in Lydia's tone correctly.

"In my defence, some of our previous encounters have been more acrimonious and it has been pointed out to me rather often of late that perhaps I'm not the figure of a man that I was even a few years ago."

"Experience can have its own attractions. Has it also been pointed out to you that the way you kiss would make almost any woman go weak at the knees? ...Or perhaps that was the whisky." This time there was no doubting the gentle teasing in her tone. "Though, I do think, if I were to accept your invitation it would in all probability require some grovelling on your part before I let you off the hook for implying that I might be Quentin's Mata Hari."

"That could be arranged... assuming of course, that on further acquaintance I don't find that you need enough alcohol to make you ill before you can steel yourself to socialise with an old man such as myself."

"If it didn't involve moving my head, which is rather painful at the moment, and if my teeth were clean, rather than my mouth justifiably smelling like I spent the last half hour regurgitating my entire stomach contents, then I would prove to you just how little persuasion I need to do far more than socialise. For now, though, I think I'll just lie here for a decade or two until I feel better."

"Perhaps some tea and toast might help with that? You could call it a first instalment on the grovelling."

"Tea would be lovely and if you could rustle up a couple of painkillers that would be great, but maybe after that you should check to see how the others got on with their research last night. You don't need to hover over me all day. I'll be alright."

Giles nodded slowly. "On one condition... You let me pop in every hour or so to check on you."








"So, how did your meeting with the little chica go? All wrapped up satisfactorily?" Quentin ushered Roger into his office and then hailed a pair of potentials who had the misfortune to be using that stretch of corridor. His eyes raked over them both, mentally linking them to their files. He totally disregarded one of the pair, his lip almost curling in distaste at her obviously Americanised form of dress, and focused fully on the other.

"You, girl! Michael Varley is your watcher, isn't he?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"Good. He should have taught you how to make a decent pot of tea, then. I believe the tea service is kept in the cupboard above the sink. Run along and make a pot for two and make it quick!"

Quentin closed the door behind him, taking his time as he walked around his desk to pick up the contract that the elder Wyndam Pryce sent spinning over the wide mahogany surface with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

"Perhaps you would prefer something a little stronger?" the council head asked his guest.

"Tempting... Very tempting, but it's still rather early for me."

"I know it must rankle somewhat to have to disburse family money to a total stranger, but I'm sure in the long run-."

"I rather think you need to take a closer look at the signature on that document, Quentin."

Quentin sat down and opened out the pages, holding them at a precise ninety degree angle in front of him and turning to the final page. His long sigh somehow seemed to combine sympathy and understanding. His fingers traced the ink that, instead of M. Alvarez, read 'Vaya al Diablo!' "I do suppose it would be difficult to make that stand up in court."

"The woman had the gall to call some muscle-bound beach bum of a security guard to escort me out of the building like a common criminal."

"Don't worry about it Roger. When Wesley leaves her high and dry and she realises just what sort of pay day she's missed out on she'll be wishing she'd been a bit less stubborn. So-o-o... What now?"

"No doubt our little puta del Diablo will come running to Wesley, but as the boy so rightly pointed out the other day there's nothing he can do to make me leave. I think we should allow him a few days to realise just exactly what he could potentially be giving up before I approach him. Let him think the papers aren't ready for him to sign yet."

"Yes." Drawing the word almost into another sigh, Quentin steepled his fingers together in front of him. "The girl almost seems to give him some back bone. It may be best to allow his temper to cool somewhat before making your approach."








Wes glanced up from the yellow legal pad that contained his translation notes, a huge smile brightening his face as he saw Rosa running through the library toward him.

"You're late," he gently admonished the child as she impacted and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her so that her face was level with his own.

"It was mommy's fault. I was ready hours and hours ago."

Wesley settled the girl so that she rested on his narrow hip with his arms supporting her and turned to watch the lady in question approach. Her hair hung in loose waves down her back, swaying and glistening with reflected light as she strolled across the room. The tailored suit of this morning was gone, replaced by a white T-shirt that left several inches of bare golden stomach between it and the top of the skin tight denim shorts that, judging by what he could see from this angle and the expressions on the faces of the male watchers who had a better view, would barely cover the deliciously rounded curves of Marie's behind. Canvas sandals, with a high wedge-heel, fastened by ribbons that twined up her calves like particularly fortunate clinging vines, completed the ensemble. Wes had never seen her wear an outfit in public that covered less or attracted him more, though not entirely for the obvious reasons. In the watchers' world of circumspect tailoring it was a declaration of war.

"Hard day at the office?" the watcher asked, his lips twisting in amusement at the stir this beautiful, confident woman was causing.

"You might say that... though the problem was more in the way of a personal nature but I had to make a phone call or two, out of range of flapping ears."

Wes's grin took on an evil twist as he turned back to the little girl. "How about we see whether your Uncle Will wants to read to you for half an hour or so while me and your mommy get all caught up?" he suggested.

The little girl rolled her eyes at being fobbed off, even if it was on one of her favourite uncles, but acceded fairly gracefully. "Can we go to the beach and get ice-cream later, then? Mommy and me have got our swimsuits on underneath so we can go straight in."

"That's a deal, Rosita. Come on!" He led the pair from the library, taking Rosa up the stairs in his arms alone when Marie paused at the sight of Bee pulling tray upon tray of chocolate cookies from the catering-sized ovens in the school's kitchens.








"What's up?" Marie asked.

"Who says there's anything up? Can't a girl just want to binge out on chocolate cookies for no reason?"

"Are you telling me that there's nothing but chocolate in these cookies? Because my nose tells me otherwise."

"Okay, okay! That particular batch of double chocolate chip may have some additional seasoning but the rest are all just chocolate."

Marie picked up one of the cookies that Bee had pointed at and broke it in half, nibbling carefully on the smaller part and passing the other half to the demi-angel. "As far as I know no one we know is planning a party so why don't you tell me why you need to chill out?"

"Well, say every day you go past this dress shop and one day in the window there's this really stunning outfit. You know that if you tried it on that it just wouldn't look right on you. The waist would be too loose or it wouldn't sit right on your hips. Maybe the colour would just make you look washed out... whatever. You know it just wouldn't be right but it's so pretty you just keep looking at it on the mannequin and wondering if maybe you should go in and try it on... because even though you know it wouldn't be right, just maybe you're wrong?" Bee looked up as she took a large bite from the half cookie in her hand.

"I think I know what you mean," the lawyer probed cautiously for further detail.

"Well, some bitch is wearing my dress! And I thought it liked me, too. So, maybe there's another dress that if I wait long enough it'll be ready and it'll be even better but I was kinda enjoying the whole window shopping experience and now there's just that naked dummy in the window and that woman's wearing my Donna Karan."

"This all translates to Giles is seeing someone, doesn't it?"

"Who says I'd be interested in a Laura Ashley number like that?" Bee responded in indignation.

"I think I would have had a vague idea anyway but you do remember who my 'mother-in-law' is? If it's any help she seemed to think the wait for the 2005 collection would be worth it?"

Bee pulled out a chair at the table and sank into it before pushing the rest of her cookie into her mouth all in one and reaching straight away for one of the chocolate-only ones. "2005? I'm just meant to wander around bare-ass-nekkid for the next three years, huh?"








There were girlish giggles coming through the ajar door of Spike and Buffy's room as Marie made her way to Wes's current sanctum. The watcher lounged on one of the room's camp beds and as Marie used her behind to push the door closed after her he held out the arm that wasn't propping him up to draw her onto the bunk beside him.

"Personal? Want to tell me about it?" he asked as Marie shimmied as far into his embrace as possible, her hands loosening the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Your father scared off my eleven thirty appointment and then offered me a six figure sum if I would sign an agreement saying that I wouldn't see you."

Wes tried to keep his face neutral. "That would go a long way toward paying off the mortgage on the apartments and letting you take Lily, Clem and Rosa away from here. I couldn't blame you if you decided to take it..."

"Does that mean you would take it?" The Latina's eyes searched Wes's face for clues.

Sensing her insecurity, Wes rolled them both so that the weight of his lower body pressed Marie into the bed, stalling any thoughts of escape that she might have before they could fully blossom.

"We're talking about the man who I wouldn't even ask for my air fare back to England when the council fired me. He would have to come up with a far more enticing offer before I would let you go... but I don't have anyone else who's dependent on me."

"We're all dependent on you, you and the others. Your father doesn't realise that I know there won't be anywhere in this world where we can run, if you all fail. Maybe the only thing I can do to help is to be here for you. It's not a big thing or an important thing. When people talk about what happened, no one will remember me or Rosa but if it helps even a little then I don't want to be anywhere else."

Wes lowered his head slowly, watching the shifting emotions in Marie's dark eyes until he was too close to focus on her features. His eyes drifted shut as he drew her lower lip between his own, his kiss unhurried, making each taste of her flesh last. He teased her chin, the hollow between her jawbone and her neck as her face tilted back, the dip above her collar bone that was only just visible above the tight cotton of her top and finally his lips and teeth nipped their way back up until he nibbled on one golden earlobe. "You help," he whispered. "You and Rosa give me something real to fight for. Please tell me you'll turn him down."

Somewhere during that long exploratory kiss, Marie had wrapped her legs around Wes's waist, her ankles crossing behind his back, and now she used the muscles in her legs to grind against Wes's pelvis, her hips undulating against him in tiny circles that became ever more urgent. "I already told him to go to hell."

Wes's moan was almost louder than the creak of mattress as he responded to her words with a forceful buck of his hips.

"He won't stop there," Marie gasped, even as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders. Her hands explored the liberated planes of his back, alternating soft strokes with the drag of long nails.

"Rosa?" Wes asked, knowing that they both teetered at the point of no return.

"You think Spike won't be able to hear that we're busy? Just make sure we don't push his patience too far."

Strong hands pushed at the bottom of Marie's top until the hard peaks of her nipples were hidden by only a thin layer of Lycra and, as if they had never diverged from it, Wes returned to the topic of his father. "He can't offer me anything I want more than this... more than you or Rosa." He worked by feel alone, his eyes never leaving her own, wanting her to understand the sincerity of his words. "So beautiful," he murmured in a voice cracked with passion, letting his fingers mould and massage her breasts for several seconds before he responded to the way she squirmed against him, biting down on one firm peak while he twisted the other tight between thumb and forefinger.

Blood blossomed on Marie's lip as she bit down hard in an effort to still her moans and she had to wait some time before she recovered enough to continue their talk. "If bribes won't work he says he means to disinherit you."

"Let him. The cantankerous old bastard will probably outlive all of us in any case." Wes's words stirred the tiny hairs on Marie's rib cage as his mouth quested ever lower.

"True," Marie agreed, before, as she tried to flip them both until she was on top, the narrow bunk tipped and left the couple on the floor. "But I don't think we should let him win without a fight."

Wes looked up, enjoying the way Marie's muscles moved under her golden skin as she pulled her T-shirt over her head. "These phone calls you made... You have some sort of plan?"

Marie's top had been joined by the upper half of her bikini and her reply came as she unfastened Wes's belt and pushed down his jeans until they would go no further without removing his shoes. "Just promise me that you won't sign anything ... not for a few more days."

"A couple of days would be the least I could do, but I've no intention of letting him blackmail me into leaving you... ever."

"I believe you, but I have a feeling that when you turn him down, he'll try to get you to sign something to say you won't contest his will. If he tries to do that, then I want you to stall."

"And what exactly am I stalling for? He can keep his money. I don't want it."

"I don't either, but if he chooses finances as a weapon to use against us, then I will use it as a way to retaliate."

"I'm not entirely sure I want to know..." Wes commented as Marie's hands moved toward the fastenings on her shorts and those were the last words either of them spoke for quite some time.
 
Chapter 5.08
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.08
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Wes was anticipating at least an 'I know what you've been doing' smirk from the vampire when he and Marie knocked on the door of Spike and Buffy's room. Instead, the vampire lay back on one of the two cots, holding up a battered paperback book to one side of his face so that he could easily transfer his gaze from the book to the young girl who was using his stomach as a seat. Her eyes were full of enchantment and delight as Spike detailed the attractions of 'The Ning Nang Nong' and other nearby lands.

"I see you're introducing her to the classics?" Wes wondered what it would have been like to have someone read such frivolous material to him as a child, rather than trying to make the most of a young brain's adaptability to introduce him to Latin, Ancient Greek, or whatever language happened to be foremost in their research at the time.

"Well, she's a bit young yet for Shakespeare but this seemed to fit the bill."

Rosa nodded enthusiastically. "Unker Will told me about the wiggle woggle. It's silly... But first I had to help him tidy up his room so we could sit down properly. Auntie Buffy messed it all up looking for her earring. Does that count as chores, mommy?"

"Only if you can convince your Uncle Will to help you tidy your room in return... Nice try though," Marie answered.

A small frown marred the girl's face for at least a fifth of a second before she decided that her room wouldn't be an issue until long after their return from the beach. She scrambled off of Spike, ready for a new excitement. "Are we going now?"








"So?" Wes looked over toward where Marie had taken the passenger seat in her own car. It wasn't that she expected Bee to have put enough in the cookies for the amount she had eaten to have any discernable effect but she wasn't taking any chances. Rosa twisted in her seatbelt to watch Wes's expression in the rear view mirror.

"So what?" Marie teased, her hair rippling in the draught from the open window.

"So are you going to tell me about your evil plan to bankrupt my father or not?"

"I didn't say bankrupt... That would... well, it might not be more than he deserves, but it would be more than my conscience could live with... And no."

"No? Haven't I got a vested interest in the situation?"

"You have... and I know it's not fair, but the less you know, the less your father can torture out of you."

Marie had only been joking, but Rosa caught the look, somewhere between startlement and panic, that flickered briefly in Wes's eyes as he thought of long hours imprisoned in the cramped darkness under the stairs. "We-e-es?" The girl asked, "Does it mean that I'm bad if I don't like your daddy?" There was something unsettling about that young voice, something that sent a shiver down Wes's back. Only after the feeling had gone did his eyes find the child's in the mirror. The crone-like wisdom and slow burning anger he glimpsed in them concerned him even more.

"Rosa..." Her mother spoke to save Wes the embarrassment. "If not liking someone made you bad, then 'round about now, I would be Lucifer himself. You can't help feeling that way about some people and you should trust your instincts and try to stay away from people that you don't like, but you still have to be polite and well-behaved when you can't avoid seeing them."

"Even when they hurt people?"

"That's sort of a judgement call, honey. Let's say you have to be polite until I say it's okay for you not to be... or Wes or your grandma."

"Unker Will isn't polite to people he doesn't like."

"And that would be why his name isn't on the list of people who can say when it's okay to be rude."

Rosa considered this. "Oka-ay." After all, as long as it wasn't sunny, she was sure that she could talk Unker Will into keeping her company the next time she saw Wes's daddy. She was fairly certain that she could get him to be rude on cue as well and he was a lot better at rude than she was, especially the 'off' words. Mommy wouldn't let her use any of the 'off' words.








"Something smells interesting." Faith wiped the sweat from her brow with one end of the towel that was draped around her neck. She gave the diminutive blonde in front of her the once over. The classic 1920's bob in platinum and gold, the heels designed to compensate for her diminutive stature, the all-black clothing with the blouse one size too small, so that her cleavage was highlighted to best effect, and the tidied-up Robert Smith eyeliner-lipstick colour combo that might as well be tattooed in place all made her look every bit the neat little watcher's apprentice that the brunette remembered. However, the slayer couldn't imagine that anyone to do with the council had helped with the baking.

"Help yourself." Bee pushed one of the plates toward the other woman.

Faith snagged one of the cookies and munched down on it. "Well, that takes care of the hungry part of the equation... at least until the munchies set in." Bee pushed the larger plate of cookies over as well and Faith stacked up four or five of the assorted treats in front of her before she pushed the plate back over. "Pity there's no prospect of doing anything about the other half."

"Do I want to understand what that means?"

"Nah... Probably not... But speaking of understanding, you're supposed to be the whiz when it comes to demon languages, right?"

"I get by... which is more than most of these watcher types." Bee gave a toss of her head that somehow seemed to indicate that she held the library's occupants in derision.

"Okay, then. Say some demon said something that sounded like 'piggy roll' what would that mean?"

Bee's eyes narrowed and she gauged the slayer's mood as she spoke. "Pegaral? Literal translation is just the name of a certain species of demon. Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to work out whether someone already had the punishment he deserves or whether I need to pay him a visit later... So what's with these demons?"

Bee sighed. "You really want Demon 101 now?"

"Well, unless you've got a pitcher of margaritas and a couple of male strippers hidden away under the table, I can't think of anything better to do..."

"Okay, well, outside their home dimension pegaral demons only really show up as slaves. Lowest of the low type of thing. They, well, they kind of have this super efficient digestive system... So, well, what would be waste to anyone else is food to them."

"So they eat trash? That's it?"

"Not just trash. Think bunny rabbits, maybe... Let's just say a lot of them end up in brothels catering to people with certain preferences."

Faith considered for several seconds to make sure she had fitted all Bee's hints together. "So, basically, the guy called me a slave-hooker who licks out freaks' asses? Is that about the size of it?"

Bee's head tilted on one side and she seemed to put a lot of concentration into deciding the matter before she replied. "Yep!" Her hand reached out for another of the 'normal' cookies.

"Did I just hear that right?" Tara stepped from the stairway that led to the attic and pulled out a chair, taking a pecan and white chocolate chip cookie from the pile.

"That'd be a 'hell yeah'... A broken nose isn't enough for that slime ball..." The brunette struggled briefly to maintain the impetus of the unfairly treated before she gave a shrug and picked up another of the dope cookies. "Slayer metabolism... Well, actually, apart from the fact it was Willie boy that did it rather than me, a broken nose is quite satisfying... And I guess I did dislocate his finger. The thing is, it'd be so much easier to get with the righteous indignation if I hadn't at least tried it a couple of times." Bee's hand stopped midway to her mouth, perhaps not so much fazed by what the slayer had done as by the fact that she had admitted it in front of two relative strangers. Tara simply lifted one eyebrow, her chewing doing nothing to disguise a mischievous grin. "Of course, that was just for fun, not for profit," Faith continued.

Bee looked distinctly uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken and the brunette deliberately caught the artist's gaze, asking, "What's up, princess? You telling me you've always stuck to vanilla?" The half-angel's cheeks flared bright red at the memories Faith's question prompted and the slayer chuckled. "Or maybe not..."

Tara spoke up for her roommate. "Don't tease. It's been a rough day."

The slayer raised both hands in the air, though she didn't lose the gleam in her eye. "No harm, no foul. Just thought since none of us seem to be able to get any that we could at least talk about it. It's not like anybody's gonna force you into anything."

"Speak for yourself," Tara told the brunette. "Some of us have had offers- an offer... not from anyone that I'd want to be with even if... Well, even if I was at a point in my life where I was looking for a relationship, but an offer just the same."

"Oka-ay!" The slayer's mood brightened at the admission, and Bee cast a curious sideways glance the witch's way. "Now you've got to spill."

"Spillage comes at a price. You help me work out how we're going to feed everyone, and I'll talk as we work."








The room full of slayers in training fell silent as Spike pushed through the double doors, his new duster billowing out behind him. Dawn followed on his heels, and each seemed to scan the room looking for someone. The vampire didn't take long to find the potential he was seeking.

"Hoi! Little Miss Likes to Fight! Get your arse over here."

Kennedy's eyes filled with suspicion and then excitement. "Why?"

"Why d'you bloody think? 'Cause I damn well say so an' if I have to knock your hoity-toity little block off to prove a point then I won't think twice about doin' it."

The S.I.T. seemed to consider arguing further, but the vampire and his companion were already checking out the rest of the room's occupants as if her compliance were taken for granted. Much as she longed to stand her ground, she knew that if this were for a patrol or some other duty and she balked now, then she might not be given another chance.

Dawn tugged at Spike's sleeve and nodded toward the far corner of the room. Spike followed the teenager's gaze. "You Amanda?" he asked in a far softer voice.

The coltish girl tried to stand, put down her coffee cup and nod all at the same time.

"Alright then, Twiggy. Get some shoes on an' the Bit'll tell you what's goin' on."

"And is somebody going to tell me?" Kennedy asked, flinching as the vampire's hand closed none too gently on her shoulder to steer her from the room as soon as she came within reach.

"Sure, pet. 'Cause we all know you wouldn't like to just go into a situation, fists an' feet flyin', without havin' a big discussion as to what's goin' on first."

The vampire pushed her toward the main door of the building with a steady pressure, leaving Dawn and Amanda to follow in their own time.

"I attacked a demon ! Hello? Slayer in training? Pretty much my raison d'être."

"And yet you don't seem to be in a hurry to take on Spike?" Buffy's voice carried from where she waited by the front door with Giles and Lydia. The two watchers hovered around each other, Giles' hand often reaching out as if he would take the blonde by the hand or wrap an arm around her shoulder and yet every time it dropped back to his side without touching her. "Timid, flabby demons who wouldn't say boo to a girl scout... They're fair game! Well, newsflash, we can't defeat The First if we're busy fighting the entire demon population of this town when we should be dealing with it . And especially not if you're going to try to kill the only guy who'll take payment in Cheese Doodles for babysitting my little sister."

Spike grinned mirthlessly as the girl's steps faltered. "See, pet. We're havin' a bit of a get together tonight... an' one of our guests is the guy you laid into for no reason whatsoever."

Kennedy wrenched her shoulder from the blond's grasp and turned to face him, her hatred spilling from her eyes. "I don't see what that has to do with me."

"Don't you?" Buffy asked. "You instigated an attack against a peaceful demon. I don't think it'd even be stretching it to call him an innocent. You allowed your ignorance, your arrogance and your prejudice to endanger us all and when Clem gets here, you are going to make it right. You are going to apologise to him... to his family... and to his girlfriend."

"I don't think so. I'll take this straight to Mr Travers," the debutante protested.

"Actually, Mr Travers is aware of the plans for the evening," Lydia interjected. "I am here, in part, as his representative."

"I don't believe it. He wouldn't go along with this. That thing did this to me." She held up her still swollen hand in its wrappings.

"An' what would you do if you came out the lav an' found somebody beatin' up on your honey bun?" the vampire was quick to ask before the watcher could comment. "Just because he doesn't look like Brad Pitt doesn't mean nobody loves him."

"Mr Travers may not like the situation that he finds himself in. He might prefer that he is not seen to personally condone tonight's events. That doesn't mean he doesn't understand the delicate balance that has to be maintained here on the Hellmouth. You will make a full and free apology."

"And if I don't?"

Lydia gave a sigh of exasperation. "I doubt even the bodyguards your parents could afford would be able to keep you safe outside these walls."

"Are you threatening me?"

Giles stepped in like the metaphorical white knight. "I believe Miss Chalmers simply stated a fact. Quite aside from the fact that you need to learn that there is more to slaying than 'Demon, Kill, Kill!', if you cannot bring yourself to do what is needful for the group as a whole then you cannot expect the protection of the group. The lesson must be conveyed that the S.I.T.s cannot get into fights willy nilly, disturbing the equilibrium between demon and human population. Either through ignorance or arrogance, your actions have fostered ill will, and if you expect to remain here you will put that right."

"I'm a slay- er! What-."

"Actually ," Spike drawled. "Unless our little jailbird has popped her clogs in the five minutes since we left her helping to sort out the room, you're a wannabe. An' believe me, if I thought the world was relyin' on you , I'd be tempted to shift the line of succession on a notch."

"Like you're so altruistic?"

Spike's blue eyes turned cold and his grin feral. His tongue flicked out to run along the edge of his upper teeth and for once the message of predation that it sent had nothing to do with sexual appetite. "Hell, no, pet. Never denied that I'd enjoy it. Could spend hours beatin' you to a bloody pulp an' watchin' you suffer before I chalked up number three... but you're no slayer an' judgin' by how those frown lines are comin' in, past your prime like you are, chances are you never will be." His sneer suggested that she wasn't even worthy of his attention.

Buffy's raised eyebrow, welcoming smile and outstretched arm softened her words as she interrupted. "Heel, Spike. I think she gets the message... Besides, you'd have to beat the bringers to her." The vampire slipped into the slayer's embrace, his arm wrapping around her waist even as her hand snaked under his coat. Contentment radiated from him as his head tilted slightly so that his cheek rested against Buffy's forehead.

The potential stared at the couple as if their very closeness sickened her, but the underlying warning, in not only their eyes but those of Buffy's watcher, stilled her tongue.

In the temporary hush Amanda's excited chatter carried along the corridor. "So, she was like an actual demon?"

"Sure," Dawn answered. "I guess what with all the leather and the full-face helmet it'd be pretty hard to tell."

"And I get to talk to her? Say thanks for-. Well, it sounds kinda melodramatic, but it seems like if it weren't for her..."

"You wouldn't be here?"

"And her boyfriend is Spike's best friend?"

Buffy gave a wide grin but her eyes turned cold as she stared down the potential. "Did we mention that Clem's going to be our best man?"








By the time Ha Nath's motorcycle roared down the drive, followed by Marie's people carrier, Amanda had stopped trying to make up for Kennedy's sullen silence with her own chatter, even if it had taken the older girl several minutes of dirty looks to quell her enthusiasm.

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise as she viewed the black, skin-tight PVC cat suit and matching knee-high lace-up stilettos that Ha Nath wore with her blue biker's jacket, and Spike whispered in her ear in explanation. "Work clothes. Must reckon she might need to leave straight from here."

"Tell me she doesn't wear a mask and dance in that bowl down at The Fish Tank," the slayer whispered back.

"The dancers down at The Fish Tank don't wear much more than a bit of iridescent body paint... from what I remember... from a long, long, long time ago. Bloody awful place. Only ever went there once, maybe twice... An' anyway when Clem's not around the only dancin' she does is the same kind you do. Told you, she's a bouncer."

"You said at a club... not a brothel."

"It is a club," Spike argued sotto voce. "...And a brothel or sort of..."

As the demoness removed her helmet and used her fingers to comb her hair back into place, Wes helped Lily from the car, leaving Marie to release Clem and Rosa from their side of the childproofed rear compartment.

Ha Nath waited for the others to draw level with her, taking Clem's hand in her own and giving it a reassuring squeeze. They walked the last few yards of the gravel drive six abreast, Lily in the centre flanked by her son on her left and her 'daughter-in-law' on the right. Rosa held her mother's hand and the two significant others took up positions at the edges of the group, instinctively protecting them. The line became more of a flying V as they made their way up the front steps, Lily's assessing gaze drawn immediately to the sullen woman at the back of the entrance hall. Her attention often returned to her even as she hugged the vampire, his mate and her sister and then shook hands with the two watchers.

Clem, Marie and Rosa followed in the demoness's tracks, but Wes and Ha Nath maintained a watchful distance, ready to intervene if things should go awry. Finally, Buffy stepped forward to introduce the newcomers to the two potentials.

"Lily, Clem, Ha Nath, Marie, Rosa, this is Amanda."

The S.I.T. gave a nervous smile, accompanied by an equally nervous wave. "Hi there." She stepped first toward Ha Nath, her right hand outstretched. "I kinda wanted to say thank you for the other night. I- em- well, I didn't realise you were like part of the 'family'." Ha Nath took the proffered hand and shook it firmly but briefly. "It was real good of you helping out like you did with those guys. I mean it was like awesome and I know like you can't really thank somebody for well, like saving my life 'cause I mean like words just don't cut it when you're talking about something way huge like that but, well, thanks anyway."

The teenager turned to the demoness's boyfriend. "And you must be Clem. It's real nice to meet you, to meet you all. I mean what with me owing Ha Nath-. Did I pronounce that right? I mean that'd be just plain rude if you saved my life and then I got your name wrong..."

Spike rolled his eyes and stepped between Amanda and the demons. "You got it right, pet, or close enough for government work at any rate, an' I think they all know how pleased you are to see them an' meet a real live demon or three, seein' as how vampires don't seem to count, so why don't we leave the gettin' to know you session for after the conclusion of business an' let Trust Fund say her piece."

He spun round in a half turn, his coat swirling around his legs. With a flourish almost worthy of a game show hostess, he indicated the other potential, who had hung as far back as she could during the rest of the introductions. "Kennedy, I believe you've already met Clem an' his lady Ha Nath. This here is his mum, Lily, an' the pretty little thing in pink is his niece, Rosa, an' you might have seen her mum around before, seein' as how she's steppin' out with the watcher here." The vampire nodded toward the Latina. "Marie."

Giles cleared his throat loudly as the pause after Spike finished the introductions turned into more of an elongated silence. "I believe you have something to say... Kennedy, is it?"

The potential looked around all the members of the assembled group, her dark brown eyes showing disbelief. She hesitated for a few seconds, as if she hoped she would find an ally somewhere in the crowd. When none was forthcoming, she turned on her heel and ran.
 
Chapter 5.09
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.09
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


"Buffy?" Giles imbued the slayer's name not only with curiosity as to whether she was going to go after the errant potential but also just a touch of reproof.

The blonde cast imploring glances first toward Spike and then at her older watcher before she sighed her reluctant acquiescence. "I know . She's one of mine... but I so suck at the talky thing." Reluctantly, she drew apart from her fiancé and broke into a half-hearted jog that soon became an all out run. "I can't believe I asked to have that one in my group," she muttered under her breath as she departed.

Spike delayed just a few more moments, walking backwards as he spoke, until he could bear it no longer and took off after his girl. "Lil, Clem, Catwoman..." He gave Ha Nath a cheeky grin. "Sorry, guys. I guess we should've prepared a bit better for that. Niblet an' her mate there'll get you settled in, bring you a cuppa or a beer, an' the dark slayer can fill you in on where the bad guys are hidin' out. I'll just go lend a hand in case the daft bint runs straight toward them and the missus loses her trail. Human sense of smell's not worth crap."








He caught up with her in the kitchen as she vacillated between the stairs leading upward and the back door. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her after him as he followed the scent of expensive perfume into the stairwell. At the first landing he hesitated briefly but continued upward. At every possible junction he repeated the process, a puzzled frown settling on his face when he realised that the only possible place she could be was in the attic, the attic occupied by Buffy and the rest of the Scoobies.

"Maybe she thought it was the last place we'd look?" the slayer suggested.

Spike gave a noncommittal grunt and slowed his pace. After all, unless the potential wanted to test her climbing skills, there was no way she could escape without going past them both. Instinctively, he switched to stalking mode, placing each foot carefully, avoiding runners he remembered as being squeaky, and when his reply came, it was little more than whispered breath. "We were between her an' the room where all her gear is. I'd put my money on either blind panic or the fact she doesn't know that everyone as might be up here is actually gettin' set up for the meetin' an' she's hopin' to find someone as she can hide behind."

As they silently made their way along the corridor that separated the two sides of the loft space, the vampire nodded toward the door of Bee and Tara's room where it sat slightly ajar. With a fingertip, the vamp eased the door open a few more inches until, in the darkness, he could see the potential hunched miserably on the witch's bed, her arms clasped around the Wiccan's pillow.

He pushed harder, and the door opened wide with a creak, giving the girl a chance to throw the pillow back to the head of the bed before he clicked the light switch, illuminating the small room.

"She's not here..." The vampire's voice was surprisingly gentle as he sauntered into the room, allowing Buffy to move into the doorway. "An' even if she was, she'd tell you no different from the rest of us."

"I wasn't-."

"Pet, I could smell your perfume on her earlier today, an' as her friend, I'm tellin' you now, she isn't yer way in... An' bugger me if I'm not startin' to sound like the bloody watcher, 'cept not quite so self-righteous."

"I don't know-."

"You know right well. What you might not realise is that I grew up 'round people like you. Pretty little dolls... Yeah, you're popular, an' you've got everythin' money can buy. You're used to bein' the centre of attention, bein' the one who gets to decide who's in, who's out, whose life you'll turn into a livin' hell just because you think they're beneath you."

"I'm not-."

"Just listen, princess... It's a pretty lonely life up there in your little ivory tower, an' all that power you have over all your little sycophants, it's all hollow. Even if you'd never set foot in Sunnydale, sooner or later it would have palled, an' you'd have had to find something else to fill the vacuum. Maybe you won't end up as a vengeance demon like some as I've known, but then you've got more than money goin' for you, right? The problem here is no one cares about your money. They look at you an' they see a spoiled little bitch... an' a potential slayer might be a rare beast, but when there's a couple of hundred of them runnin' round an' almost all of 'em are younger an' a damn sight more likely to be next in line to the title, it's gotta be pretty hard to take.

How long's it been, huh? How long since the council first showed up on your doorstep tellin' you that you had this great destiny? This duty to smite all things demon? Three years? Four? Five?"

"Five. Not that it's any of your business," the potential answered with a glower in his direction.

Spike sighed, refusing to be baited. "A quarter of your life... A quarter of your life, an' in a day we're askin' you to forget everythin' that you've been told. For the first time in your life you're bein' treated like you're nothin' special. Point of fact, you're bein' treated like you're some sort of criminal... an' for doin' exactly what you've been told for the last five years is what you were born to do.

Hell, I sure wouldn't want to go down there cap in hand an' apologise. I wouldn't want to admit that the only thing that made me anythin' more than a spoiled little brat with a silver spoon in my mouth was a lie... even when I look at Rosa an' see the way she loves her Uncle Clem an' her grandma. I wouldn't admit that just the very fact she exists, the fact her mum lived with her dad for years up until he was murdered an' that they loved each other enough to have a gorgeous little kid like that... I wouldn't want to admit that maybe it proves that demons aren't all bad. I'd kick an' scream an' tell m'self that her dad must have used some mind trick on Marie, same way I must have the slayer here in thrall."

Somewhere in the midst of the vampire's words Kennedy began to find that she had a problem meeting his gaze, her defiance mingling with just a hint of uncertainty, but he wasn't finished yet.

"I'd try an' get back the life I had. I'd try an' get myself in where the power is. Yeah, I'd look around at them as are where I wanted to be an' work out who'd be most like to fall for my charms, what little I have seein' as how up to now I've never had to be anythin' other than rich to get what I want. I'd work out who I wouldn't need to compete with all them other S.I.T.s to impress, an' who has the power... And you did, didn't you, princess?"

Spike crouched in front of the girl and brought his fist up under her chin until she looked him in the eye. "The little Wicca might not realise that she's got more power than any slayer, but you did. An' you realised that, if there's one person whose opinion we all trust, it's hers, an' you worked out how to get your foot in the door. What you didn't work out is that it's goin' to be a long time before our wise little owl is ready to play on that merry-go-round again, an' if you hurt her, if you so much as pester her, then I will do what any big brother would do an' so will Harris for what help he'd be... an' Giles will do what any father would do an' we'll make sure one way or another that she gets the time she needs to grieve without you interferin'. Are you clear on that?"

"That's not how it was. I really like her."

"Princess, you don't know her well enough to like her. Now, are we clear?" Fear and defiance warred in the trainee's eyes before, in the face of Spike's unfaltering scepticism, she nodded her head.

"Not sayin' that if Tinkerbell were to come onto you... which she won't... not unless you hang around for a coupla years an' have a personality transplant, but I'm not sayin' you couldn't take her up on it if she offered, just that she needs space until she's ready. Understand?"

"Yes," Kennedy snapped petulantly. "But it wasn't like that..."

"Pet, you're showin' yourself up. If you knew the witch well enough to like her for her, then you'd know it'll take more than a sensation seeker with a pierced tongue to impress her. You'd know the lass has a talent for reading auras, an' I just don't think yours would match up to the story you'd try an' sell her. But, unless we hear that you've been makin' a nuisance of yourself we'll consider that little matter closed, ok?

Now, as for the other thing, you do understand that the slayer isn't under any thrall an' neither was Marie? 'Less 'n' y'count fallin' head over heels for a guy as makes you the centre his whole life revolves around."

"Modest, aren't you?" the potential muttered even though she nodded her comprehension.

"He just knows the score..." Buffy shifted from the doorway to kneel beside Spike on the floor. "Two years into this gig I remember begging Giles to lie to me," she told the woman. "I was just beginning to realise that it wasn't all black and white, and it made everything hard. I wanted so much to believe what I'd been taught. Demons bad. Humans good. No exceptions, no questions, no middle ground... no recriminations, no wondering if maybe somewhere I'd killed someone that didn't deserve it. So he lied to me, and it made it all seem better for a second or two... but neither of us believed it any more.

You have something I didn't have... a chance to start out knowing the facts, a chance to clear your conscience. Clem's down there and aside from a bit of bruising, physically, he's fine.

He needs you to apologise. He needs to know he doesn't need to be afraid any more, that he doesn't need an escort to the grocery store, that he can take his girl to the movies."

"You made a mistake, pet. Weren't even your fault, really, considerin' what them watchers try to teach yer but, if you ever do want to be more than just some spoiled brat, then you've gotta suck it up, admit you were wrong an' make amends."

"Fine!" The potential pushed herself up off the bed and began to stomp her way downstairs. On the surface, she looked like nothing more than an older version of Dawn at her least appealing. Spike, however, caught the pensive look in her eye and was fairly certain that his words had found their mark, with some considerable help from Rosa and her family. She just needed some space to think it all through and come to terms with it before the next hurdle.

He shouted after her. "You can grab yourself a cuppa or summat if you want a few minutes to get that pet lip under control before you make your apologies, but the longer you take the more you miss about what's goin' on, an' you an' Amanda are meant to be there so that the Amazon army get some sort of say."

Buffy stood and reached out a hand to help the vampire up, correctly surmising that, after crouching so long on his heels, his legs would have stiffened up slightly. "Thanks. Really so not good with the talky bits... not that you don't still kinda need to work on those mixed metaphors... Owls on merry-go-rounds? ...but, I kinda chipped in at the end. I just wouldn't have patience with her like you had."

"Like I have patience with her? I can't stand the bitch. Just used a bit of charm to get what I wanted."

"But you-. It was like you understood her, like you knew exactly what she was thinking."

"Like I said, I grew up around folks like that. I know how their brains work. It was torture then, an' it's not a bundle of laughs now. If there was just me an' her to think about I'd have bawled her out good an' proper, but I owe it to Lil an' Clem an' the rest of them to see that they get treated right... even if that means talkin' slow an' loud, or soft an' gentle, until some stuck-up bitch sees what's been in front of her face all along."

Buffy reached up, her fingers tangling in the short curls at the side of his head and then pushing their way through the gelled strands until she cradled the back of his skull, drawing his lips down to hers. The open-mouthed caress lasted for a minute or so, neither wanting to deepen it, nor feeling the need to let passion overcome the simple adoration that flowed from the slayer's skin only to be returned to her in equal measure in the vampire's touch. She drew back and placed one last peck on his lips, and when she spoke it took Spike a second to realise she was responding to his last comment. "Well, it's not like you haven't had practice..."








Oz stepped up to the drawing room doorway as Dawn and Amanda made to usher their visitors through it before the teens left to fetch the drinks Spike had offered. Ducking to one side, as Lily led the way into the room, the werewolf caught Wes's eyes with an obvious deliberation before looking into a corner of the room that was out of line of sight from the guests' angle of approach.

"He showed up five minutes ago."

The watcher raised his eyes heavenward as he joined Oz where he could see into the room, not really surprised that his father had chosen to attend the meeting despite being unwanted and uninvited. He held tight to Marie's hand, effectively preventing her from entering without him until he had assessed the situation. Tara had taken the nearest of several armchairs arrayed along the wall to the right of the retired watcher's settee and seemed to be trying to make polite conversation, even if the elder Wyndam Pryce was apparently undecided whether to reciprocate with equal courtesy or chilly contempt.

As Wes wondered whether he would do better to take the other half of the sofa, where he could keep an eye on his father, or whether he should see to it that the old man was kept as far from Marie and Rosa as possible, Lily settled herself right in, even asking the watcher to move along so that she could more easily talk to the Wiccan. The look of shock on his father's face was comical, and Wes had to smother a smile as Lily managed to manoeuvre him into shaking hands and being introduced to Clem and Ha Nath, who then proceeded to perch on the sofa's arms, Clem next to his mother and his girlfriend ably positioned to intervene should Wes's father attempt to cause any trouble.

Wes gave a wry smile and relaxed his grip. "I don't think we need to worry, Oz. The situation seems to be nicely under control. In fact..." The watcher's smile widened as Ha Nath leaned over to hear something Lily was saying, making his father shift uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ignore her PVC-encased bosom. "I just wish I had a camera."








"Wh-What sort of numbers are we talking about?" Wes asked as Faith wrapped up her report on the bringers and their location.

"Generation X reckoned that he saw at least half a dozen different groups going in and out, anywhere between six and eight in each, but he was only there a couple of hours, and that truck they told us about was parked outside the whole time. Could be he saw nearly everyone coming back from whatever their equivalent of patrol is, or it could be that's a fraction of how many they've got there. No real way to know, but we still haven't seen the guy with the knife."

The watcher turned to Tara. "How are you at astral projection?"

Roger's snort was cut off as Ha Nath 'inadvertently' spilled some of the coffee Dawn and Amanda had served. The liquid flowed harmlessly over her outfit to splash on the watcher's sleeve to slightly more effect. Over the hushed apologies and search for a handkerchief, the witch replied.

"I've d-done it," the honey blonde admitted.

Wes seemed to hesitate before he spoke again but, seeing his father occupied with cleaning up the spillage he seemed to lose some of his nervousness. "We'll check with the council's spellcasters also, but I think unless research shows it to be an unacceptable risk then it's something we should consider before we launch any sort of ground attack. Giles?"

"We haven't come across anything so far to suggest exactly how The First gains the information that it does and while it cannot physically affect the world around it, it might be able to cause actual harm to an astral intruder. It could be risky... but not necessarily more so than trying to maintain a physical watch on the area. I'll let you know if we come across anything relevant in our research."

The door pushed open, and Buffy led Spike into the room and then perched on the arm of the last vacant armchair. Before Spike could even take the seat beside her, Rosa was tugging on his sleeve and once he was seated she climbed into his lap. Dawn and the S.I.T. had joined Brandon and Oz on what was nominally a three-seater settee to the left of where Ha Nath sat, Rogue choosing to sprawl across all of them, her initial dislike of the werewolf apparently long forgotten. Bee sat opposite them, in an armchair near to Tara's, the Siamese curled on her knee and Faith sitting on the chair arm. Another armchair to its right accommodated both Harrises, Anya choosing to sit on Xander's lap. Giles and Lydia shared another two-seater which rested against the same wall as the one Oz and the teenagers occupied, though they maintained a self-conscious six inches between them. The couch that Wes and Marie had until recently shared with Rosa closed off the end of the rectangle.

"I take it you tracked down our absentee?" Giles asked.

"She'll be through in a bit. Miss much?"

"We were discussing the situation at the vineyard," Wes answered. "How would you rate our chances if we chose to attack?"

Spike shrugged and looked first at Lydia and then at Roger Wyndam Pryce. "Sendin' the bints in without more trainin' would be a farce, even if there's only the blind mice we've actually seen. The chits are mostly green as fledges straight out the muck an' not even as strong. No more than half a dozen of them ready for a proper fight from what the slayers reckon. Might get away with it dependin' how many of your nasty boys you've brought on holiday, assuming they're not all as incompetent as the ones that went after Slayer Number Two and Angel Arse."

"The council's operatives are perfectly capable," Roger blustered.

The briefest of looks passed between Spike and the girl on his knee before the vampire retorted, "Like hell they are!"

"In any case, they were left behind to act as guards for those watchers whose duties dictated that they stay in England or who were too ill to travel," Lydia explained.

"For now, let's assume we're working with the forces we have here." Wes cut to the heart of the matter. "Assume we're going to have to deal with this on our own. What's the layout, Spike?"

"Far as I could tell, there's just one door in, an' the walls are solid. Considerin' what it was built as, there's like to be rooms underground. Figure some of your smart arses should be able to find some sort of building plans but the fact is the bad guys could have the place booby trapped to high heaven or they could have a wine cellar full of Turok Han an' you wouldn't know till you walked in.

If jailbird'll pull the home shift for tonight, me an' She'll check out the tunnels 'round that end of town. See if they've got-."

Three firm knocks drew everyone's attention.

"...A back door we can find."

James leaned into the room. "There's just been a call from the hospital. One of the potentials we've been expecting, the one flying in from Chicago... They must have got to them at some point on the drive from LA. The doctors say that she's been attacked and badly wounded and her watcher wasn't picked up with her. She says she needs to see Buffy." His eyes met those of the blonde slayer. "I don't think they're expecting her to hold out much longer."

 
Chapter 5.10
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.10
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Buffy was on her feet in an instant. "Spike, take care of things here. I need to go."

"Not gonna happen, sweetness," the vampire responded, lifting Rosa from his knee and depositing her between Marie and Wes in order to face off with his mate. "Never think that the only reason they might have left the bint alive was so as they could lure you into a trap?"

"I need to go."

"Fine, you need to go, but you aren't going without back up, an' we sure as hell aren't goin' to hand them two slayers for the price of one, which means I'm coming with you."

Lydia cleared her throat nervously as she also rose from her seat. "I think someone from the council should be there."

The slayer turned to Wes. "Maybe you and Faith can get things sorted out here? We'll get an update from you when we get back. Giles, it looks like you and your lady friend are coming with us. You, watcher guy?" She nodded to James. "Let someone else mind the phones and you take over from Giles. Tara, if Kennedy isn't here in ten minutes to make her apologies, can you see if maybe you can find her? She might respond better to an appeal from you than anybody else, and this thing needs to be settled tonight." She looked briefly around the room, waiting to see if anyone had any objections. "Right, let's move!"

Lydia made a grab for a notebook that she had had tucked in at the side of the sofa, pressing it into James' hands. "There are some points I wanted to bring up about security and such. My notes are in the back and perhaps you could take down some minutes?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "A match made in a very stuffy heaven..." he muttered as he strode toward the door, taking Buffy by the hand and leaving the watchers to jog to catch up.








"Perhaps it might be better if we took my car," Giles suggested.

Spike ignored him, unlocking the DeSoto and throwing himself into the driver's seat before leaning over to lift the ancient manual locks on the other doors. Only then did he offer any explanation for his reluctance. "No offence, watcher, but under the circumstances I'd rather trust the ladies to my drivin' than yours."

Giles bridled even as he got into the back seat, brushing aside some of Dawn's abandoned chocolate wrappers with his foot. "As I recall I've only owned one car in my entire life that was written-off, and you happened to be at the wheel at the time."

Spike's calm demeanour flickered just for an instant, drawing out the first word of his response slightly to give himself time to think. "That was deliberate. It was a diversion so I could get away. Knew the soldier boys wouldn't be able to resist a good car wreck."

"I'm sure," Giles replied, sounding anything but.

By this point, everyone was in the car, and Spike only paused long enough to ensure that Buffy had fastened her seatbelt before he gunned the engine into life and swung out of his parking spot and down the drive. "Look at it this way, Rupert. It seems to me that the chances are our bad guys forced the lass and her guard dog off the road. If they have another try I'd as soon be surrounded by solid steel as in your little Tonka toy. It's a 4x4 not a monster truck. Besides, doubt as I could bear to watch a grown man cry if they scratched the paintwork."

Giles gave only a snort in answer and the vampire was soon humming loudly as he steered the car around town at a breakneck pace. The rock tune was one that had never had a lot of airplay in America and it rivalled Buffy in age. Even Lydia gave no sign of recognising it. However, Giles' brain filled in the words that Spike left unsung.

'See the man in the busy street
He's almost incomplete
He takes his pleasure in strange ways
And the lady in the library,
She's just like you and me.
You wouldn't know her at all.
She takes the train up to the great big city.
She knocks the door and steps right in.
He's just a fool that some would like to pity.
They work it out in the house of si-in.

Night games, they pay for their night games.
They're into numbers, they don't use names.
It says in the ru-u-ules.
It's strictly for the ghouls to play their night games.
They pay for their night games,
Always play one last fra-ame. Games of the night.' *

The watcher's eyes hardened as he stared into the rear view mirror at the empty driver's seat, and his cheeks drew in slightly before his icy tone interrupted Spike's rendition of the guitar solo.

"Very good, Spike. And now that you've had your childish fun perhaps we can change the tune?"

"Sorry, Rupes," Spike answered, grinning in a way that showed he had not one iota of remorse before he started whistling an entirely different number.

Buffy had never seen the musical 'The Music Man'. She had been clueless as to where Spike's remark about '76 trombones' had come from that night after the all singing all dancing fiasco that Xander had induced and, given the kissage that had followed almost immediately on the heels of that remark, she'd been too distracted to query it. Equally, she had no idea that, had Spike been singing rather than whistling, she would have been hearing his smoky tones imbue the words, "I love you madly, madly, madam librarian, Marion," with sadistic glee. She was aware of the complete incongruity of Spike whistling what seemed to be a show tune and of the fact that her watcher had turned an unbecoming shade of purple. Taking matters into her own hands, she pulled the tape that was protruding slightly from the cassette deck out of the slot, flipped it end over end and pushed it back in until it clicked into place.

She glared a warning at her fiancé as if to tell him that the joke was over. The vampire did his best to look apologetic, but couldn't help but grin wider as he recognised the opening bars of The Dead Kennedys' classic, 'Too Drunk to Fuck'. Giles, however, did seem to calm down slightly, at least until the group reached the chorus. Thankfully, it wasn't long after that before they cruised to a halt in the hospital parking lot.

The vampire paused to light up a cigarette as he stepped from the vehicle, and Buffy grabbed her opportunity for a word in private, letting the watchers walk on ahead. She snatched the offending item from his lips, tossing it into the gutter. "Hospital," she reminded him pointedly. "It's not just the usual they say you can't so you will because you're the Big Bad. And what is it with you and Giles? Do you have to bait him like that? I mean, between the two of you, you must make seven times my age... and change but it feels more like I'm babysitting Dawn."

Spike's eyes narrowed as he tapped another cigarette free of his pack and lit up once more, this time watching for the telltales that would let him know that she was about to make another grab. "I didn't say a bloody word, despite the fact I reckon I have the right to say any damn thing I want seein' as up until last night the last tit the old guy was suckin' on was mine, and I was going to put it out before I went in the building. I guess, now, you'll just have to cool your heels out here until I'm done."

"You obviously didn't need to say a 'bloody' word. We haven't got time for games, Spike." Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and then spun on her heel striding off as she continued, "For all we know this girl might only have minutes to live, and I'm not going to spend them arguing with you in the parking lot."

Buffy heard the muttered "Balls!" from behind her and had to concentrate to school her face back into its stern mask. She tracked his progress by his footfalls, knowing that he'd probably squeezed one last drag from the cigarette before he threw it away and jogged to catch up. She kept her shoulders stiff as he draped a leather clad arm over them.

It took about three strides for Spike's patience to give, and he spun into her path so that her momentum carried her into his chest. "'M sorry, right?" His arms slid around her waist holding her tight against him so that she couldn't step back. "It just comes out... An' it's not like it's normally a one way street. The watcher has a right wicked tongue on 'im... in more ways than one. C'mon, pet, don't tell me you'd pass up on the chance to get some mileage out of him?"

"Well... No, but I wouldn't do it in front of her... Or in the middle of a situation." Against her better wishes she could feel the tension leaving her traitorous body, warmth spiralling out from her abdomen just from being held against him.

Spike's breath brushed her ear as he let out a sigh of relief at her softening attitude. "In case you hadn't noticed, pet, we're always in the middle of a situation." He raised his head just enough to scan her face, those blue, blue eyes dangerously molten, and Buffy found herself rising up on tiptoe almost as if she were a puppet and he her vampire puppet master. His eyes drifted closed as her lips drew nearer, and the next thing he knew was the impact of her forearm in his stomach pushing him away.

"Rain check, Mr Evil Sexy Vampire Man," she promised as her hand slid beneath his coat to circle his waist and pull him along with her to where Giles and Lydia were just about to enter one of a bank of elevators. "Situation, now ..."








"And you're planning to take the assessment of William the Bloody as gospel?" Roger asked, his tone indicative of his scepticism.

"Since Blondie Bear's the one who got up off his ass, unlike the members of a certain council, to go and check the place out, then, yeah, I say we take his word for it. We haven't exactly got any other eye witnesses to ask," Faith countered. "Nice to know you watchers have so many helpers that you want to write off the contribution of someone who's got a track record for looking after your slayers' backs. I can't say that I know the guy all that well but I trust him a helluva lot more than I trust any of you suits. You've never even met him properly and you want to diss everything he's brought to the game. Forget it."

"We have met as it happens, young lady. In 1963 my colleagues and I came across him as he was slaughtering an orphanage in Vienna. He killed two of my men before he escaped, but I'm sure Wesley could have told you this already. He simply chooses to ignore the danger amongst us."

"I-I do no such thing. It is my considered opinion that Spike has had a change of heart." Wes struggled to justify his position.

His father gave a disbelieving snort. "And this change of heart will last precisely how long after that disgrace to the title slayer returns to her grave?"

"A-At last count, it was n-nearly five months," Tara informed him. "And I th-think he would d-do it anyway. S-Spike's place on the team is n-not in question. Y-Yours is."

"William, he have the darkness inside him, but is darkness tamed by love. You know never the touch of such love. You hide your darkness behind organisations and codes and words of honour and christen to be virtue. William, he fight to be goodest he can be. He is bad man who try to be good. I think you bad man who like to think he good."

The watcher rose to his feet, glaring at Lily as if she were the devil himself. He didn't even notice Ha Nath rise to her feet beside him. "This is preposterous. You do not know me, madam, and if you were any younger I would be inclined to show you the extent of my disdain for your opinion. Wesley, I will not stand here and be insulted by your demon compatriots."

The younger watcher took a deep breath, steeling himself before he replied. "Then, father, I suggest you leave. Lily is a talented empath and, so far, I have no reason to dispute her judgement in any matter. I do know you well and I have to concur with her opinion, and while she may not respond to your threats of violence in kind, I suspect that Ha Nath might feel compelled to intervene on her behalf."

"This? This slip of a girl?"

Ha Nath stepped closer until she stood almost nose to nose with the retired watcher.

"That slip of a girl regularly ejects Chirago demons from the club where she works," Wes responded with a wry smile and was rewarded with a distinct bob of his father's Adam's apple. "Now, since the rest of us, I hope, are here to achieve something constructive with this meeting, I think it would be helpful if you either go back and report your outrage to your good friend Mr Travers or sit down and be quiet, in which case we might allow you to stay for the remainder of our time, which of course would give you more tales to tell when you do go scuttling back to him. The choice is yours."

Roger's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard, but then he sat.

"So, we're agreed that for the moment we don't carry out routine patrols in the area of the vineyard. If Spike and Buffy get a chance to check out the tunnels tonight after they've been to the hospital, then we can make our plans based on any information that may produce."

"We could check out maps of the area to see if there's anywhere we could use for long range surveillance," Brandon suggested. "Anywhere that might overlook it. Dad might be able to help. He used to do that sort of thing all the time."

Wes nodded to the three teenagers. "Okay, I'll leave that in your hands, but I don't want any of you going out to the site. If you find anything on the maps that looks promising then I want you to bring it to one of the slayers, myself, Giles or Spike. Is that clear?

Now, research... Bee, why don't you explain about the books we're concentrating on?"

From the doorway behind Wes there came the sound of someone clearing their throat. "Maybe I could say a few words first?" Kennedy's eyes darted around the room, noting the absence of all those who had charged her with the task of apologising. For a fraction of a second she wondered if she could avoid the chore. Then, she looked at Tara. The blonde gave her an encouraging smile that gifted her with the strength to look Clem, Ha Nath and Lily in the eyes as she found the words, mostly paraphrased from Spike's earlier talk, with which to express her regret.








"No, we're not relatives." Just because Buffy wanted to claim the potential as a sister didn't mean that she had confidence she could back it up when the hospital staff started asking awkward questions. "You phoned us. She was asking for us."

The doctor looked over to the nearby nurses' station, and the man on duty there nodded. "She's been asking to see a... Buffy Summers?"

"And that's me!" the slayer answered in a tone too full of enthusiasm to ring true. "You call. We come."

"Miss Summers, I'm not sure if you understand quite how serious Shannon's condition is. If I allow you to see her, it will be on your own and for no more than five minutes. If at any time during that period she seems to be in any distress, you will need to leave immediately."

Buffy nodded. "I understand."








Buffy tried to be compassionate as the girl told her story, pointing out that even a potential had better than average recuperative powers and that if the girl was determined enough she might confound the doctors who were looking after her. She didn't think she did too badly all things considered. It was only as she stood to leave that she momentarily let her rage overcome her. "He'll pay. We'll make him pay." Strangely, or perhaps not, her vow that she would see the girl's tormentor dead did as much to set the troubled teen's mind at rest as all her kind words.








"It looks like our friend from the high school basement's made a reappearance, only this time he wasn't quite so shy about being seen."

Spike didn't offer Buffy the comfort of his arms that he knew she craved. Instead, he offered up his heart in his eyes and in a brush of their hands as she strode past, so glancing as to seem accidental, unnoticed even, but full of emotion nevertheless. Solace would come later, for now his slayer needed to slay, and Spike fell into step at her right shoulder with the watchers following on behind.

"Apparently, he uses the name Caleb and is, was or pretends to be some sort of preacher. He branded her with some sort of signet ring with a cross... He branded her, nearly gutted her and pushed her out of a moving vehicle all to get my attention. Well, he's got it.

We'll go check out those tunnels. You take the car back and get Willow to do..."

Buffy's step faltered and Spike drew level, taking her hand in his as the awkward silence stretched on, interrupted only by the beeps and buzzes of the I.C.U.'s equipment.

"We'll make sure someone checks it out," Lydia assured her. "Perhaps, it might be better, though, if we were all to go back to the school? I think the others need to know what's happening and it may be a few days before we can call everyone together again."

"Did she say anything else... about her watcher maybe?" Giles asked.

"They had a blow out. The car hit a tree, and he was knocked out, bleeding badly. Then, the bringers swarmed in and she ran. She ran straight to him . Thought he was going to help her... until she noticed her watcher's body in the bed of the truck... Thrown in like he was some sort of road kill, she said. All so he can gloat. He says he has something of mine. I say we get it back."

She turned to her mate. "Spike?"

The vampire looked anything but happy. He knew they were heavily outnumbered and that with an invite like they'd been given, the welcoming party was sure to be a doozy. Spike liked a challenge. That didn't mean he was suicidal or that he wanted to take risks with Buffy's life, but he also knew where he stood in this fight. The same place he always did. "Whatever you want, slayer. I've got your back."

"I really think that perhaps-."

"Giles, relax. I promised her that I'd make him pay. To do that I need to stay alive, but to quote Sean Connery, 'He sends one of ours to the hospital. We send one of his to the morgue.' Or more, since we're playing catch up, only we're going to get some information out of them first. Better go find yourself the makings for a truth spell. We're not coming home alone."

* Night Games by Graham Bonnet
 
Chapter 5.11
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.11
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Spike patted down his jeans pockets, a job that under other circumstances Buffy would have gladly undertaken for him. He pulled out his keys, used them to unlock the trunk and then tossed them to the elder watcher. Rummaging to one side, he removed several foot-long thick plastic strips from a brown paper sack. Splitting the bundle roughly in two, he passed half to Buffy, and the slayer split her share in turn to go half in each of the outer pockets of a long black leather coat that she had obviously stowed away in the trunk for emergency use. It wasn't the duster she habitually wore for patrol these days, but a thinner, more tailored version that Giles doubted would give the same protection, and the pockets weren't quite deep enough to stop the end of the sticks from peeking out, enough showing for Giles to realise that the rods were glow sticks of the type used by climbers or pot-holers.

The vampire passed over what Giles recognised from that dark summer as his favourite hand axe, in favour of one with a wider head, its handle longer than average for its weight in order to compensate for the way the end had been sharpened to a rough but serviceable point. Spike slid the haft between his swiftly loosened belt and his jeans so the head rested by his waist. Buffy lifted a shortsword and pulled it loose of its sheath, testing the edge of the blade and earning a raised eyebrow and a semi-glare from her fiancé that clearly said she should have known the weapon would have been oiled, sharpened and cared for. His long fingers wrapped around her wrist, and the impatience in his eyes turned to sensuality, the watchers all but forgotten. Buffy watched mesmerised while he raised the cut on the ball of her thumb to his lips, sucking it until her blood flushed any trace of oil from the wound and then licking over it as the flow slowed. With a final reverent brush of his lips he released her.

"No need to make that slayer healing work overtime, pet," Spike teased as he turned back to the trunk space, his voice only marginally huskier than normal.

Giles tried not to notice Buffy's equally obvious shiver before she hooked the sword's scabbard over her belt, making sure that the flared skirts of her coat would hide it from general view but that it would still be easily accessible. Spike tossed a couple of sharpened lengths of broom handle that had rolled into a corner in Buffy's general direction and she caught them easily in mid air, sliding them into the back pockets of her jeans with a couple of practised twirls, neither seeming to notice nor mind that the ends of the staves practically brushed against her shoulder blades. It took no more than a flick of the vamp's eyes to have the slayer rooting through a small vanity case, pulling out a two inch high diamanté cross on a long ribbon, which she wrapped around her neck. Spike took a pint-sized Newcastle Brown bottle from a crate which housed three more, but the glass bottle no longer bore a factory sealed cap, just a cork, and the movement of the liquid inside somehow suggested it wasn't holy water. He tilted the bottle in Buffy's direction as if in invitation but the slayer flashed the inside of her coat, showing that she had run out of storage capacity. The bottle slid instead into an inner pocket of the vampire's duster, but he still tested a couple of lighters from a box of about a dozen before passing them to Buffy and claiming two more for himself. Giles had seen similar models in his youth. The windproof Zippo-like flame suited the sort of situation where they might wish to light the liquid in that bottle from a distance while the more intense flame normally used for burning cannabis resin, if used up close, would hopefully allow it to be effective more quickly than Spike's Zippo had been when Giles had been being strangled by a 500lb vamp, even if it required the trigger to be held down.

There was no posturing, none of the testosterone induced rivalry of earlier in the evening, just simple efficiency and instinctive teamwork. Giles had never been more aware that his duty of care to his slayer had been usurped. If, most of the time, he might have wished she could have found a human lover, then as he watched them arm for war he couldn't help but be glad for the supernatural strength her partner loaned her... and if he felt satisfaction that Spike's love would lead him to defend her with unparalleled ferocity then he wasn't going to admit it, not to Buffy and certainly not to the insolent, trouble-making vamp.








"Okay, that brings us up to date on the research," Wes announced. "Lily, if you and Clem are going to be helping out with the translations, then I think it's time you all moved in. Oz, maybe in the morning you could help out with that?"

The werewolf nodded.

"As for direct action, I think it best we wait until we have more information, either from Spike and Buffy or from our research. Does anyone have any other issues they want to bring up?"

James looked around the room, waiting to see if anyone else had any further contributions or, in the case of the other Wyndam Pryce, any objections but, when no one else spoke, he took his chance. "Lydia has some notes here about placing wards around the school. She seems to have allocated several of the junior watchers to research a particular ritual but it appears we might need the help of the Wiccans from the college again."

"A lot of them have gone home for the summer vacation... I-ehm-a-after W-Willow I d-don't know how many would be willing to help," Tara seemed pained to admit, her gaze focused on her lap, and her hair shrouding her face. "Can't we do it with the council's magic users?"

James looked equally embarrassed. "It seems that a large proportion of the council mages would be ineligible to assist with the ritual. I'm afraid that many of our members have, at one point or another, chosen to fight fire with fire. The ritual relies on the purity of the casters to repel those of evil intent, not that the barriers would hold against a serious attack, but it might give us a warning. There are other possible spells but most of them would make life difficult for those amongst us who are other than human or they rely on barrier spells which could be draining to maintain and would almost mean placing everyone under house arrest."

Tara raised luminous eyes to meet those of the young watcher, not bothering to hide the grief that was once more at the surface even though her lips curved into a conspiratorial smile for her fellow magic user. "C-Can I have a look at her notes?" she enquired. "Maybe with Bee's help... And Rupert's," she added as the Siamese leapt from the adjacent armchair to land at her side, walk onto her lap, circle twice and curl up in a purring ball.








"So why aren't you complaining about missing your soccer?"

"Footie... Honestly?" Spike asked.

"Like I'm going to ask you to lie to me? Of course, honestly." Buffy stooped to lend a hand as Spike pried loose a manhole cover in a dark alley a couple of blocks from the hospital.

The vampire shrugged. "It's not like I've got any real attachment to either Sweden or Senegal, so it's not like I care, as such, what the result is, an' to be honest my money's on Brazil to beat Belgium tomorrow or whatever day that is..."

"And?" Buffy seemed puzzled.

Spike ran the words of his reply together, his voice directed at his feet. "And that'd mean we play them next an' it might be temptin' fate to be checkin' out the form for anyone as we'd be playin' after that." His head twisted to look at Buffy. "But don't dare tell the watcher I said that. As for the Ireland match, I'd normally cheer on anyone that was up against the bloody Paddies but Bit's lad might take that the wrong way, so if we don't make it back in time, it's no big deal."

"Do I even need to ask why you have such a dislike for the Irish? ...Apart from Brandon."

A shadow flitted across the blond's features. "Best just chalk it up to friendly rivalry... or unreasonable prejudice," he suggested, drawing his axe before he dropped into the gloom of the storm drain with a soft splash.

"Yours or Angel's?" Buffy asked as she followed him through the opening.

"How about both?" the vampire asked as he lifted Buffy enough for her to reach and drag the cover back into place.

Buffy let him get slightly ahead of her as they made their way down the tunnel, just a foot or so, but enough that he wouldn't see the shake of her head. No matter how much things changed some things remained the same.








The sounds of hammering echoed along the tunnels. They were close, too close for the sound to be caused by anyone other than The First's minions, and the pair chafed as they cautiously made their way onward despite the adrenaline in their system that had set off the martial element of their bond minutes before. The vampire suddenly pushed ahead of his fiancée and pulled a glow stick from his coat pocket, bending it to snap the crystals inside and holding it up to better illuminate the area where they were.

'I thought we were saving those for when we get into a fight?'

"I would, but I'm kinda attached to my-." Spike stopped and turned to face his companion. 'You didn't say that out loud, did you?'

'Ehm, no... And neither did you. Guess the claim's getting a little bit stronger.' Buffy's inner voice displayed a mixture of emotions at that idea, not all positive. 'But for now maybe you want to tell me why you're turning us into sitting ducks?'

Satisfied the immediate area was clear, Spike dropped the stick on the floor of the tunnel and activated another. 'Bringers can't see, anyway, leastways not in any way that we understand. Turok Han will smell us a mile off an' they're going to have the drop on you in the dark so we're not really losing any advantage unless that preacher guy's around... but the big decidin' factor is the eau de plastique. It's either a little close by or if it's up where the noise is comin' from then they've got enough to bring the whole place down on our heads. Either way, I like my limbs and other parts where they are, not to mention yours. 'Sides, if we have to beat a hasty retreat it'll be no bad thing to have the nearest manhole signposted.' His gaze travelled to the ladder at one side leading upward.

They turned a corner to find themselves at a large junction area. One of the tunnels had been blocked off with old pipes and furniture, some of which Buffy felt sure had been salvaged from the basement of the old high school. The hammering came from the other side of the barrier.

'Guess this is it, pet. Last chance to head on out an' grab one of the robey types up top?' he offered, already knowing the answer before Buffy started to climb her way over the debris.

'Get a move on, Randy,' the slayer teased, pausing to catch the vampire's eye as she swung one leg over the top of the barricade. 'It's not like mine is the only "gorgeous arse" around here, but you're not going to get to do anything about it until we get back to the school... And, yes, I am sure about that. We're too far in now for fun and games and we're going to be dragging a prisoner on the way back.' Answers came to thoughts Spike had barely been aware of having.

He threw the second glow stick over the blockade and almost quicker than Buffy could see was up and had followed it over and was waiting for her on the other side. 'We better get our guy an' get back quick or the zip on these jeans is goin' to rub me bloody raw then.'

'I didn't tell you to suck my thumb, you fangy lust bunny,' Buffy protested, as Spike bent yet another glow stick, once more taking the lead as he checked for tripwires or the like.

'Didn't seem like you were complaining, neither.'

'...And, if the chafing was bothering you as opposed to making you even hornier you'd tuck your shirt in.'

The tunnel rounded another corner and, though the hammering still came from further away, it was obvious they had found something significant. Spike quickly located the large box containing the explosives that had been taunting his nasal passages for the past several minutes. He threw down a glow stick on top of it as Buffy prepared a couple of her own and dropped them where she could use their light to inspect the array of swords, halberds and other weapons that lined the walls of the underground room they had entered. The crystals flared into greenish life, lighting the features of the bringers with a sickly glow as they stepped out from amongst the bundles of weapons. Buffy shifted her grip on her shortsword as she stepped back. Spike's footsteps matched hers and the two stood back to back before the first of the harbingers could even swing at them.

The bringers seemed to lack even the simple initiative to use the longer weapons that were readily available to them, almost all of them relying solely on the small curved daggers that they carried, and the fact that they didn't seem to want Buffy dead only hampered them further. It took less than a minute before seven lay on the ground, spilling their lifeblood on the concrete floor, and Spike was using their intended prisoner's belt to fasten his arms behind his back before he regained consciousness. Buffy started to look at the weapons, examining them for quality, but Spike gave a quick shake of his head, resorting to an urgent whisper when he realised that, with the bringers subdued, their bond had reverted to normal. "Get a rough count an' do it quick, an' then we're out of here."

"What's the rush? We still haven't checked out what the noise is. I mean, I clocked him pretty good. He should be out for at least half an hour. We could-."

"Pet, believe me, if Father Ted has any more of those Turok Han around, then they're already on their way. We've got seven bodies bleedin' out somethin' close enough to human blood to get their attention, an' if they get near enough to smell your little nick..."

Spike's view of the tunnel through which they had arrived superimposed itself over Buffy's attempt at a weapon count, the two approaching Turok Han distracting her slightly.

'Then we'd be screwed?' Buffy finished as she stepped up to face a third ubervamp that growled a greeting from the passage they had yet to explore.

'I was thinking more along the lines of right royally fucked.'
 
Chapter 5.12
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.12
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Spike rapidly dismissed the idea of using the bottle in his inside pocket. Their attackers were already too close and the tunnels too unstable to risk the fire spreading. His hand reached into his jeans, clasping what he thought of as their 'lucky charm', slipping it between his fingers before he tightened his grip on his axe handle. He dashed to intercept the two Turok Han who were approaching from the rear before they could break free of the tunnel mouth. He couldn't allow them the room to come at him from more than one side or access to the weapons in the armoury.

 




 

Buffy took a millisecond to debate whether she should stay at his back or block the third ubervamp from the room. Reluctantly, she admitted that the best way to help her vampire was to take out her opponent before he could get to Spike. That meant taking the fight to him. Inside the tunnel, she kept her sword moving in defensive arcs, trying to keep the vamp at a distance. With her off hand, she crushed all the remaining glow sticks in the pocket on that side, throwing them at her attacker's face before they bounced to the tunnel's floor. The deformed beast snarled at the sudden relative brightness, and raised an arm to cover its eyes. Though Buffy had been more concerned with ensuring that she could adequately see her attacker than trying to dazzle it, she used the chance to slash open its forearm.

 




 

So far as Spike was concerned he had three advantages in this fight. He had the weaponry, he had the brains and he had the moves. They had numbers, they had strength and they probably had better pain resistance. He just hoped he had enough.

He used the momentum of his run up to throw himself into a forward roll, swinging out with his axe at the nearer of the two targets as he rose to his feet again. His intended victim neatly jumped clear of the swipe and its companion at arms almost managed a raking blow against Spike's back. Its claws were only millimetres short of slashing open the brand new leather.

"Mind the bloody coat, you half-decomposed bastard!" the blond snarled in annoyance.

'Don't try to play the hero, Spike. You just need to stay in one piece and keep them busy until I can get rid of this one and we can get them two on two.' She tried not to broadcast the thought that the last time they had met one of these they'd been struggling even when they were able to double team it.

Her words coincided with the crunch of metal shattering bone, the head of Spike's axe slicing through the arm that had threatened his apparel, and the blade embedding itself deeply into the tunnel's earthen wall.

'Oh bugger!' was the blond's only response as, after a quick and ineffective tug, he gave the weapon up as lost, dropping into a defensive stance and edging back away from his adversaries. He was especially careful of the one that should in any reasonable universe be falling back and licking its wounds. This, Spike thought as the beast charged, was obviously no reasonable universe.

 




 

Buffy continued on the defensive, her encounter with the Turok Han at the high school construction site making her wary of over-extending herself. Just as she was getting the measure of her opponent's style and looking to capitalise, she 'saw' the one-handed ubervamp lunge toward Spike. In one seamless move she pirouetted into a spin kick. Her left hand reached behind her, pulling out one of the pieces of broom handle. Her off-handed throw sent it tumbling end over end toward the fight on the far side of the room. Before it could meet its mark, she had spun full circle. Strong fingers gripped her ankle, preventing her foot from impacting with her adversary's head. The ubervamp used his hold to push her roughly into the tunnel wall, bruising both her shoulder and the back of her head. She landed in an ungainly heap, but quickly managed to roll away from the Turok Han's questing talons and back to her feet, keeping her grip on her shortsword the whole time.

 




 

Spike tried to avoid the injured ubervamp's berserker attack, dodging sideways even as he continued to edge back toward the end of the tunnel, but the creature's lunge drove its shoulder into his right side. Its momentum knocked him off balance. That and the fact he was trying to reach behind him using Buffy's view of the stake's trajectory rather than his own meant that, instead of snatching the wooden rod cleanly from the air, his fingertips merely tipped it to one side. Giving up on the weapon for the moment, he clutched at the leather the Neanderthal vamp wore and curled his legs up as he rolled backwards. As his back met the earthen floor, he pushed out with his booted feet, keeping hold of the other vampire's clothing for just a fraction of a second longer, so that it tumbled as it flew through the air. Hoping that he had gained a temporary reprieve, his gaze sought out the second of his adversaries. When he realised that it was currently trying to pull his own axe from the tunnel wall, he used the precious seconds he had gained to grasp for the fallen stake and regain his feet with a scything leg motion. By the time he did, 'Ol' One Hand', as Spike christened him, was also back on his feet and in the armoury.

 




 

'To me, pet!' Spike's 'voice' cut through the rhythm of thrust and parry that the slayer had entered into with her opponent. Transferring her concentration momentarily from her own fight to see what was happening with his, she realised that Spike had been forced into the armoury and was trying to manoeuvre his way into a position where he blocked the one-handed Turok Han from attacking her from behind. The second of Spike's opponents was also making its axe-wielding way into the armoury.

Keeping up her defence until the last instant, she fell back until she could meet Spike in the centre of the room. He faced one way, she the other, as all three ubervamps moved to circle the pair. Spike  transferred his stake to his right hand and, as one, the couple reached out, his fingertips curling over hers, as if they were preparing to dance a gavotte. Within seconds the injured Turok Han made a dive for Spike, the blondes sidestepping, one to either side, raising their hands as they pulled them apart. The creature exploded in a cloud of dust, its head severed from its body by the garrotte that Wes had given them after their encounter at the high school. Buffy released her grip and the wire retracted back into the T-shaped handle between Spike's fingers. 'One down,' thought the slayer, but she knew that in a sense it was a hollow victory. That little trick was pretty much a one shot deal, at least so far as this fight went, and they weren't going to be able to get out of there until all three had been despatched. The dance was far from over.
 
Chapter 5.13
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting




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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.13
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Buffy was quick to realise that the overall fight was going to be a lot less dangerous if she took on the Turok Han with the axe and left the one who, so far, had yet to arm himself or was that itself? Maybe it was even herself. Who knew with these things? Anyway, left that one for Spike. A chunk of broom handle wasn't something she'd like to use to parry any weapon that Spike had sharpened. She watched the ebb and flow of both fights carefully, waiting their moment. 'Spike, when I give the word we're doing the switch from the church.'

Even hearing Spike's answer in her head, she could picture the smirk that went with it, and he let her know that he had remembered the move she meant. 'Guess my little dominatrix wants to be on top?'

'Now!'

Spike bent at the waist and Buffy threw herself into a roll that momentarily pressed her bruised back against his and in an instant she faced off against the axe-wielding ubervamp.

 






Even as Spike straightened up and shifted his stance to face off against the unarmed vamp, he realised that the Turok Han wasn't adjusting particularly quickly to its change of opponent. Keeping his left hand curled around the stake, he launched into a series of kicks and punches in hopes of wearing the creature down but, despite their force and accuracy, they seemed to do little to daunt his adversary. The Turok Han simply seemed to take whatever punishment was necessary to allow it to get close enough to rake at Spike with its claws or get in a mule-like kick. Within a couple of minutes, the new leather of his duster bore several scrapes that hadn't been there at the beginning of the night and three parallel gashes showed red on Spike's cheek.

"Not a good move, mate," Spike commented, brushing at the scratches with the back of his hand and then licking the blood from it, even as he dodged a couple of flailing swings from the stronger but marginally slower vamp. "See, my lady there likes me all pretty, an' I like to keep the lady happy." Spike loosed a left-handed jab to the nose, a right hook that caught the Neanderthal's jaw and followed them up with a particularly vicious knee to its groin. He waited for the vamp to collapse, but instead its straight fingered punch found his solar plexus, driving finger-deep through the muscles of his stomach.

Spike let out a choking gasp of pain, gripping his adversary's shoulder to stop himself crashing to his knees and using what strength he could muster to plunge the broom handle into the ubervamp's chest, centre mass. The wood penetrated and stuck but the ubervamp failed to turn to dust. At least now it was more interested in removing the impediment than trying to attack Spike. The blond pushed the other vamp backward, trying to gain space, and was lucky enough that, with both its hands occupied, it caught its foot on the uneven floor and landed on its back. Before it could pry the stake loose a Doc Marten heel stomped down on the exposed wood, driving it through the monster's ribcage with an audible crack, and the beast metamorphosed into a swirl of dust that buffeted Spike's ankles.

Spike staggered to the nearest tunnel entrance and propped himself against the wall, trying to regain enough strength to aid his girl. He pulled a bastardsword from a nearby rack, planting it point down into the ground and leaning his elbows on the crosspiece as if it were a crutch. He spared the barest of glances for the still unconscious and trussed bringer and then his eyes turned to Buffy.

 




 

Buffy tried to keep at least enough of her concentration on Spike's view of things to know if his opponent were to get through beneath his guard and become a threat, but for the most part she was too busy blocking and parrying the swings and blows of her opponent to do more than simply trust Spike to protect her back.

Every extra minute seemed to find the ubervamp more comfortable with the weapon it carried, more familiar with its balance and heft and more adept in its use. Buffy had figured that since this one had been wise enough to grab a weapon, that of the three it was probably the most intelligent of their opponents. It looked like she was right. It seemed that her opponent was gauging her responses every bit as much as she gauged it.

The Turok Han would attack with a series of swings. Buffy would put up a defence, the moves almost a matter of instinct. The next time the ubervamp launched what seemed like a familiar series of moves, just as she was anticipating its next strike, it would change pattern and come up with an attack that caught her unawares. She'd find herself trailing its lead just enough that she couldn't quite block the total effects of its blows. It had yet to score a clear hit with the axe head, but Buffy was sure she would have bruises on her forearms where she had blocked the handle's path. Every time metal struck metal the force of the blow would jar her arms, and once the adrenaline of the fight wore off she knew they would burn.

Buffy shook her head slightly to clear it of thoughts she couldn't afford. Time enough to worry about aching muscles when the fight was over. Now that there were four combatants in the space, the armoury allowed little opportunity for her to utilise her trademark flips and rolls. Even though she could tell that going toe-to-toe with the vampire would simply wear her down little by little, she found herself doing just that as her eyes swept the room for something, for anything, that she could turn to her advantage.

Borrowed pain ripped through her abdomen, making her stumble as she backed away from her opponent. The sensation lasted barely long enough to warn her that Spike had been badly hurt and then it was gone as if it had never been. She didn't have time to wonder whether the cut-off was down to Spike blocking the claim's effects or whether having relayed its message there was no need for the pain to continue. Instinct forced her into an all out attack as soon as she regained a firm footing, determined to see an end to the ubervamp she faced before Spike could succumb to his wounds, leaving her to face both ubervamps. Drawing a bead on the Turok Han's neck with her sword, she pivoted into a three hundred and sixty degree spin. The turn was three quarters complete when a kick sent her sprawling into the weapon racks at the side of the room. She scrambled backward, gaining several minor cuts on her left palm from the exposed blades of the spilled weapons, when the ubervamp brought the axe downward as if her legs were so much wood to be chopped into kindling. A fraction of a second later she had regained her feet.

She and her opponent traded blow for blow once more, the sequence ending with Buffy backed up against one of the weapon racks, her muscles straining as she used the flat of her sword blade to push back against the axe her opponent wielded. Suddenly the vampire twisted his grip, the axe head angling back as he drove the sharpened wooden point of the handle forward into the left side of Buffy's abdomen.

 




 

Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as Spike watched the point he had personally sharpened pierce the flesh of Buffy's side and watched her sink to her knees on the dirt floor. Despair enveloped the vampire and tears blurred his vision. Hours later when he regained consciousness, his last memory of the fight would be of Buffy sliding to the floor.
 
Chapter 5.14
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.14
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Wesley tightened his arms around the small girl as she pressed her face into his neck and then loosened his grip as she pushed back to see his face.

"I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart," he half-whispered at the sadness in her eyes.

"Know," Rosa admitted, but still her lower lip trembled. "But mommy misses you when you're not with us."

"I'm sorry. It's just that there are things I have to do here. Mr Giles might need help getting ready for when Buffy and your Uncle Will get back."

"I miss you, too."

The watcher found himself staring into limpid pools of apparent misery. He felt like his heart was twisting in his chest, just as he was sure the girl intended, but duty kept him where he was. "You know you're going to have men wound 'round your little finger when you get older." There was a wry amusement in his tone, but tiny creases formed between the girl's brows.

"Dawnie said I already had Unker Will and Unker Clem wound round my little fingers, but I don't think they'd really fit..." Her eyes dropped to where Wes held her against his body. "...An' Unker Will's real nice but he's kinda Dawnie's an' Auntie Buffy's... so I think maybe, if there's not enough space... 'cause I only have two little fingers, I'd rather have you, 'cause you're really ours... mine an' mommy's."

Wes's eyes flicked briefly to Marie's face, seeing that she had heard her daughter's words, before he dropped a gentle kiss on the end of the child's nose and replied in a voice that conveyed that perhaps he was admitting it to himself as much as to Rosa. "Yes, I am, aren't I?"

A contented smile finally graced the girl's features and he gave her one last hug before he let her slip down his body, sending her off toward her uncle and grandmother with a gentle pat on her behind. "Go and let your grandmother put on your seatbelt while I say goodbye to your mommy and I'll see you in the morning."

Marie slipped into the arms that her daughter had only recently vacated, her cheek brushing against Wes's.

"You're raising a heartbreaker, you know that?" he whispered against a small tanned ear.

Marie's head tilted back, the silken waves of her hair brushing against his collarbone at the open neck of his shirt. "Yes, querido, but for every piece of your heart that she steals she'll give back part of her own."

"Just like her mother?" Wes queried, drawing back just enough to watch Marie's eyes.

The warmth in her smile and the tenderness in her gaze convinced the watcher that not only would he willingly give his heart, but if either Alvarez woman were to ask, he'd throw in his soul as well. "Just like her mother," Marie confirmed.

Their kiss was almost chaste. Given the crowd that surrounded them, Tara, James, Amanda, the recently returned Giles and Lydia and even Kennedy having assembled on the school's front steps to see off their guests, it almost had to be... but that didn't mean that either of them wanted it to end. The nudge against Wes's back that felt more like a push was, therefore, far from welcome. As soon as he had steadied both himself and Marie to his satisfaction, the watcher looked around to see who had so rudely pushed past them. The sight of his father striding off down the school drive, his suit covered by a lightweight trench coat, brought a sigh to his lips. "It seems my father considers himself immune to Sunnydale's nightlife. I suppose I better go after him."

Marie pressed one last kiss to his lips and pulled away, walking backward toward her car. "See you in the morning," she promised. The watcher waited until she climbed into the driving seat before he pulled out his car keys and switched off the alarm on his own car, using the flashing lights to guide him to its place in the parking lot.

 




 

"There is a reason why the girls aren't allowed outside the grounds on their own, you know? And it does apply equally well to the watchers." Wes spoke to his father through the rolled down driver's window of his car, having caught up with him just before he reached the end of the gravel driveway.

"You've already made it abundantly clear that you place no value whatsoever on my decades of experience in the field, Wesley. I, however, am confident of my ability to look after myself in this colonial backwater even if it does happen to house a hellmouth." The elder man kept walking forcing Wes to kerb crawl in order to continue the conversation.

"I never said that your experience didn't have any value. I have no problem with your experience. It's your prejudices that are causing the problem." Wes's father gave a snort and looked as if he was about to launch into a rebuttal but Wes cut him off. "Under normal circumstances, I would be quite happy for you to go wherever you wanted, whenever it happened to suit you, but don't you think that with The First's agents specifically targeting potentials and watchers alike that it might be just a little foolhardy wandering around on your own at night? Please, just get in the car and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Why take unnecessary risks?"

Yet again his father looked set to argue, but really there was no argument that could be made. He stalked around the outside of the car, pulling the passenger door open and getting in without a word.

"Some directions would be useful," Wes pointed out.

"I need a cash point and then perhaps what these Americans would term a convenience store. I only brought travel size toiletries with me. I wasn't expecting my business here to take more than a day or so. Somewhere that sells decent brandy might not be unwelcome." Seeing Wes's look of surprise at the apparent show of weakness, he continued. "It would be ungracious of me not to give Quentin something in way of thanks for putting me up while I'm here."

Wes declined to comment, even though it was obviously a dig at the fact that he had not offered to put his father up, despite the fact that by the time he knew about his father's visit he had been at the point of moving into the school himself. Apart from the muffled thrum of the engine and the hiss of rubber on tarmac, the car was silent until Wes drew up beside the ATM.

His father got out and Wes waited, fingertips tapping impatiently on the steering wheel as he checked up and down the street for any unusual activity. The First had already claimed one potential and her watcher tonight. Wes didn't intend to make it easy for them to take another victim. He waited and he watched... and he waited. He watched as his father rifled through his wallet, switching from one card to another and pushing it into the slot with rather more force than was necessary. Marie's earlier words came back to him. 'If he chooses finances as a weapon to use against us, then I will use it as a way to retaliate.' He watched as his father's lips moved, letting loose a stream of what passed for invective, if you happened to be upper-class and English, as he switched to a third card. Wes didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. 'Oh, my beautiful darling, what have you done?'
 
Chapter 5.15
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting




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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.15
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


"Did you manage to get everything you wanted?" Quentin asked, as he poured Roger a double measure of single malt.

"More or less. I had enough left from the withdrawal I made at LAX to cover the basic necessities, but that is hardly the point." Roger took the proffered glass and tipped back half of it in one mouthful.

"I'm sure it'll all turn out to be some glitch in the transatlantic banking system, or more precisely the American end of it... Unless Penny's redecorating again?" Quentin asked in a wry tone.

"Penny knows I like to be consulted before she makes any large purchases and, even so, that would only account for the joint account, not my personal ones."

"It'll all be cleared up with a few phone calls on Monday morning, and we can always advance you a few hundred dollars from the petty cash until then."

"That's very generous of you, Quentin, but I'm afraid that I couldn't possibly impose on you any further."

Realising that his continued presence was neither noticed by the two older watchers nor necessary, Wes twisted the door handle at his back and made a discreet exit.

 




 

Giles looked up expectantly when the basement door opened but couldn't prevent his look of disappointment as he identified Wesley.

The younger man looked at his wristwatch, checking that it wasn't later than he'd realised. "It's only ten to eleven. In all fairness, they've hardly had time to make their way across town, take a prisoner and drag him all the way back here, not to mention fitting in some sort of patrol."

Giles gave a heartfelt sigh. "I'm sorry, Wesley, no offence intended. It's just that I'll feel happier when Buffy gets back. I can't help thinking that she was in a rather foolhardy frame of mind when we parted ways."

Wes gave a wry smile. "None taken. At least when you give me that look it's for a reason, not just out of habit." His eyes scanned the room and he nodded a welcome to both Lydia and Tara, who appeared to be comparing notes over several heavy tomes as the Wiccan bound some dried herbs, mostly motherwort, into a tight bundle. The group had taken over a small corner office cum cubby-hole that was little more than a space big enough for a pair of chairs, a small table and a filing cabinet separated from the main basement area by a couple of sheets of drywall. "I wondered if there was anything that I might be able to do to help?"

Giles pulled his glasses from his face, busying himself with a white cotton handkerchief. "Well, ehm, the truth spell itself is rather elementary. However, we have little information as to just how strong one of these bringers might be, nor have I entirely discounted the possibility, given that this is Buffy and Spike that we're talking about, that they wouldn't bring back a Turok Han just to prove they could. I somehow think that Spike was unimpressed by those council members who continue to regard them as mythical creatures. In any case, Tara has come to our assistance with a spell to magically enhance the strength of the chains we hope to use to bind whatever they might capture. First, though, we have to hammer the mooring pins into solid concrete..."

At last, Wes understood why Giles was avoiding meeting his eyes. It must cost him a great deal of pride to admit that he was no longer the optimum candidate for such a physical task, especially in front of a recently acquired romantic interest. "I assume that Tara's spell will prevent the pins from simply being uprooted?" His gaze shifted back and forth between the young witch and the watcher.

Tara's half-smile was shy. "They'll hold." Her understated confidence was enough to still any further questions.

"Then, I suppose we should work out where we want to fix them..." Wes suggested, choosing a spot in the centre of the floor that would allow them room on all sides to draw a sacred circle once their hostage was in place. Ignoring the dust on the floor, he positioned himself spread-eagle, so that Giles could mark out where to affix the chains, allowing just a little leeway in case their captive were to be slightly shorter.

 




Sunday, June 16th, 2002

 

Wes wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve, leaving streaks of sweat and dark-coloured dust behind. He set aside the sledgehammer he'd recently finished using and gladly took the glass that Tara passed him, the jangle of ice cubes against its sides more than welcome. "You would think that after so many years in the U.S. I would have stopped expecting lemonade to mean Sprite or 7 Up."

"And what well brought-up Southern gal would you expect to be serving that fizzy water to someone who's just spent an hour doin' manual labour?" Tara teased, emphasising her accent playfully. "Ah'd be disowned." Then with a sudden switch back to her normal voice she added, "Oh, wait. I already was."

Giles stopped his restless pacing long enough to smile his amusement, glad to see some of the witch's wicked sense of humour finally making a return. He still felt the need to remind her affectionately, "As I recall, there was something of a simultaneous adoption process."

Tara's smile brightened and then grew wistful at the memory of Willow's part in that day's events, a Willow who had changed beyond recognition before she finally bought her redemption at the cost of her life. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than the solitude of her cot and perhaps the comfort of a purring ball of fur snuggled in against her... but before she could lay claim to her reward she had to perform the spell that would make the bindings secure.

She checked the clock that adorned the wall. It mocked her by showing the time as mere minutes after midnight. Rather than act within that half of 'the witching hour' traditionally reserved for darker magics, she resolved to wait half an hour or until Spike and Buffy arrived with their captive before she performed the enchantment.

Guarding her features, she passed out the remaining glasses of lemonade, and soon she and Lydia had returned to their discussion of the best means of performing the ward spell for the school.

 




 

Tara stumbled slightly as she made her way back to her chair, the spell to strengthen the chains and their mooring to the floor having left her momentarily drained. Before she could argue, Wes had a supporting arm around her waist and began to steer her toward the stairs.

"I should wait," she protested weakly. "They can't be much longer."

Giles demurred. "I'm sure that I'll be able to manage a simple truth spell on my own. You've already helped tremendously and it's obvious that it's taken a lot out of you. Wes has borne the brunt of the physical labour and it hasn't escaped my notice that Lydia has still been downing Advil at four-hourly intervals." He glanced over at the clock which now showed the time to be quarter to one. "There's no point in everyone going short on sleep just because Buffy and Spike have let themselves get... sidetracked on patrol." The watcher's expression showed his distaste at the thought of how exactly the two might have been distracted.

The tips of Wes's ears flushed slightly pink. "I doubt, given the seriousness of their mission, that any delays would be other than in the line of business," he suggested, but Giles remained unconvinced.

Lydia looked back and forth between the two men, unsure as to whose assessment was the more accurate, but ultimately it made no difference. She gave Giles a tentative smile. "I'll be in my office should you need me... or when you're finished."

There was an unmistakeable warmth in Giles' voice even though his answer was inherently uncertain. "We'll see."

 






Giles reached the bottom of the page once more and his eyes returned again to the clock on the basement wall. He ironically congratulated himself. This time he had lasted three minutes before he checked once more. He pulled his glasses from his face and pinched at the bridge of his nose. He had read through the details of the truth spell so often over the last few hours that he was certain that he would be able to cast it from memory. Of course, when Spike and Buffy finally got here he would use the spellbook regardless. There was no point in risking a mistake just to show off.

He pushed to one side his worries over Buffy's impetuous decision to take the fight to The First, doing his best to bring the memory of the heat between the couple to the forefront of his mind. He tried to convince himself that that alone was the reason that they had still not returned at... twenty seven minutes past three.

 




 

Dawn's hand swiped at the button on the top of her alarm clock but she wasn't quite quick enough.

A groan echoed from the bed on the other side of the room and Faith dragged a pillow over her ears, only to then come awake enough to query the noise. "Wha' time's it?" she slurred, her mouth dry.

"Sorry. It's only quarter past four. I kinda told Brand I'd watch the Ireland soccer match with him and it starts in quarter of an hour." Dawn pushed Rogue off the bed so that she could get her legs out from under the covers, slid her feet into her slippers and snagged the topmost robe from the hook on the back of the door as she left, the wolfish mutt padding after her.

She slipped into the room that was unofficially shared by Wes and Brandon. She planned to shake the other teen gently into wakefulness, but, when Rogue shot past her, springing on Brandon's bed and licking his face enthusiastically, she decided it was slightly redundant. The cot listed to one side under the dog's weight, tipping Brandon onto the floor.

Dawn covered her eyes to hide her embarrassment as Wesley sprang into immediate wakefulness. "Sorry, Wes. Spain, Ireland in a few minutes if you're interested?" she suggested sheepishly. She slapped at her thigh a couple of times to regain the bitch's attention. "Rogue, go find daddy! Go wake up daddy!" The dog's oversized ears perked to attention and she bounded back past Dawn, sniffing briefly at the floor by the door to Spike and Buffy's room before haring off down the stairs.

"Shit!" Dawn pushed open the door to the blonde couple's room on the off chance that the puppy simply either hadn't understood her instructions or was wilfully ignoring them, but the room was empty. "Better go get her back before she wakes up the whole building." A much put upon teenaged sigh echoed up from the stairwell as she plodded downstairs. It wasn't that she had anything against soccer. She'd even admit to finding it vaguely interesting in its own right and, with Spike as busy as he had been lately, it also provided a measure of "big brother" time when he wasn't being monopolised by Buffy. What was better, though, was snuggling up in the dark next to Brandon, sharing his enthusiasm in a moment that was theirs alone. Somehow, by the time she herded Rogue back upstairs she doubted tonight would be that sort of night.

 




 

The sound of people moving around and talking in theatrical whispers, soon followed by the buzz of the old TV set warming up and the commentators' words woke Bee up. Yet again, she could hear the sound of muffled sobs from the room's other bed. As she had done so often, she froze in place, trying not to let the Wicca know that her private sorrow had become public. Then, Rupert shifted in his sleep, his fur brushing against the tip of Bee's nose, and her subterfuge was sabotaged by a loud sneeze. In the dark, she could hear Tara franticly trying to bring her tears under control without success.

Without a word, Bee got out of her bed and pushed it across the floor until it pressed against the edge of Tara's. She climbed back into her own cocoon of sheets and blankets but her hand reached out and her fingers twined with those of the witch. Rupert rose from his previous position, as if annoyed at being shunted around. He stalked down the centre of the two beds and turned a couple of times before settling into the gap between the two women's bodies.

 




 

By the time Dawn had enticed Rogue away from the school's main door with a bowl of dried dog food, Wes was dressed again and already making tea and coffee. The number of mugs he had laid out put paid to any last hope she had had for any privacy.

"Who's up?"

"Faith, Oz, you, me, Brandon and I thought I'd check whether Giles was still on basement duty."

"He's still waiting up for Spike and Buffy to get back?"

"Well, he isn't in his room and as far as I'm aware he was going to stay up until they got in..."

"For-. Give me that cup of tea when it's ready," she insisted impatiently.

 




 

Dawn almost felt sorry for the watcher, his glasses halfway down his nose and his cheek resting against the open pages of the book he'd been reading, just the smallest hint of drool at the corner of his mouth, but, then, grown ups were her natural prey.

She put her full weight on the second to bottom step, bouncing on it slightly to emphasise its natural squeak. Giles shot bolt upright, automatically correcting his glasses and then wiping at his mouth. "Buffy?"

Dawn decided not to tell him about the black mirror-image writing on his face. He'd find out soon enough. "No, doofus, Dawn." She sat the mug of tea down before him.

"I'm sure your mother wouldn't have approved of you calling your elders doofuses... doofii, whatever."

"Probably not, but then, you have earned it. I guess it never occurred to you to call their cell phones."

Giles coloured slightly but then rushed to his own defence. "It wouldn't be exactly ideal if they were trying to sneak up on an opponent and their phones rang."

Dawn snorted as she turned back toward the stairs. "You can't be naïve enough to think that Spike hasn't figured out all the fun of vibrating ring tones."

Giles waited until the girl's footsteps had faded into the distance. "There are vibrating ring tones?"




 
Chapter 5.16
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.16
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


The loud groans from the TV room told her that Ireland had conceded an early goal, but Dawn didn't even try to make it through to watch the replay. Instead she flipped through the phone's memory until, this time, she found Buffy's number. If Spike wouldn't answer maybe she would. It wasn't that Dawn was worried... yet. She just figured that if she had already found them by the time Giles finished his tea and realised that he didn't have all the numbers for everyone's cells, then that would be kinda cool.

She wasn't worried, she told herself as she got the message that the cell phone she was trying to reach had been switched off. She wasn't worried at all, but just the same it might be an idea to get Wes to drive and Faith as back up while they checked out a few of their more likely boltholes... just to be on the safe side.

She'd give Spike another ten minutes, in case he'd been in the middle of beating some helpless fledge to a dusty pulp, or maybe he couldn't get his phone out of his pocket, what with carrying some bringer, or maybe if they were really lucky he might even have got the creepy preacher guy. A few extra minutes wouldn't hurt, but just in case she'd ring the hospital... Of course, if Spike had ended up there as anything other than a visitor, they were in deep trouble and as long as he was conscious he would have called...

"Wes? Faith? How d'you guys feel about forming up for a search party?" she called out, pulling on her jeans and jacket over the top of her nightshirt, her phone still pressed against her ear as she waited on hold for the hospital switchboard.

Though the speed with which he rose from his seat suggested he might be concerned in his own right, the watcher directed a teasing glance at Brandon as he replied. "I don't see a problem. Up until last week, Ireland had never scored more than one goal in a World Cup Final match in the history of the tournament, so unless they're planning another major break with tradition, it's not like I'm going to be missing too much."

"Heyyyy. No fair!" Brandon protested. "They're not beaten yet, not as long as Robbie Keane's on the pitch."

 




 

"Spike?" Buffy struggled her way through the veil of sleep, trying to identify the 'wrongness' that tugged at her consciousness. She raised her voice slightly and then tried again. "Spike? The bedclothes are moving... Spike?"

Panic began to set in when she couldn't 'feel' the vampire's emotions, but then she realised that she was still fully dressed. No skin to skin contact. Neither breath nor reply escaped the vampire's lips and she rolled to face the body behind her. Pain burned through her as fabric matted with blood ripped away from her injured side, reopening the wound. Her teeth pressed into her lip and, just as she had sought to open them, her eyes involuntarily screwed shut.

"Spike?" Her hands reached out blindly in front of her. Instead of flesh and bone, she found fabric and padding. Even before she could bring the pattern into focus the colour told her where she was. Back on that sofa. Back in her mother's house.

Holding her side, she rolled once more, searching for her vampire. There, on the floor with his back against the front of the settee, his skin and hair painted brown with crusted blood, his T-shirt and jeans ripped and torn but there , where if she just let her arm drop over the side of the cushions she could touch him. There , where her fingers brushed against his arm. There and not dust.

Her eyes slipped closed, all thoughts of what had originally awoken her forgotten, and she drifted once more into a healing sleep.

 




 

Faith grimaced as she made her way back up the ladder from the underground section of Spike's old crypt. "There's something dead down there, but seein' as how I've never seen a vamp that was semi-liquefied before, I'm gonna stick my neck out an' say that it isn't Spike."

"Strike one, I guess." Wes pulled the crypt door open and waited for Faith to precede him.

The slayer turned to one side as soon as she could, doubling over and retching to try to clear her throat of the lingering layer of inhaled particles that seemed to coat it.

"Are you alright?" he queried.

"Sure," the woman drawled sarcastically, when she could finally get her breath. "I love the smell of putrefying corpses in the morning."

The pair made their way back to the cemetery gates where Dawn and Rogue were waiting in the relative safety of Wes's car, the teenager ready to pound on the horn if anything scarier than Clem made an appearance. They had nearly made it back there when Wes's phone rang.

The watcher hardly spoke other than to give an occasional brief acknowledgement. As soon as Dawn vacated the driver's seat he climbed in, phone still pressed to his ear, and flicked through the preset radio stations until he found a local news broadcast. With a terse, "We'll let you know if we find them," he ended the call and tossed the phone into the back seat.

Faith was just shutting the door on one side as he pulled away.

"Once again I would like to stress that this morning's explosion is nothing to be concerned about. Southern California has always had its share of seismic activity, and city engineers expect to find that the blast was the result of a slow build up of gas from a cracked pipe. The blast was mostly contained underground and although a minor access road has been closed until it can be confirmed that there has been no damage to the road's substructure, there has been no apparent property damage. I repeat that at present there is no suspicion of foul play and no links have been made to any terrorist campaign." Sunnydale's latest mayor dutifully put the requisite hellmouth spin on the latest incident despite being dragged from his bed to give a press conference.






 

When they pulled up outside 1630 Revello Drive and opened the car door, Rogue was the first one out, sprinting onto the front porch and then dashing back again as if to urge Dawn and the others to hurry up before she took off again.

"It's not like I was expecting to need it any time soon," Dawn argued as she tugged free the mountain of circulars and bills that crammed the mailbox as she passed, more from nervousness and habit than any real desire to check their correspondence.

"I would have thought, given your desire to check Spike and Buffy's known haunts, that bringing along your house key might have been a reasonable idea."

"I'm a teenager. We're not meant to do reasonable. Anyway, it wouldn't be a problem if Spike hadn't made a big deal about not leaving the spare lying around when the house was empty. I bet I can pick the lock, anyway. Spike taught me how to get out of handcuffs. It's got to be easier if you've got both hands free."

"Or you could do the same as whoever left the bloody smears on the door. Just turn the handle and walk on in..." Faith suggested, standing to one side of the open portal like a game show hostess.

For a fraction of a second both Dawn and the watcher froze in place, unsure whether their ease of entry was a hopeful sign or an intimation that the house had been violated in their absence. Rogue had no such misgivings and charged straight into the living room, yapping her delight. That broke the deadlock and the teen ran after her at speed only to stall again when she reached the doorway between the hall and the room where her sister and future brother-in-law lay. Rogue lapped at Spike's unresponsive face and then at the puddle of coagulating blood that marred the hardwood floor, its spread making it impossible to tell which of the two blondes was more responsible.

Wes came up behind Dawn, his eyes taking in the scene in an instant. He tossed his keys at the slayer. "Faith, get the crossbow from the car and then give the keys to Dawn. Dawn, I want you to lock yourself in my house and don't come out until someone marches into the house and pulls you out... now! " he added forcefully when the younger of the girls failed to move.

"Wh-. Why?" Dawn looked at the watcher as if he had grown a second head. "What are you doing? Why aren't you helping them? Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

"I am helping them by keeping you safe. Faith, get her away from here." Wesley began to roll back his shirt sleeve until the tip of a wrist-mounted, spring-loaded stake appeared.

The slayer tugged at the teenager's arm until she reluctantly followed her, looking to her now for an explanation.

"It's the blood, kid. They're covered in it. His? Hers? Who knows? Watcher's playing it safe, just in case."

"He doesn't need a stake. Spike wouldn't hurt him even if he was starving."

Faith opened up the trunk and pulled out a crossbow and a quiver of bolts and then tucked a couple of stakes that were also there into her jeans. "The stakes aren't for Spike."

Dawn's eyes blazed as she stormed back toward her home.

 




 

"But he wouldn't!"

"Are you sure ?" Wes's eyes barely left the two inert forms to check Dawn's face. "Everyone said when your sister died the last time it nearly killed him. There was nothing he could do about it that time, but do you really think that if he had a choice between her bleeding to death or his turning her that he'd be able to watch her die? It wouldn't even have to be deliberate. How much of the blood on his face do you think is his? Just one kiss..."

"Couldn't I stay until you or Faith check her pulse?"

"You know what Buffy's priority would be."

"Even if he did turn her, she wouldn't come out of it before dark. It's this whole thing. They always rise at night because if they didn't they'd go 'snap, crackle and burn' as soon as they crawled out the ground."

"We don't know that, Dawn. Vampires are able to sense the sun's movement. It's a natural self-preservation instinct. The fact they choose to wait for dark to dig their way out of their coffins does not preclude their being aware for some time before that... And, honestly, if anyone knows what might happen when a slayer is turned, they're not letting on. And once we take account of the claim, there's no saying how things might develop."

"Oh!" Dawn's face fell as she realised the truth behind his words but then gave Wes a tentative smile. "You'll fetch me as soon as you know she's okay, right? I mean, like Faith said, this is all playing safe. It's not like it's..."

"The instant. Now go! The sooner we know you're safe, the sooner we can get started."

Wes watched from the front door until the teenager made her way safely into the house across the road.

When he returned to the main room, Faith tossed him the crossbow and readied a stake. "You stand at her feet. I'll reach over from the head end and get her wrist."

Wes didn't argue but simply took his place and loaded a bolt in the crossbow. Faith bent over to take the other slayer by the wrist, and a vampiric howl rent the air.

 




 

"It's not your fault." Buffy's tone was soft as she tried to coax the huddled figure in front of her to raise his head. She crouched to run her fingers through curls that were normally bright as sunshine, but which were now caked with dried blood. Tiny flakes of rust fell like macabre dandruff with each pass of her hand, and the scent pervaded the very air around them as if they wallowed in a slaughter house. Her blood and his, blood of bringers and Turok Han, mingled in the air, but each had its own distinctive thread. If she concentrated, she could pull them apart like a consummate parfumier identifying the elements of a rival's latest creation. Her other hand was clasped over the wound in her side, blood oozing between her fingers.

She caught a flash of gold as his gaze briefly met hers before returning to the rubble strewn earth at his feet. "'Course it's my fault, love."

Buffy looked at the lightening sky, knowing that the makeshift structure that towered over them would do little to shield him from the sun's rays. "It wasn't your fault a year ago, and it isn't your fault now."

The vampire's head shook beneath her hand. "My fault. Shoulda done something. Should've been me. Should've kept a bloody hold of the damn axe. Too slow... Too damn stupid. Just not bloody good enough. You were right. There's nothin' good nor clean in me. Thought I could do it. Be a man for you..." Again there was a glimpse of demon yellow as Spike glanced upward. "But I'm just makin' you dirty like me. Both soaked in blood, now."

"You saved me, Spike. You. I-. You are a man... You're all the man I want." Her hand dropped from his hair to the side of his face, fingers tracing brow ridges and cheekbones and she allowed herself a small smile as the vampire couldn't help but nuzzle into her touch. "You're not just a man, though. You're my man... and my demon and that doesn't make you any less, no matter what I said when-."

The hand on Spike's cheek disappeared in an instant, bright light blinding him, the light of the newly risen sun and the bright flames as Buffy burned in its vengeful wrath. The vampire howled his grief and knew that it was his taint that had made her unclean, his failure that allowed her to be hurt, his fault that he had lost her again.
 
Chapter 5.17
 

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.17
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"You saved me, Spike. You. I-. You are a man... You're all the man I want." She let her hand drop from his hair, instead allowing sensitive fingertips to map the planes of his face. She used the tenderness of her touch to convey her message of love, a love that didn't discriminate between his normal human appearance and the coarser features of his demonic aspect. Her gentle hand traced the ridges over his golden eyes and then around the outer edge of his eye socket until she cupped his cheek in her palm, her fingertips resting on his beautifully prominent cheekbone. Even in his despair he pressed into her hand with all the sensuality of a giant cat, his subconscious refusing to allow him to set aside the affection between them. "You're not just a man, though. You're my man... and my demon and that doesn't make you any less, no matter what I said when I was channelling..." Buffy's voice trailed off, the cool flesh of her lover's hollowed cheek simply dissolving from beneath her fingers, fading into nothingness like some seventies sci-fi effect.

Frantically she tried to grab him before he could leave her, jerking awake to the sound of Spike's feral howl of grief and finding her hands pinned as if she had no more strength than a child.

"Buffy! Buffy... chill..."

Looking above her head, she traced upward from the arms that held her until she could identify Faith's deep brown eyes looking down into hers, the expression of sympathy still seeming incongruous to the blonde slayer.

Spike's snarling comment drew her attention before she could work out exactly what was happening. "Gonna have to shoot that thing pretty damn fast to get both of us before I rip your head clean off. I'd put it down now, watcher."

Buffy tensed again, finally becoming aware of the man who pointed a crossbow at her heart, Faith's grip turning her into an easy target.

"Wes? Why?" She looked puzzled and hurt in equal measure by Wes's hostility. It was this rather than Spike's threat, which given the vampire's mostly reclining position struck him as reminiscent of the bedroom scene in 'The Princess Bride', that made the watcher slowly lower the crossbow to the floor, trusting to his instincts when they told him she was no newly risen vampire.

"Now kick it over here," Spike ordered. "An' if it scratches the varnish then you can pay to have it sanded down an' redone."

He waited until the crossbow was safely within his reach before he turned his attention to Faith. "An' much as I like to see two women gettin' friendly, I don't think the missus is really in a hand-holdin' mood right about now."

"Take a chill pill, blondie," Faith answered as she loosened her grip since Buffy had stopped fighting against her. "All we were trying to do was check her pulse. Hardly my fault that B freaked out the minute I touched her."

"Take it from me, her pulse is just fine, kinda weak but steady as a metronome... or it was until you went and got her excited. An' that still doesn't explain why Bertie Wooster, there, was pointin' that thing at my mate."

"Testosterone much?" Buffy asked, somehow sounding fragile, impatient and teasing at the same time, Faith's response having provided her with the missing piece she needed to comprehend the situation. "Don't worry, Wes. I haven't joined the realms of the undead quite yet."

Spike's expression was one of utter incredulity as he gaped open-mouthed at the watcher. "You thought that I'd..."

"We were unable to rule out the possibility when there was so much blood around and when Buffy is seldom without a recent bite mark. I felt it appropriate to follow the course of prudence. I'd still be greatly reassured if Buffy would allow Faith to confirm what you said about her pulse. It's not that I don't trust your word," Wes said, doing his best to couch his words in a conciliatory tone. "It's simply that I know if there were to be one reason why you would lie, it would be if you perceived a threat to your mate."

Spike opened his mouth to protest, no doubt loudly and with many adjectives not found in your average Disney animation. An imploring look from Buffy was enough to temporarily still the invective before it left his mouth, and she extended her arm toward the other slayer, the effort inducing a barely visible tremor. At the sight, the vampire was quick to turn his attention to the watcher once more, his voice rough. "First aid kit's under the sink. Make yourself useful. I assume somewhere in all that watcher training they at least try to teach you how to stop your slayer bleeding to death... or are you just meant to shoot them to make sure they don't linger on their deathbed and keep you waiting for the next one to be called?"

"Spike! Wes had a perfect right to defend himself. Now, let it go," Buffy interjected, albeit weakly, smiling her thanks to Wes when he moved toward the kitchen.

"Feels okay to me. Leastways, there's something there to feel and bonus points for not being in a coma." Faith nodded towards Wes's house. "I'll go fetch Summers Junior. Maybe she can talk Fangboy into a better mood ...or gag him," she threw over her shoulder as she pulled open the front door.

 




 

It was quite some time later before everyone's wounds had been tended. Both blondes had taken their turn in the bathtub after Wes had proclaimed that it might be easier if he could actually see where the injuries were underneath all the blood. Faith and Dawn had helped Buffy, the teenager insisting that, real or not, she still had six years worth of memories of how to put her sister back together again. That left the watcher to tend to the vampire once the women had cleared the bathroom. Spike put up the obligatory token protest, but underneath he couldn't help but be grateful as the watcher slipped Spike's arm around his shoulder so that he could bear a portion of the vampire's weight as he helped him up the stairs.

Wes grimaced as the tepid water softened the dried blood to the extent that he could peel the vampire's clothes away revealing plum-dark bruises and ragged scars all over his body in addition to the deep wound in his stomach. "What the hell happened to you? You look like someone locked you in a cage with a pack of starving Rottweilers."

"Yeah? Don't feel all that different neither."

The watcher waited patiently as he sponged the blond's back before passing over the sponge to let Spike clean the more easily accessible areas on his own.

Eventually, Spike unwound enough to admit his uncertainty. "Haven't got a bloody clue, mate." He used his foot to hook around the chain and pull the plug, letting the sanguine water escape down the drain. Wes stepped up to the edge of the bath, passing him a towel that Spike wrapped around his hips and helping him out. "Got our bringer all trussed up but before we could get out we ran into three of them ubervamp bastards. Took one out with the little toy you gave us, then I got another but not before it gave me this..." The vampire suddenly found the vinyl flooring of intense interest. "Was wastin' time tryin' to pull m'self together when the last of them stuck Buffy in the gut with that damned axe. She went down an' after that I couldn't tell you how the hell she did it. Don't know how we got back here or where half these marks come from. Soon as she was hurt, I just checked out. Have to ask the slayer about what happened after that... but I'd leave it till Rupert's around. Don't want her to have to go through it half a dozen times."

"What matters is that you both made it out," Wes pointed out sympathetically.

Spike didn't voice his own reply to that. 'What matters is I let her down again.'






 

With Faith and Dawn fussing round her and Wes bandaging the worst of Spike's wounds, she'd been denied the comfort of his touch, and even when her eyes had met his across the room his gaze would flick away as if he couldn't bear for her to look at him. The journey back to the school was awkward. Spike insisted that Buffy take the front passenger seat while he curled under both a blanket and the rear window shelf of the hatchback. Logically, it made perfect sense but Buffy chafed at the distance it put between them. She could sense Spike distancing himself from her, and apart from tangled memories of an interrupted dream she hadn't had a chance to discuss it with him. The others in the car all reacted to the atmosphere between them, resulting in a nervous near silence except for Rogue's quiet whines. 'Stupid oversensitive vamp!'

What made it worse was that she knew that some time alone would be all she needed to reassure him and bring him back to her, but she also knew that they weren't going to get any peace until the full story of the night's events had been explained and dissected.

The front of the school building was in the shade when they got there, and Wes reversed up until his rear bumper almost touched the steps before he stopped. By unspoken consent no one offered to help either the injured slayer or her mate as they got out of the car, each masking their injuries to the best of their abilities, knowing that the potentials would take it as a major blow to morale if they realised just how badly they had been hurt. Spike still somehow managed to keep at least two people and a dog between himself and Buffy at all times, and the slayer's patience was suffering.

"Drawing room or upstairs?" Wes asked, unsure where they would want to convene.

"Upstairs?" Buffy suggested. "Less chance of uninvited guests? I can cope with Giles's latest flame... sort of, if I have to, but I really don't want to do this with your dad or Travers looking at us like a pair of chimps in a cage."

 




 

When the group began to settle into their positions Buffy decided that she wasn't going to let Spike lurk in a corner. Taking him by the hand she pulled him down next to her on the decrepit sofa and refused to relinquish her grip. She let their bond tell its own story, her love, pride and gratitude sweeping away the vampire's self-doubt or at least keeping it in abeyance for a time. Spike's eyes finally lifted to meet hers, allowing her to read the wonder that lingered there.

"Not that it isn't an improvement on Spike sulking, but impressionable teenage eyes here," Dawn teased immediately. "Do you have to do the freaky mind-meld stuff in public?"

"Was not sulking."

"Okay, no-o-o-ot sulking. Brooding, then?"

"Heyyy, take that back!"

"Were too!" Dawn giggled. "Brooding like a great big broody vamp... And our budget doesn't run to that much hair gel or the plastic surgery for the caveman forehead or, at least, if it does, it'd be so much cooler if you spent it on a motorcycle for me when I'm old enough."

Spike gave an amused snort, the last of his black mood dissipating. "'D barely trust you on a push bike, Bit, never mind let you loose in charge of a motorbike."

Giles gave an impatient sigh. "Yes, quite, now perhaps we can have some sort of explanation as to what actually happened last night and why the two of you look to have gone several rounds with Lennox Lewis, not to mention what that report about an explosion on this morning's news was all about."

As his gaze came to rest on Buffy she shook her head emphatically before the motion obviously had an adverse effect. "So-o-o not me. Just because a girl burns down a building or three and blows up a school, why does every explosion have to be her fault?"

"Perhaps if you start at the beginning..." the elder of her watchers prompted.

"'Kay, watcher," Spike took up the tale. "We found the back way in. Got as far as a nice little armoury complete with a nice big box of explosives before we met any resistance. Killed a bunch of bringers, trussed one up ready to bring back an' that's when them Turok Han showed up. One of them seemed to think I'd be more attractive if my innards were outards. Another one stuck the nice sharp pointy end of that axe of mine through the slayer's guts, seein' as I was considerate enough to leave it around for him. Guess I passed out then. End of story."

Giles' lips pursed, and he turned to his slayer. "Would you care to fill in the blanks?"

Buffy shrugged. "Like he said. We got the first one with the garrotte. Spike staked the second one, 'cept he had to get the vampy guy on the floor and stomp on the stake to do it and he was already hurt by then... When I went down, I mean from the shock. I got back up but... that's when it all sort of changed." Buffy cast a nervous glance in Spike's direction. "We just... I mean last night when we were getting ready for a fight it was like we could hear what the other one was thinking... even if we weren't touching, not just like knowing what we were going to do in the fight but I could hear everything, clear as if he said it... like an adrenaline thing."

She looked at Spike again, as if he might have the words she needed to explain. "When I got hurt... Spike didn't pass out. I guess he doesn't remember, but he kinda went all Forbidden Planet on me... I mean I could still feel him, and it wasn't Spike but it was. I mean it wasn't the guy who's sitting here now but maybe it was a part of him."

"Forbidden Planet?" Giles asked.

"Monsters from the id, Rupert. In the film they get out of control an' damn near kill everyone."

"You mean the demon took over?" The watcher looked from Spike back to Buffy.

"I'm not sure it's as simple as that but sorta... or the local bar owners are up to their old tricks, except not with the stoop and the cave painting and the drop in IQ."

Spike ducked his head, looking through his lashes into Buffy's eyes. "'M sorry, pet. You shouldn't have to see that, let alone have it..."

Buffy's fingers came up to rest on his lips, cutting him off. "I saw him and I felt him and he was primitive but he was fierce and beautiful and he loved me and he wanted to protect me. I never doubted for one second that I was safe with him because he was part of you." Cupping his chin with her fingertips, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss on his lips. "Without you I don't know if I'd have managed to kill the third guy, and when bad guy number four turned up you more or less tore him apart... fists and fangs... Okay, so number five kamikaze-ed in the end and took our prisoner with him, but you got us both home safe."

"I thought you'd dragged me back while I was sleeping the sleep of the knocked unconscious."

Buffy rubbed at the egg shaped bruise on the back of her head. "Actually, I think that would have been more me."

"And the explosion?" Wes asked.

"Guess vamp guy number five realised that he wasn't going to walk out of the room," Buffy answered brightly. "Spike and him were fighting, and I was trying to help, only they were rolling around so much that there wasn't much I could do in case I hit Spike, and it wasn't like I couldn't tell that Spike was winning. Then, they ended up next to the box with the explosives and Turkish Han managed to kick Spike off. Next thing I know, it's snapped the lock and before it can even get the lid open Spike's picked me up and he's running for the exit. We were nearly clear before the blast caught us, but that's when I hit my head, so that's about all she wrote."

"Even with Spike's speed, it seems hard to believe that you'd be able to outrun an explosion," Wes offered. "Especially with his injuries."

"I think maybe there was some sort of delay, but that could be the concussion talking. It was one of those slo-mo, total clarity sort of moments."

"Whatever way you look at it, they weren't just storing that stuff down there," Spike grumbled. "That box was left there for us to find and they were lookin' for curiosity to kill something a bit bigger than the cat."

 




 

The meeting had wound to a close before too long, more because it was obvious that both Spike and Buffy were in need of further rest than because the group had come to any sort of resolution regarding how to deal with the situation. Wes was contemplating his chances of it being quiet enough to catch up on the sleep he'd missed when his cell phone rang.

"Querido?"

Wes smiled. "I'm willing to answer to that. Now, what's wrong?"

"There has to be something wrong?"

"It's still an hour or two before Oz was meant to meet you to help you and the others move in, so let's say I have a hunch."

"Okay, I need you to come with me to LA. I need to pick someone up from the airport, and I think after what happened last night it might be wise for you to bring a gun."

"The person you're meeting shouldn't be in any danger, Marie. Not unless they were a watcher or a potential."

"She was a watcher." Several seconds passed while Wes tried to make sense of this news before Marie continued with a touch of nervousness in her voice. "I believe you call her mother."
 
Chapter 5.18
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.18
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"P-pardon?" Wes stuttered into his phone, in stark contrast to his previous relaxed tone.

He gulped deeply as Marie, once more, confirmed the identity of the person she was meeting. Suddenly, he was convinced regarding the reasons for Marie's silence on the matter up to this point. There was no way, were he to be placed in the same room as his father, that he'd be able to keep this secret.

"H-how? No, wait! We can do this on our way to L.A. Strangely, I think it might be for the best if I were to leave before my father is up and around. Give me fifteen minutes to grab a shower and a fresh coffee and I'll pick you up. That way we can leave your car in case Lily or Clem should need it while we're away." His voice softened and he added the words, "Me too," before he ended the call.

His gaze fell on Oz, who was collecting up the empty coffee mugs that had been left around in the wake of the football match and the impromptu follow up meeting. The redhead's half-smile and his minimalist nod were enough for Wes to know that Marie's family would be securely moved into the school on his return.

 




 

Giles finally resorted to simply ordering everyone out of the attic's living area. "Buffy, I'm sure you can read your post just as easily in your room. If you and Spike plan to supervise your S.I.T. groups as normal tomorrow, you are both going to need all the rest you can get. As to the rest of you, those of you who aren't returning to their beds can make themselves useful in the library or in the kitchen until it's a more reasonable hour. I'm sure Spike wouldn't be too upset if someone were to bring him some heated blood. But no one's going to get any sleep with the rest of you rehashing Ireland's miracle ninetieth minute equaliser or whether it was Shay Given's fault they went out on penalties... And if any of you see Anya before I do, could you ask her to meet me in the library some time after eleven?"

Giles shooed the waifs and strays on their ways before he searched out a change of clothes and took advantage of everyone's absence to remove the two blood-stained leather coats that were draped over the sofa where Buffy and Spike had been sitting. Taking his prizes, he made his way to Lydia's office.

The blonde awoke as the door to her office opened and she reached out to switch on a lamp that rested on an end table beside her makeshift bed. Her welcoming smile soothed his nerves.

"Giles, were you aware that you have a large portion of the instructions for a truth spell in mirror writing on your left cheek?"






 

Spike looked at the company logo on the first of the envelopes that were addressed to him and skipped over it to open the second. He hesitated to pass on the information it contained to Buffy, not now, maybe in a day or two when she'd... when they were both...

"What is it?" Buffy asked, mentally thanking Giles for his insistence that they go to their room. The more intimate surroundings allowed her to cuddle in close. Her flesh brushed against Spike's and she felt his sadness and reluctance.

Knowing he couldn't procrastinate any longer, he passed over the elegant hand-written sheet that announced that the suits and dresses he had ordered were ready for their first fittings.

A large smile flickered on Buffy's face before the incongruity of the vampire's reaction once more took hold.

"What's wrong? I mean, this is good. It's good, right ?"

"It's good, honey." Spike pulled her into a hug. "It's just we never talked about what you wanted to do... after..."

"After Willow."

"Yeah, after Red." Neither spoke further, and Spike's grip tightened until there wasn't a millimetre between them. Later they could think about weddings and dead bridesmaids. For now, they simply held each other.

 




 

Xander awoke slowly. He couldn't help having this feeling that something was deeply wrong.

'Anya here? Big check,' he thought, knowing that no one else could manage quite the same chainsaw effect without waking themselves up.

'Little Xander awake and ready to play? Check.

Sunday morning. No need for anyone to rush off? Check.'

The arm he had wrapped around his wife's waist tightened and she stirred in her sleep. Her in-out snoring became a series of snorts, then, a snuffle and, then, stilled completely. Her behind nudged provocatively against him, and still Xander tried to pinpoint what the proverbial fly buzzing around inside his brain might be.

'Spike and Buffy twenty-four hour sexathon sound effects? Wait a minute...

Way past time for patrol? Yep!

Way too early for Spike to be moving his undead ass-. Woah, bad images! Way too early for Spike to be out of bed. Not much better.'

Xander couldn't work out which affected him more. The picture of Spike's naked push-ups, all the worse for being transposed from his crypt to the room next door and for the image of Buffy arching up under him, was distressing enough. The freaksome idea that he found the lack of any panting, moaning or screaming penetrating through the walls to be more than a little worrying didn't help. The fact that Anya might want to revisit her vengeance roots, if she realised that he was lying naked in bed with her and worrying about the fact he couldn't hear the couple next door having sex... That reached all the way up to terrifying.

'Little Xander? Suddenly not so playful...'

He leaned over and kissed Anya gently on the cheek. "How about I bring you breakfast in bed?"

Anya let out a sleepy "Mmmmmm," of appreciation. "With waffles?" she asked.

"Not sure I can manage waffles in the watcher kitchen. If not, maybe pancakes..."

Anya let out another contented moan and snuggled back into her pillow. Xander felt around on the floor until he located his pyjamas and congratulated himself on avoiding potential disaster and making Anya smile all at the same time. Maybe he was getting the hang of this marriage gig after all.

 




 

Wes draped his towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, placed his shaving kit on the table and accepted the mug of black coffee that Oz poured for him.

Tara passed Bee a braised chicken breast from the fridge and then removed a gallon of milk and placed it on the table. She gifted him with a gentle upward curve of her lips for him alone. "If you wait a few minutes there'll be pancakes."

As if by magic, Xander appeared. "Did someone mention pancakes?"

"Sorry," Wes answered in between gulps of coffee. "No time." He upended the cup, draining the last of it.

"Want me to put those in your room?" Oz asked, setting about the task of emptying yesterday's brew from the massive tea urn that the watchers had brought with them, ready to refill it once more.

Wes checked in his jeans pockets for his car keys. Finding them there, he gave a nod of assent, voiced his thanks and headed out.

Xander shook his head as the watcher departed. "There's something deeply suspicious about a guy that can't make time for pancakes... And speaking of deeply suspicious, how come we haven't heard from Spike and his palace of perversion this morning?"

 




 

Marie stepped forward to meet Wes as his car pulled up, leaving Rosa with her grandmother on the front step of the apartment block. She gave him a tentative smile as he opened the car door. "Are you mad at me?"

Wes pulled her into a hug before moving back to look her up and down. "Mad? No. Amazed? Perhaps. Nervous? A little. Bemused? Definitely. And in awe and more than a little glad that you're on my side... I won't say that I don't have a few pertinent questions, but, so far, no, I'm not mad at you." He waited until Marie's smile made it to full bloom before he winked at Rosa over her mother's shoulder. The child took this as her cue to claim a hug.

Marie stepped away to let her in. "She wouldn't settle to pack her things until I promised she could see you before we left." She waited until her daughter was eventually mollified sufficiently to accept a parting hug from her and return to Lily, who wasn't about to let Wes leave without one last embrace and a whispered word of wisdom in the Englishman's ear.

"All you need to do is be yourself and your mother will be proud of you."

Wes tightened his grip on the old demon, picking up her slight form and twirling round before he sat her back down, letting her huff and pretend she was too old for such things. "I hope so," he answered, climbing back into the car.

 




 

Marie waited until Wes had manoeuvered them onto the freeway south and then broached the subject that seemed to hover unspoken in the air between them. "You said you had some things you wanted to ask?"

Wes's mouth formed a wry twist. "I was rather deciding whether I should start with 'How?' or 'Why?'," he admitted.

Marie's smile was almost a smirk. "Even in England's home counties there aren't that many Wyndam Pryces, first initial R, no 'h' in Wyndam, Pryce with a 'y'. I think there were perhaps three Wyndam Pryces all told and I could be wrong, but I'm guessing even if your mother and father's number hadn't been listed, I could have picked any one and got some sort of relative."

"Well... yes," Wes flustered, looking embarrassed that he hadn't realised just how easy it would be. "I suppose that leaves 'Why?'."

Marie shrugged, though Wes didn't notice with his gaze fixed on the road. "I don't like being the reason you get hurt. You said once that your mother wasn't the type to make you choose between me and your family. I put that together with how I would feel if my husband was planning on giving away the amount of money your father offered me. I guess I thought if your mother wouldn't object to me, then she wouldn't exactly be pleased with your dad's scheme to buy me off and I didn't think she'd buy into the idea of disinheriting you. I took a chance and called her."

"And judging by my father's inability to withdraw cash from any of his accounts it would appear that you were correct, though, again, I have to admit to being at a loss as to how she did that."

Marie couldn't prevent a giggle, though she stifled it beneath her hand. "She cleared them all out?" she asked.

"Yes. Now... are you going to tell me just how that came about?"

"You tell me. When I rang her originally I was thinking maybe she'd get on the phone and tell your dad to stop being an idiot. I might have mentioned that if they mainly used a joint account, then she might be able to make him reconsider his actions if she gave him a bit of a shock. The rest of it was down to your mother.

You worked for the council in the field. What would have happened to your bank accounts if you had been eaten up by the mayor? If you just disappeared one day and there was no body..."

"Actually, it's standard practice for watchers in the field that, where possible, a trusted family member be nominated to have power of attorney..." Wes's voice trailed away to a whisper as he realised the extent of the upcoming battle. "And he can't reverse the position because my mother was always based at the London office. She never signed anything like that."

"Even if she had, she said she would have arranged for her solicitors to have it reversed before she withdrew any of the money."

"My father has been retired for years. He's not going to be amused when he realises that mother has taken advantage of a legal privilege that he would have rescinded long ago, had he even remotely contemplated that she would make use of it in this way."

"Is your father ever amused by anything other than his attempts to belittle people? Your mother has seized the opening advantage. She's shown him that she won't tolerate his behaviour. Now, it's time to begin negotiations."

"With a little advice from her legal counsel?" Wes asked.

"A little, perhaps, though I don't think your mother will need much guidance."

 




 

"Which terminal is she arriving at, and how long do we have before she gets here?" Wes asked as they made their way toward the airport.

"Actually, there's no rush. We're meeting her for a late breakfast at the Sheraton Gateway. She flew in overnight," Marie informed him. "She said to have Reception call her room when we arrived and then go ahead and order and she would come down and meet us."

Wes sighed, his nervousness making him slightly shirty. "So my mother is happily sleeping off her jet lag in her luxury hotel room. With a little help from you, she's already proved she can hold my father to ransom. All she need do now is administer the coup de grace. It may be paranoia setting in, but I find myself beginning to feel rather superfluous. I don't even know why she bothered to cross the Atlantic. She could have done all this by phone."

"She's trying to help... and so was I, though you don't sound so sure about that."

Wes hesitated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I suppose when it comes to my mother my feelings are somewhat ambivalent and the fact that the two of you seem to be getting on so well without ever having met... I don't know what's coming. I almost feel like an outsider. I don't know how to react and it's making me on edge."

Marie's hand came to rest on Wes's thigh, kneading softly at the tense muscles there. "Querido, the only thing your mother and I have in common is you. If accepting her help means that your father and his objections go away, then, I'll take anything she cares to offer, but it's for us; me, you and Rosa. If I find out that maybe I like her, that's just a bonus."

 




 

Wes had already finished his croissants and was reduced to getting refills on his coffee while he watched Marie work her way through a full English breakfast. He teased her about putting on weight, though he didn't believe it was likely to happen any time in the near future and wasn't overly worried about an extra curve or two.

Marie laughed back at him. "If you think I eat too much now, caro, you don't want to be around if I get pregnant again."

"Well, I most certainly don't intend to be anywhere else." Wes sounded mildly affronted.

"If you're that serious about the girl, then it's just as well she called me... before she becomes the mother of my grandchildren."

Wes rose from his seat and Marie put down her knife and fork to greet the elegant woman who had come up behind her son.

Penelope Wyndam Pryce's eyes twinkled as if she enjoyed discomfiting Wes, but unlike her husband there was no element of malice in her amusement. "You, I assume, must be Marie?" She extended a friendly hand, an elegant watch of solid gold showing beneath the sleeve of her exquisitely tailored trouser suit. Marie noticed, however, that her nails were unlacquered and trimmed functionally short and that there were slight calluses on her fingers that intimated she was no hot house flower. Her hair was cut into a fringeless jaw-length bob and streaked with a shade of ash blonde that made it almost irrelevant whether there might be a strand or two of grey in the mix. Her complexion was so flawless that Marie wondered if she'd been applying Oil of Olay when she was still in ankle socks. She was almost as tall as Wesley and, though she wasn't slender, she could never be described as heavyset. Instead, she seemed to radiate a robust health, her height allowing her to carry off a few extra pounds with ease. She could have passed for anything between mid forties and late fifties, though the presence of her son seemed to indicate the higher end of that range.

Marie took the woman's hand. "And you must be Wesley's mother. Why don't you join us?"

"Wesley's mother is a rather cumbersome title. Perhaps you should try Penny?" Before Marie could respond, she had turned her attention to Wes. She took in his open necked shirt, jeans and CAT boots. "That's a new look for you. Contacts or laser surgery?" she asked.

"C-Contacts."

"Shame, laser surgery is an absolute boon, but you look good. This young lady obviously agrees with you. Now, I know I try not to interfere between your father and yourself. Most of the time it's counterproductive, but didn't it even occur to you to let me know that he was behaving like an absolute ass?"

Marie couldn't resist. "There are times when he doesn't behave like an ass?" she asked.

Penelope's mouth twitched slightly. "No, actually. I like this one, Wesley." She tilted her head toward Marie. "...Not that I ever had the privilege of meeting any of his other girlfriends, you understand?

Now, what's to be done about Roger?"
 
Chapter 5.19
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting



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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.19
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"I would normally offer to put you up," Wes averred as he navigated his way through Sunnydale. "But at the moment everyone is staying at this school that Quentin Travers has set up. Security in numbers sort of thing."

"Don't flap, Wesley. I'm quite sure they'll find room for one more somewhere and, should you still have excess space the next time I visit, I'll take you up on your offer then."

"I'll speak to Lydia when we get there. You remember her? Lydia Chalmers? She seems to be Quentin's second in command these days. I'm sure she'll know of somewhere."

"Of course I know Lydia Chalmers. I worked with her father for years. Actually, there was a time back in the day, before they both got married, when Quentin was rather sweet on her mother."

Wes's brain did somersaults at the idea of Quentin Travers ever being 'sweet' on anyone. It was just the latest in a series of assaults on the world as he knew it.

It had taken Penelope little time to lay out her plans for confronting Wes's father, and neither Marie nor her son had felt entirely comfortable adding further to the potential scenario she had described. Wes had found himself reeling as his mother had spoken, long-held assumptions crumbling at their foundations but not quite toppling.

Thankfully, on the journey back to Sunnydale, Marie had taken it upon herself to entertain his mother. They had swapped stories, Marie telling his mother about how she had met Rosa's father and revealing, in warm tones, how she had come to find a home in the bosom of his family. She had described Rosa, Lily and Clem, her affection clear.

When she had asked about Wes's father, it had been obvious that she was puzzled as to how Penny had come to be married to him. The question was one that Wes had never asked. His parents' marriage had always seemed as immutable as the stars. They shared a house, a vocation, a child, a front they put up to the world and little else. It had been that way as long as Wesley could remember, and it had never occurred to him to that perhaps it hadn't always been so anodyne.

Penelope had told her own story, not as a way to fill in time on the journey or as an anecdote to entertain her son's new girlfriend. She spoke with levity, and, though she faced Marie, her words were chosen for her son. She explained how as a talented but naïve undergraduate, already preparing for a life within the council, she had been introduced to the heroic and dashing Roger Wyndam Pryce at a family wedding. She told how his stories of travelling the world, battling vampires and other demons, had seemed in her inexperienced eyes to cast him in the role of modern-day knight. In those days, even in the twilight of the "Swinging Sixties", there were still far stricter ideas as to what was proper. 'Good' girls barely did more than offer their date a chaste kiss on the cheek goodnight. Dating wasn't dating. It was courting. When Roger had begun to pay her particular attention, it had made her feel like the proverbial fairy tale princess.

Though she cast it in far more pragmatic terms, it hadn't taken long before her innocence had lain shattered at his feet. The wedding, a scant week after her graduation, had been every girl's dream. The honeymoon had lasted nearly a year before her pregnancy began to show. Roger's absences became longer and more frequent and, when he did return home, they no longer shared more than a bed. At first, she had convinced herself that once she had given birth things would return to normal. Gradually, she had realised that while she had married for love, Roger had never been the paladin she'd convinced herself that he was. She also realised that love had even less to do with his motivation. Roger didn't believe in romantic love. He had sought out a wife whose family connections could consolidate his position in the political arena that was the council, a wife whose dowry included a London town house and enough money to carry out renovations on the Wyndam Pryce family home, a strong, healthy, intelligent wife who would bear him strong, healthy, intelligent heirs.

He wasn't a bad man, Penelope had insisted, nor, in his own way, a bad husband. He had never made her promises of love. She had assumed that to be the reason behind his proposal, but with hindsight she realised that although he had set out to woo her, he'd never actually lied about his feelings. The quintessential English reserve that she'd once thought endearing, turned out not to be a barrier behind which he hid his true emotions but the means by which they had been quelled into near oblivion.

Toward the end of her pregnancy, she had moved into her own rooms and, when Wesley had been born, Roger had never pushed her on her decision, though she suspected that had she borne a girl he would have been less inclined to let matters remain as they were. In those days, divorce was still relatively uncommon and, without exception, messy. Even though Roger was seldom home for more than a few weeks at a time, his background presence provided respectability. Divorce would never have been granted on the simple grounds of "irreconcilable differences". She would have had to provide details of Roger's infidelities and they would have provided fodder for the society pages for months, the stories common gossip for everyone in their circle of acquaintances and all their servants. Even if they had moved away from the area, Penelope had opined, the stigma of being raised by a single mother would have blighted Wesley's childhood more surely than being raised within what had become a marriage of convenience. As it was, Roger kept his dalliances discreetly outside Britain and, as he got older, they had waned altogether.

The marriage was far from the one she had anticipated as a young bride, but Penelope admitted that for the most part she had been content with how things had turned out, seeing little need to change things even after Wesley had grown up and left home. Roger, she knew, could be boorish and arrogant, prejudiced and judgemental, but for the most part, even though there were times he overstepped the mark, it was usually because he was doing what he thought, in his antiquated mindset, was right. That was when he needed someone to come in and point out how wrong he was, she had added.

 




 

"Spike said you'd be okay about sharing with Wes, so we put Brand in with Oz unless Giles needs the bed and then he gets to sleep on the sofa in the living room. Ha Nath's with Clem, and Lily and Rosa are together. If he was wrong we could always switch things around some more..." Dawn didn't mention that Lily hadn't expected her to mind either.

"That's fine," Marie agreed, taking Rosa's hand as the young girl towed her off to show her their rooms.

"Come see where me and Gramma are going to sleep! There's lots of other little girls here but some of them talk funny. Mr Giles said I might be able to play with them later if you said it was okay. You don't mind, mommy, do you?" Rosa's excitement was obvious and Marie was the last one to want to disappoint her but she couldn't quell her feeling of foreboding. As she followed her daughter into the end room beside Wes's, her enthusiasm was largely feigned and her eyes sought out Lily's. The old demon gave the barest of nods and a gentle smile as if to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about.

"What about all the old furniture that was in the other rooms?" Wes asked, noting that the main living area seemed no more crowded than before.

"Basement," Oz replied with typical economy.

"Spike's been up and about?" Wes asked next.

Lily shrugged. "I heat blood. Make him eat. Sleep no do good if body not have what it needs to make better."

Wes gave a wry smile at the thought of the recalcitrant vampire being mothered and bullied in equal parts by his friend's mother.

"And Buffy?"

"Tara and Bee make chicken soup. When it ready, we feed skinny girl, too." Lily's tone was firm and Wes suspected even slayer stubbornness wasn't going to be allowed to deflect her from her self-appointed task. Wesley could see an upcoming battle of wills. Of course, even that might not compete with the one going on downstairs.

 




 

Penelope never even got as far as hanging up the last of her clothes in the windowless room that Lydia had allocated her for the duration of her stay. Room was actually a fairly generous term for it, as anyone other than a real estate agent would probably call it a walk-in closet. Nevertheless, it was big enough to accomodate a narrow cot once one had been located, came ready equipped with rows of coathooks where Penelope could hang her clothes and, unlike the other possible options, she wasn't required to share it with anyone else.

"Penelope?" Quentin's voice drew out each of the four syllables of her name as if he was savouring it. "We weren't expecting you. You should have called to let us know you were planning to visit."

Penelope placed the hanger in her hand over one of the coathooks, fixed a smile on her face, and turned to meet her reception committee. She gave a flick of her right wrist, almost a shoo-ing gesture. "Now, surely I don't need to make an appointment with the head of The Council of Watchers because I have family matters to discuss with my husband. After all, the two areas are separate and really shouldn't overlap. Should they , Roger?"

Quentin cleared his throat. "I merely thought, as a friend you understand, that Roger should be made aware of the situation so that he might offer some... helpful advice to Wesley in his position as head of the family."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "So, if I understand you correctly, the council has no official position regarding my son's girlfriend and, as you were merely acting as a friend rather than in any gainful capacity at the council, it would be unethical for the council to pay Roger's air fares... and yet, I seem to recall Roger, in his rather vague description of his reasons for coming here, calling it a business trip."

"Well... obviously, with my experience, I'm acting as a consultant in the council's time of crisis."

"Nonsense, Roger. Your experience is years out of date. Your only reason for being here is because Quentin hopes that you can put pressure on Wesley. Wesley is important because he has the trust of the slayers, as does Rupert Giles, but Quentin has already played all the cards he can use against Mr Giles and the best he has come out with is an uneasy truce. He thinks Wesley is the weakest link. If he can control Wesley, through you if necessary, then by association he gains back some measure of power over the slayers.

His logic is as flawed now as it was when he sent Wesley into his first totally untenable position as their watcher. The council has betrayed both of these girls and, while they may make alliances with it, they will never trust any of its members who blindly follow its teachings. Only those with the flexibility to adjust to whatever position they find themselves in and the strength of character to stand up for what they believe to be right will be accepted by them. So, even if you had succeeded in bullying or bribing him into line, the chances are that he would no longer occupy a position of trust."

"Nonsense, Penelope. I'm here because I don't wish to see our son further disgrace the family name by running around with some Mexican puta with an illegitimate demon spawn tugging at her petticoats."

"That is why you came . It's not why Quentin asked you... not that he approves , but, to him, making Wesley give up Marie is just a test to see how far the boy can be pushed. What neither of you seem to have noticed is that Wesley's time in the States has turned him into a man."

"And what sort of man is he that he would hide behind his mother?"

Up until that point, Penelope had been reasonable. Someone watching might almost have thought that she was simply playing devil's advocate, rather than expressing her own point of view, but, with Roger's barb, her eyes turned icy. "Quentin, dear, I'm afraid you didn't seem to pick up on it when I used the subtle approach, but now I really must insist that you give us some privacy. My husband and I have family matters to discuss."

 




 

Marie didn't get a chance to speak to Wes alone until she convinced Rosa to take an afternoon nap. She drew the watcher into their room and closed the door tight behind them. "Are you okay?" she asked. "I know that you said that you were alright with things, but you've been kind of quiet."

Wes sighed and sat down on one of the cots, pulling Marie into his lap. His hand stroked the dark waves of her hair as if its silken touch comforted him. "It's complicated."

Marie gave a nod of understanding and brushed her lips against his cheek. "You don't have to-."

"I want to. I just... Mother's never been so...

When I was a child I used to dread father coming home. Whenever something went wrong, he seemed to be there. If I forgot to wipe my feet when I came in from the stables and got mud on the floors, if I spilled my drink on the book I was reading, if I broke an ornament, if I tripped and fell, if I let someone else beat me in an exam... he would be there, telling me how disappointed he was. He could go on for hours, making me stand in front of his desk while he droned on and on, telling me how worthless I was. Mother never intervened. She never tried to stop him.

Oh, she'd wait till he went out or till he went back to work and she'd always have some special treat, some ice cream or a trip to the beach, as if she thought that would make it better. She used to say that if she interrupted him that he only got worse, that he felt as if he had more to prove, but I always thought that she just didn't want to argue with him, that I wasn't important enough to argue for." Wes paused and Marie pressed another kiss against his temple, her gentle fingertips stroking his opposite cheek.

"By the time I was eight, I was already at boarding school during term time but at home I was still wetting the bed whenever father was there. Mother normally worked from home as much as she could during the school holidays. She would let me sit with her and explain her translations as she worked on them. I learned to read Coptic at much the same time as I learned to read English, but when father was there she'd go into the office more often. That was when he started with the cupboard. Every morning after mother had left he'd come up and check my bed and, if the bed wasn't dry, he'd lock me in the cupboard under the stairs... until I learned how to control my bladder , he would say. Two hours at a time then three, then four."

Wes shrugged. "I couldn't tell her. I couldn't admit how petrified I was when he shut me in there in the dark. I didn't even want to admit why he'd put me there. I couldn't bear it if I did tell her and she just stood there and let him do it again and again. I think that scared me most of all. I wanted to believe that if she knew, then she'd somehow make it stop. If I had really believed it, I suppose I would have told her, but deep down I must have thought if I did, then I'd have to give up the illusion that she cared enough to stop him.

Eventually, the bed wetting stopped, but the punishments went on and the fear never went away. I ended up afraid of everything for a very long time. Everything I did was to try to live up to the standards that my father set, even though I knew that I'd never be able to satisfy him and so I was doomed to fail, over and over again." He sighed deeply again.

"And for a long time I resented my mother nearly as much as my father. Even though I could never bring myself to tell her what was happening, even though he never hit me or did anything that would have left any physical signs, I just couldn't help feeling that if she knew me better, if she loved me more, if they hadn't sent me away, she would have been able to tell. She would have known without me having to say anything and I felt like she'd let me down.

Today, it's almost been like going through the looking glass... Hearing what she plans to do. Hearing her talk about meeting father... as if they were real people, not my parents. Everything's the same, but it's all warped and shifted and I'm wondering, if that scared little boy had just said something, would it all have been different?"

"You could ask her," Marie suggested softly.

Wes shook his head. "No, not now. I'm not him any more. That's behind me. It has been for some time now, but if I needed proof of that before, then I got it when I stood up to my father the other night."

"When you punched him in the mouth, you mean?"

"Yes, when you gave me the strength to punch him in the mouth... and every time since when I've not let him bully me or boss me around. The fear, the nervousness, they're still there but he doesn't own me any more, and every time I stand up to him it gets the tiniest bit easier. He'll never own me again.

If I were to talk to mother about it all, that would mean going back there, reliving that part of my past, pulling the scabs off old wounds. It's not something I want to do. It's not something I feel the need to do. There's nothing to be gained. My father and I will never see eye to eye. My mother and I will never be close, but I think the best chance we have of any sort of relationship is if we forget who I thought she was and who I used to be and we concentrate on the people we are today."

"You're okay with that?"

"Yeah, I like where I am now. I'm happy with who I am now. I have a job I'm good at. I have a beautiful girlfriend with an adorable daughter, and they both seem to like me just as I am."

"Is that enough?" Marie asked, worried that Wes was merely papering over the cracks in case he looked weak in front of her, even though she knew a weak man wouldn't have been able to tell her the things he had.

"You can have Lily check me out once I've had a chance to get my balance after they leave. She can search for any lingering trauma, but there are some things that when you manage to move on it's best just to forget."

There were no words for Marie to say, nothing that could speak more eloquently of her feelings than her chaste kisses and sweet caresses. Each touch conveyed a message of comfort and love. The tension gradually left Wes's body, and the pair shifted until they lay curled around each other on the cot. A delicate hand stroked and carded through Wes's hair until his breath was shallow and even, and he slept a dreamless sleep.


 
Chapter 5.20
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.20
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


Roger barely waited until Quentin was out of earshot and Penelope had closed them both in the confined space of her tiny windowless room, before he turned on his wife and berated her. "How can you justify such a display of poor manners when Quentin has been the perfect host?"

"In much the same way as you justify belittling our only son in front of his de facto employer when he isn't even in the room to defend himself. And Quentin is no more the perfect host than he's Mr Universe. He's a manipulative old goat, who just happens to be one of your cronies." Penelope refused to be cowed, even though in the tight quarters she had to crane her neck to look her husband in the eye and his sheer bulk made it near impossible to maintain her own personal space. "Really, Roger, we both know that I don't respond well to your bullying, so why don't you take a seat, curb your self-righteous bluster and listen to your options?"

Roger continued to glower down at her. "My options?" he asked. "What exactly is that meant to mean?"

"It means if you don't sit down, shut up and hear me out that you might as well cut up every piece of plastic you have in that wallet of yours and use them for confetti."

Roger's mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "You? You took all the money out of our account?"

Penelope gave the stunned watcher a gentle push in the centre of his chest and he finally dropped to sit on the edge of the tiny bed. No longer having to look up, Penny leaned casually against the room door. "Our account, your accounts... all of them. You crossed a line, Roger, and now you have to deal with the consequences."

"Now, look here," Roger blustered. "You had no right to touch that money-."

"But, darling, of course I did. Don't you remember? You signed all the papers... Power of attorney... and I hate to sound childish, but you started this. I believe you planned to liquidate two hundred thousand dollars from our investment portfolio without consulting me-."

"Now, Penny, it wasn't like that..." Roger tried to interrupt.

"Didn't you hear the part about staying quiet and listening?" Penny's piercing blue eyes glittered like ice chips. "I obviously let you get away with far too much over the years, but you seem to forget that if it wasn't for the money from my family, that country manor you're so proud of would either be running to wrack and ruin or you'd be living in the gate-house instead of the gardener, and the family pile would be so many yuppie apartments.

If you choose to continue interfering in Wesley's life, then I'll make sure that's exactly what happens."

"I was just trying to convince him to do what's best."

"Rot. Have you even spoken to the girl? Made any sort of effort to get to know her? Of course not. Well, let me tell you, the girl is intelligent, friendly, loyal to those she cares about... and, yes, that applies to her late husband's family as well as to our son-."

"Husband? Is that what he told you? She was no more married to him than she is to Wesley."

"Don't be such a bigot. If you had taken a few hours to speak to the pair of them in a civilised manner, rather than swigging brandy with Quentin and hatching ridiculous plots to disinherit our son in favour of that twit you call a nephew, then you would know that her relationship with Rosa's father was more committed than many that come with the bit of paper that you seem to find so important. He gave her a wedding ring. They made the same promises to each other as any married couple. It's not their fault Church and State weren't prepared to acknowledge it. As far as I'm concerned, to all intents and purposes, they were married, and much the same as I won't stand for you insulting Wesley behind his back, I don't want to hear you making any more remarks about Marie."

Roger snorted. "Even if you do say she was married to this demon, then she can hardly have taken much persuading to fall into Wesley's bed so soon after he returned to town."

It was Penny's turn to snort. "You haven't even looked at him properly, have you? If he wanted, Wesley could have a different woman in his bed every night with very little persuasion at all. Instead, he's building a relationship with someone who cares about him and someone he cares about, and as for that word you used to describe her earlier, wouldn't that be the term to describe someone who took the money you offered her? I happen to think that both of them have excellent taste and before you say anything else, in this instance you will listen to my opinion.

You betrayed my trust when you offered Marie money that wasn't yours to give, and you insulted both him and me when you tried to blackmail our son with something that is already his by right and when you threatened to overlook him in favour of that moron.

This is what is going to happen. You are going to be on the first flight out of LA tomorrow morning. You are going to keep your nose out of Wesley's career and his love life from now on and, perhaps, when you're safely back in England, I'll release enough funds into the joint account to keep you in the style to which you're accustomed until I get back home, after I spend some time getting to know Marie and her family."

"That's preposterous! You can't get away with that!"

"But I can. You see, right now, I have control of all the readily convertible assets we own between us. True, if you don't see reason, then, in order to safeguard Wesley's inheritance, I might need to institute divorce proceedings and eventually you might get some of the liquid assets, but possession is nine tenths of the law and it could take a very long time to sort it all out. A long time where you won't have any income to live on. I'm willing to gamble that you won't let it come to that because, if you do, then, considering all the renovations to the house were funded by the money my parents left me, there's a good chance that either I'd get ownership by paying you some portion of its value, or you'd end up having to sell it to settle up. Whatever happens, you would end up with significantly less than half of what we own collectively. Now, at that point, it would be entirely up to you if you wanted to leave whatever you might get to Geoffrey, but everything that's awarded to me, and, believe me, that will be most of it, will go to Wesley, directly to Wesley, if I should happen to die before you."

Roger gave a grunt of disgust. "I should have known he'd go running to his mother. He always was a mummy's boy."

"Actually, it was Marie who called me. Like I said, she's a bright girl. I believe that Wesley simply planned to tell you to keep any money that came with strings attached. I've brought him up to speed, however, so don't expect him to sign anything that might be used against him. By the way, since you appear to think we no longer need the town house, it would be efficient tax-wise if we were to deed it to Wesley when I get back to England. Then, I suppose, he can either sell it and use the money to buy something over here, or put it in the hands of a letting agent and get some income from it."

"I can't believe that after nearly forty years of marriage you suddenly start talking about divorce."

"I can't believe the way you've treated our own flesh and blood. When you used to rant on, I always told Wes 'Sticks and stones', that it was just the way you were and that he shouldn't take what you said to heart, but this isn't just one of your lectures that he can let wash over him. This amounts to calculatedly and maliciously trying to destroy your own son's happiness, and quite apart from divorce being the best way to formalise my control over certain assets, I don't think I would want to remain married to someone who did such a thing. Now, why don't you go off and find Quentin so you can finish with the denial, get through the anger and work your way round toward acceptance via whatever all those other stages are?"

Roger's eyes narrowed and he looked appraisingly at Penelope, almost as if she were a stranger. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Penelope rolled her eyes. "You never used to be this slow on the uptake. Do you really think that I would bluff about something like this?"

Roger rose to his feet and strode over to where Penelope stood, forcing her to look up at him once more. "Don't think this is the last you're going to hear about this. I'll have Quentin get his lawyers to check this out."

Penny sidestepped away from Roger and opened the room door. Roger immediately stepped into the doorway. "I suspect by the time you get downstairs you'll have reconsidered on that... unless, of course, you want the entire council to know how you were outsmarted by your wife." She slowly but deliberately closed the door, Roger shifting just in time to avoid it hitting him on the ass on his way out.
 
Chapter 5.21
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.21
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


Strong arms grabbed her and pulled her free just as the freshly turned, sandy soil began to tumble through the hole she had made in the coffin lid, like the grains in an hourglass, filling her mouth and counting out the minutes until she would die again. They held her and rocked her, pulling her close, and even though her battered body protested, her fear gradually ebbed as the familiar accent whispered softly at her ear.

"S'alright, baby. Spike's got you. He's got you. Shush, kitten, shhhhh. Deep breaths. Slow it down. Slow and easy. I'm here. It's over, an' your Spike won't let it happen again."

Like a fun-runner at the end of a marathon, her rapid, gasping breaths finally eased until her chest no longer burned in protest and the sobs she hadn't even been aware of faded away. Spike's hold loosened as she relaxed with her back against his chest.

"Y-you didn't..."

"Didn't share?" Spike paused until she nodded her head. "No, love. Been awake for a bit, but I figured when your breathin' got outta whack that it'd be better to wake you up."

"What's with the wakiness?" Buffy rolled to face him, piling every iota of concern she was feeling into their bond. "Is this because of the growly thing? 'Cause have to say, can't see that as being of the bad. You kicked gnarly grey Twarick Hun butt. It's not like I'm going to give you a hard time about it."

Spike shrugged. "Maybe, partly, I don't know. Even if I don't end up with you riding my arse about it, you can bet the Watcher Boys are going to want to investigate it to death."

"Are those like the Hardy Boys with tweed?"

"Tweed and broomsticks up their backsides. An' I can't say as I blame them. Rupert was practically twitching to get his notebook out an' start the interrogation. The slayer an' her pet vamp is one thing-."

"You're not my pet vamp. Don't talk like that."

"'S how Rupert sees me. Like as not, Wes'd say the same but manage to make it sound better. 'S the only reason they trust me around you and Niblet an' the rest without a bloody muzzle."

"They trust you because you've earned it."

"Bollocks, pet, an' you know it." Spike gave a discontented near-growl. "If it was ever about earning their trust, then, they'd have accepted me back when Glory was after The Bit, an' if not then, they would have done it when I stayed an' watched over her an' helped out, but you've heard the boy often enough. He'll never let himself forget what I am, an' every single one of them went right back to treatin' me like I'd gone skinny-dipping in The Bog of Eternal Stench as soon as you got back, 'cept Niblet and the good witch.

Fact of the matter is that I had a blackout an' that lot barely trust me when I am in charge of what I'm doin'. How the hell are they ever goin' to trust me when I'm not? How am I goin' to trust me?"

"Spike, who's the slayer here?" She slid her hand beneath his chin and pressed until he raised his head to look her in the eye once more. "The council may not like it, but when all's said and done I'm in charge and I trust you. This is so not an issue."

Spike shook his head gently. "Wishing it doesn't make it so, kitten. I'm not a nice man. Never claimed to be, an' if you knew just a fraction of the things I've done, then, you wouldn't take this so lightly."

"I don't take it lightly. I know it's a big deal, and, hey, I'd be freaking out, too, if I was walking around with holes in my memory, but I know what I felt. I know what you were feeling those times you don't remember and whatever subconscious part of you was in charge, I trust it and I love it, just the way I love you."

"I am not freakin' out. The Big Bad does not freak out. An' what if that wasn't me, at all? What if it's one big game that The First is playing to sucker you in an' get you to trust it while it's sticking its hand up my bum and using me like Nookie the bloody Bear?"

"You think The First wants to use your body to have sex with a bear?" Buffy asked. "Is this a prophecy thing? 'Cause I haven't heard that one and your body ain't having sex with no one and nothing but me."

"No, Nookie Bear, Nookie the Bear, whatever, some sort of teddy bear ventriloquist's dummy. Point bein' we don't know for sure who was pulling the strings when I was like that."

"Stop fussing. I know. You think The First could fool me?"

"Managed a fair convincing impersonation of you an' Dru before now. Don't reckon it'd find me any harder to do."

Buffy took a deep breath. She was beginning to appreciate how her mom had felt when she had run up against Buffy's own stubborn streak. "So far, it's happened once, and I'm in no hurry to get myself hurt like this to see if it happens again. We can worry about it if it becomes a habit. Okay?" she slowly carded her fingers through the short locks just above his ear. "But for the record, I don't think The First would understand what we have between us... and the way you use the claim to all but drown me in love? It wouldn't have a clue." Buffy concentrated on telling him without words, just exactly how much those feelings were returned and the vampire finally seemed to decide to let the subject go.

"An' you?" he asked. His fingers ghosted lightly up and down her side, marking a narrow, slightly curved trail to avoid bruises.

"Huh?"

"You, pet. What's the deal? You don't have that dream when everythin' in the garden's rosy. An' if it's not me doin' Hulk impressions that's got you off balance, it must be somethin' else."

"I guess... Maybe it's just because it's a while since anything got that close."

"Maybe," Spike answered, sounding non-commital. "That what you think it is?"

"I don't know. It... It all just seems so big. I guess I just don't know where we go from here. We hurt them, but we got our butts kicked in the process and I don't think The First is all that bothered about losing a body here or there, but every one that we lose is a person, a face, someone's daughter, friend, whatever, and we will lose some of them. I just don't know if I can cope with that."

"You cope by training them the best you know how. You take it one step at a time and you break it down into bits you can do."

"You make it sound easy, but how do I train these girls, get to know them and then just watch them get pulled apart by a flock of bringers? If The First doesn't make them pull themselves apart first."

"You don't, but if you want them to fight for you, then you have to get to know them. You have to make them feel like you think they're special. Let your belief in them keep them going until they can believe in themselves."

"Personnel management, vampire style?" Buffy teased.

"Hell no! Vamp style, you kill the ones that cock up an' the ones that get too close to bein' a threat, an' as long as you don't settle in one place for too long you can generally recruit enough bodies to keep a decent cadre. That's out of some book on one of them World War II guys."

"But doesn't that hurt, when you lose them? Doesn't it kill you bit by bit as you watch them die?"

"Pet, right back to the beginning of time, the reason any army fights is less to do with honour or pride or any of that balls than they'd have you believe. They fight because their friends, the guys on either side of them, are relyin' on them. They fight because if the enemy breaks through their lines, then their daughters an' their sisters an' their wives an' their mothers'll be robbed blind an' used however the winners see fit. An' they'll lose people along the way, but you don't stop in the middle of a fight to grieve, you just get angry an' make sure you get the bastard as did it.

We'll all lose a few, an' when it's all over an' done with I'll hold you tight an' let you cry like a river, but we don' have a choice. If all you give those girls is the slayer, if you don't let them see who you are, as well as what you are, then you'll already have lost them before you begin."

"I'm not sure I can do that."

"Then, I guess I'll just have to believe in you until you can believe it for yourself... Though I think we'll all have to claim an excemption when it comes to that Kennedy bint. Doubt anyone as wasn't blood related could even pretend they gave a damn about that one. Well, 'cept maybe Glinda, an' there's days I wonder if those bits in the Bible about angels walkin' in disguise amongst us were written 'bout her."

Buffy fixed him with a questioning stare. "You really think even Tara could care about Superbrat?"

Spike smirked. "Well, no, but it sounded good..."

There was a discreet cough from just outside the door, and then Lily entered with a mug of blood in either hand, followed by Dawn carrying a steaming bowl of soup and a spoon and Tara carrying two glasses of fruit juice.

"Is that-."

"Bee's home-made cream of chicken soup. Nothing out of a can," Dawn interrupted, "and the juice is two-."

"Parts orange, one part grapefruit," both Spike and Buffy chimed in.

Lily fixed each of the invalids in turn with a firm stare. "You know what happen if everything not all eaten up when we come back?"

"You hold our noses and pour it in our mouths a bit at a time until we're forced to swallow?" Buffy replied.

Lily ushered the others from the room as she replied. "Close enough. And I no thinking you want to swap leftovers." She waited until the door was only six inches from being closed to add, "Kennedy, she brat because parents give her money instead of love. Maybe is our job to teach her."

Spike yelled after her as the door shut. "I signed on to help the slayer, not join The Salvation Army."

 




 

Anya's eyes narrowed as she sat down at the table opposite Giles. "You've had orgasms," she accused. "Lots of orgasms. Of the non-DIY variety."

Giles flushed beneath her stare and, no doubt, if he hadn't chosen to wear his contact lenses he would have been polishing already, but he failed to deny her accusations. Instead, he tried to divert her attention. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Now I asked you here-."

"I'm not talking about kissing. I know about your kissing. Firm, forceful without being overpowering, passionate with good technique, but even that wouldn't get you that smug, 'I banged a natural blonde twenty years younger than me' glow."

"Oh dear Lord!" Giles briefly lowered his forehead almost to the table, and, just for a second, considered seeing if a few repeated impacts would either shut Anya up or at least produce sufficient brain damage that he would no longer hear her. "If you must know, I asked you to call in because I wanted your help with some shopping type things."

"You want me to help you spend your money?" Anya asked, her eyes suddenly gleaming and a beautifully glossed smile on her lips.

"Yes, well, I believe you can order almost anything on the line these days. After this morning's events I thought it might be an idea to bring forward looking for Buffy's wedding present slightly. I have a couple of ideas but I'm not entirely sure which way to go so I thought maybe you could guide me through some net sites." He coughed slightly before he continued. "Then, I wondered if you might be able to direct me to the tailor where Spike was having the clothes made for the wedding, preferably without going through the sewers. Spike's new coat took something of a beating last night and I believe it will take someone highly skilled to restore it to any sort of semblance of its former glory. So many of the girls saw him win that. If it were to disappear so soon afterward, it might cause questions. I think for the sake of morale it would be best if we could get it patched up before Spike is back up and around."

Anya didn't believe the morale excuse for a minute, but if Giles wanted to be shy about doing a friend type thing for Spike because he'd stopped some older than dirt vamps from killing Buffy, then who was she to complain, especially if it meant she got to spend money on Giles' credit cards. Of course, it also provided her with an excellent opportunity to point out that while he was Buffy's ex- watcher he was her present-day business partner and surely that merited just as large a wedding present as an ex-anything.
 
Chapter 5.22
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz) 

Chapter 5.22
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"I still say if you're going with the bed idea, then it would be better to have some sort of metal frame," Anya argued.

Giles looked again at the dark pine bed he had chosen with its simply but exquisitely carved head and foot pieces. "I rather like this one. I know Spike might like the Gothic look, but this is for Buffy as well."

"Honestly, Giles!" Anya exclaimed in impatience. "It's just not practical, at all. There isn't even anywhere you could attach any handcuffs and, if you did somehow manage to get them to lock on somewhere, all the varnish would scrape off."

Giles reddened and pushed his chair away from the computer. "I think maybe it's time we took a little break. Why don't I make us some tea and see if I can find Dawn? She should have some idea what sort of furnishings they had in mind."

 




 

Giles might not have recognised Offspring, but he did realise that the music coming from behind the door of Faith and Dawn's room was grungier than the teenager's normal boy bands and he silently raised a prayer in hope that her taste in music was finally approaching something more appropriate to her intellectual age.

He gave the briefest of knocks and raised his voice in question. "Dawn?" He paused in deference for possible female nudity until he heard the teen confirm he could enter.

"Dawn," he began as he pushed the door open. "I was wondering if perhaps you could help me ou-." He stalled as he realised that the girl was not alone. He frowned briefly as he searched for the appropriate name amongst so many newcomers. "Brandon, it's not that I have any objection to you per se. You seem like a rather nice young boy, as teenage boys go, and it does appear that you might be doing something useful..." Giles waved a hand in the general direction of the large scale maps that Brandon and Dawn had spread out across both the bunks. "However, I can't help but think that Buffy and particularly Spike might imagine the library to be a better venue than any that places you both alone behind closed doors, and from a personal viewpoint I have to wonder why it is that, considering you at least nominally still live with your father, you never actually seem to go home. "

"Sorry, sir," Brandon answered still somewhat subdued after Ireland's World Cup exit. He continued in time before Dawn could finish drawing in breath to indulge in a fit of teenaged pique. "Amanda just went down to get some sodas from the kitchen. She'll be back in a minute or two. If I'd thought about it, I'd have made sure she left the door open. We didn't mean to break the rules." The boy's head tilted down and he looked at his fingertips as he rubbed at the cuticles of his left hand. He couldn't keep his eyes from glancing across at Dawn before he continued, however. "Dad's out of town for a few days. There, em, was some... stuff that, he, ah, had to do."

Dawn's eyes narrowed and she rounded on him. "You didn't say your dad was out of town," she said, not even trying to conceal her suspicion or her burgeoning anger. As yet, she didn't know exactly what she had to be angry at, but she figured she'd find out soon enough.

"Does it make a difference?" Brandon asked in a soft reasonable voice. "It's not like I wouldn't choose to be here most of the time anyway. I might have slept in a proper bed a bit more often but I'd still head straight over and Mr Giles would probably still be trying to get rid of me." Brandon's gaze shifted back to the watcher. "But, sir, Buffy and Spike said it would be okay for me to stay until he got back."

"Yeah," Dawn answered far too calmly. "It makes a difference. I'm supposed to be your girlfriend, but everybody gets a say in whether you stay over except me."

"It wasn't meant to be like that." Brandon sounded both hurt and apologetic, but even when Dawn raised an eyebrow and gave him a questioning glare he made no attempt to elucidate further.

"Well, maybe when you explain what it was meant to be like, then we can talk. I'll tell Amanda you took the maps and stuff to your room." She stood up and grabbed all the paperwork, crushing it until it fitted into an awkward armful, which she thrust out toward the youth as he rose to his feet.

Brandon didn't bother to argue, but the scuff of his boots against the floor as he left told its own tale of misery.

Giles tilted his head ever so slightly to one side. "He might have a perfectly good reason for not mentioning it. He doesn't seem the type who would deliberately-."

Dawn gave the watcher a withering look. "Giles, if you want me to help you with something, then off topic now."

 




 

"Wesley, darling, why don't you bring Marie and your other friends over here?"

Marie smiled at the sound of Penelope's voice, but her smile faded when she realised that Wes's mother sat at the same table as Quentin and Roger, though the presence of Lydia Chalmers, who seemed to be having nothing more substantial than a glass of water, did a little to ease her nerves. "Is she serious?" she whispered in Wes's ear, her teeth clenched as she tried to keep watch on Rosa with her tray of food.

"Never let it be said that mother missed out on a chance to watch father and Quentin squirm."

Lily walked around the pair as the couple slowed. "Is not polite to keep your mother waiting." She took a seat next to Roger, who sat across the table from his wife, and Wes and the others followed suit, Wes beside his mother with Rosa on his other side and Marie next to her, automatically placing themselves so that they could both help the girl if she needed it. Clem and Ha Nath took places next to Lily.

Wes made the necessary introductions and Quentin made the barest of acknowledgements before he returned to the conversation he had apparently been having prior to the group's arrival. "It's important that you begin as soon as possible," Quentin announced, not so much to Roger as to everyone at the table and those nearest to it. "You'll need to go back to England. With everyone concentrating on the research materials, it seems unlikely that the older personnel records will have been moved yet. You will need to check through them and track down as many as possible of the retired members. They need to be warned of the threat and they should be alerted as to how they may get in touch with us here, should any of them find anything relevant to the situation in their own private libraries."

Penelope's lips twisted in a wry smile, magnanimously allowing Roger and Quentin their facade. She turned to Marie and the others. "You must forgive Quentin for his abruptness. Having had watchers kowtowing to him for a decade or so has made him forget that, as far as everyone else is concerned, the world fails to revolve around him." She winked at Rosa. "I bet your mommy would tell you off for being rude if you ignored people like that, but grumpy old men can get away with it..." She met Roger's gaze. "Speaking of which, it's such a pity that you have to leave just when I get here, but I'm sure we'll potter on without you, dear."

 




 

Lydia and Tara chose a spot nearer the basement stairs than the circle that remained set up with the manacles in its centre. They cleared a good sized area of the general dust and detritus that littered the floor, marked out a sacred circle that could easily accommodate both of them, using rock salt crystals. They marked out another smaller circle at the centre of that one. Intersecting that one they drew a pentacle. From her pockets Tara pulled out a selection of gemstones; amethyst as a general protection against negative psychic energy; jade to counter more directed psychic attacks and also for its association with the protection of children; quartz to represent protection for the home or other buildings; peridot for physical protection and also protection against demons and, finally, red jasper for protection from dangerous situations. Just outside the smaller circle, next to the stones, Lydia placed small clay incense holders with tall narrow incense sticks, leaving them unlit for the moment, but placing a box of matches ready to one side.

Tara fetched a large book from the caretaker's office, opened it and placed it next to the inner circle, so that there was enough space for someone to sit cross-legged and read from it without touching the outer circle. The two women surveyed the layout, straightening up an incense holder here and a line there until they were satisfied.

They adjourned upstairs to the shower room which had a sign on the door saying it was out of bounds between half past twelve and one o'clock. There, they took it in turn to use the communal showers. They washed from head to toe using unperfumed toiletries and redressed in freshly laundered clothing. Tara had chosen a flowing white skirt with broderie Anglais edging and a peasant style top that flattered her rounded curves. Lydia wore white canvas bootleg jeans and a clinging T-shirt so new its soft fabric practically glowed and made even her fair skin look dark.

They walked barefoot back to the basement and took their places facing each other. Stepping into the circle from opposite sides, they settled into cross-legged positions with the book directly before Tara. The two women clasped hands and the Wiccan began to read from the book. Lydia followed on, repeating Tara's exact words with just a few seconds delay, their phrasing and the rhythm of the chant seeming to fall into synch, even though their words didn't, like young children singing 'Row, Row, Row."

Lydia watched as, slowly, the inner circle began to glow with a dim light. She continued repeating the words that Tara spoke before her, until gradually the chant became a repetition by rote that required no conscious thought. The circle glowed brighter now, its essence formed from the merged power of the two women whose canon acted like a magical pulse, drawing power through their linked bodies like the human heart pumps blood through the body. Raising her eyes to to Tara's, the two came to a silent agreement and focused their will on the circle of light. The circle swirled gently outward gliding over the outer circle without disturbing it, and then deforming under their will until it matched the confines of the basement room.

The magical energy continued to pulse through the women seemingly unabated and, again, they pressed onward by unspoken accord, visualising the sweep of the protective barrier in their mind's eye as clearly as they had seen it when it was within the confines of the room. The light spread outward and upward until Lydia saw that it enveloped almost all of the building's lowest level. As Lydia channelled her will, her lips still moving in the same rote chant, she became aware of something akin to a magical form of friction. The protected area continued to expand, but much more slowly now.

The best way to describe what she felt was as is if the magic they used to power the warding spell was akin to water released from behind a dam. Water continued to flow down from the hills into the reservoir which seemed just as full as it had been when they started the working, but it was as if the engineer was closing off the sluice gates so that the power available to fuel the spell was becoming less plentiful.

Digging deep within herself, Lydia began to not just accept and shape the power that flowed between them but to actively suck it from the reservoir within them, working to overcome the resistance she felt to the spell's continued expansion. Tara's eyes widened in shock and she tried with nothing more than her own eyes to soothe her. She pushed the protected area outward until it extended beyond the walls of the school building, then upward until all the floors were covered. The look of shock died away from Tara's eyes, replaced by a look of trust and with a rush all the friction washed away. The wards flooded out to the boundary of the property forming a glistening bubble over the school and its grounds, visible to any who cared to look at it with magical senses. With one last effort of will the women hardened the walls of that bubble until it formed a metaphysical shell. Tara slapped three times on the floor to end that phase of the working and ground the power between them.

The Wiccan's eyes held fear and hope as she met the watcher's. "I-."

"Shhh!" Lydia calmed her. "We can work out what it all means later. For now, let's bury these stones and finish this..." She pushed to her feet, broke both the inner and outer circle with her toe and then reached down to offer the witch a hand. "We never thought we'd be able to do more than a couple of rooms without having to find more people. Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth."
 
Chapter 5.23
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.23
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


Giles knocked softly at Lydia's office door before he slipped inside and pressed it closed behind him. Noting the blonde's pristine white attire, which contrasted sharply against the dark leather of the couch, where she lay with a heavy book propped on her rib cage, he knew that he must have missed the performance of the ward spell.

"How did it go?" he inquired as Lydia set aside the book and stretched out her arms to pull Giles down to her side.

"Good," she whispered, letting her eyes drink in the handsome face next to her, as if she still found it difficult to believe his place there. "It went well. I think perhaps you should have a talk with Tara later, but it went well."

Giles stiffened slightly. "Why? Is she alright?"

Slim fingers came up to brush his lips and a canvas draped leg hooked over his to fix him tight against a surprisingly athletic body. "She's fine. She's with Bee. She just has something she wants to discuss with you..." Lydia's smile became almost predatory as her mouth moved closer to Giles' so that her lips brushed his as she spoke her insistent last word. "Later."

His concern vanished behind a teasing grin. "If I didn't know better I would think you were trying to make me have a heart attack," he joked before acquiescing to a searching kiss.

Finally, pulling back for air as her hands slipped Giles' leather jacket from his shoulders, she responded. "You look in better shape to me than your friend Xander, far better shape, and Anya was saying only last night at the meeting that he has no problem keeping up with her."

"I was under the impression that Wesley cut her off in order to protect young ears before she got that far."

"Well, yes, but we all knew what she was going to say. Besides, exercise is good for you. We can't let you get out of shape doing research all the time. You never know when you might have to be up there in the front line."

"I-." Giles paused, as if a sudden idea had broken his train of thought. His eyes had a calculating gleam and Lydia's smile widened even further as she nimbly unfastened the buttons on Giles' shirt.

"Has anyone ever told you how sexy intelligent men are?" she asked.

Giles' expression softened briefly. "Not recently," he admitted as his hands reached for the hem of Lydia's clinging T-shirt. After that neither of them spoke for a very long time.

 




 

Buffy stifled a grin. It was clear that Giles wanted to pace, but since Lily's insistence on bed rest for the two blondes meant that he, Wes and Faith were all crammed into their tiny attic room, it wasn't as if he could manage more than a single step without hitting his head or bumping into someone.

"I know that you," he began with a nod to the couple in their cots, "and Faith had some ideas about how you wanted to proceed with the training, but I think, perhaps, we weren't making the best possible use of the resources we have available. Even the most research based of watchers receives some martial training-."

"Do they even have marshals in England?" Buffy interrupted. "I thought that was a sort of Hicksville thing."

"They have some sort of combat training," Giles continued as if Buffy had never spoken. "In point of fact, since we are talking about adults, some of whom have trained extensively in martial arts, fencing and other hand-to-hand skills, unless either of you two ladies is in a hurry to pass on your mantle, they provide a far more formidable potential army than a gaggle of partially trained teenagers."

"Soooo been there and done that with the mantle passing, but we've still got to train these girls to fight."

"No one is arguing with that. All I'm suggesting is that we pull the younger, fitter watchers - and people like Oz, Brandon, Dawn and Bee if she can be spared - off the research side of things. We let the older, more experienced watchers take care of that. To be honest, it's unlikely that we have enough relevant material to keep everyone busy anyway-."

This time it was Faith who interrupted. "Okay, I get with the not so wrinkly watchers like Wes and the fighting bit, but it's not so much like he needs the training, and Oz is his own mutt, but bringing in the junior pep squad seems a bit over the top."

"With more experienced people in the groups to work with, the girls will improve more quickly, and, although the watchers may have training on an individual level, they aren't necessarily practiced at fighting in groups as you were planning to teach the girls, and daily workouts can only improve over all fitness levels. As for bringing in the others, do you really think that when this all comes to a head, Dawn or Xander or even Anya will be content to stay at home and let others fight their battles?"

"Dawn isn't-" Buffy began.

Spike shook his head. "Dawn isn't going to stand back and watch you lead an army with kids younger than her an' let you just tell her to stay home. Mean, you're welcome to try to convince her, but even if you left her home, short of lockin' her up, she'd be there with bells on five minutes after you got there. Won't do no harm for her to learn what end of a sword to use same time as the rest of them. S'not like we didn't promise the kid. We've just been kinda busy to follow through. An' watcher's right 'bout the boy an' the demon bint, even the little senorita. Not that I'd expect her to go along for any fight, but what if they bring it to us?"

"I can take care of Marie," Wes responded calmly. "She won't be available for the daytime sessions, anyway, but I can work with her one on one in the evenings."

"I was going to suggest that we have an evening group for Xander, Anya, possibly Bee and any of the others who can't make the normal sessions. They may not get the benefit of your training," he said, looking at the two slayers and the vampire. "I expect you'll be busy with patrol or enjoying a well earned evening off, but I think even Xander can remain focused on something that isn't a doughnut for long enough to learn a few moves that might help prevent him getting killed."

"How's cutie gonna take us nickin' half his watchers?" Spike asked. "It's not like he's gone out of his way to lay out the welcome mat."

"That would be why Lydia is the one discussing it with Q.T., as you call him, right about now. As far as he's concerned, over and above the obvious, it's a way for the watchers to stay in the loop regarding the training and what's going on."

"How many of them know more than the basics?" Buffy questioned Giles with an interrogating tone, still obviously unhappy at the idea of Dawn getting involved in any sort of battle.

"James was already a brown belt in karate when I knew him at fifteen and I wouldn't say he was completely atypical. Perhaps the female watchers tend toward the research side of things slightly more, but even there, I think you might be surprised." He refrained from adding that he certainly was, but Spike met his gaze with a knowing smirk just the same.

"It makes sense, B," Faith cajoled.

"I guess," Buffy conceded with obvious reluctance, "but if Quentin's suck ups start causing trouble, then they're out."

"No one would expect anything else. Quentin can make an announcement at dinner. He seems to be good at that."






 

It took several impacts of her entire weight against the door before it shook enough in the frame to open slightly the next time her shoulder struck it. After she had that first bit of movement, she simply kept pushing, her feet scrabbling slightly against the floor until the opening was wide enough for her body. The door bounced against something, but in her excitement she didn't care. All day, 'the shrill one' had kept her at her side, screeching into her sensitive ears about the perfidy of 'the boy', who had occasionally been in the same room at the time. Rogue had wanted to go to 'the boy' who was sad and upset, but that, it seemed, was not allowed.

Instead, when 'the shrill one' went for food she decided to spend some time with her master. He hadn't come out of his room, and though this wasn't unusual for him, Rogue didn't feel that it was right for her to be shut out. The room smelled funny, too. Dried blood and harsh chemicals that made her nose twitch. She looked around for a suitable tribute to offer her master, finding the perfect thing just beneath the edge of the bed.

She gripped the heavy black boot firmly between her teeth and clambered over his mate, ignoring the way the mattress tilted and wobbled under her feet. After all, having conquered a closed door, a tilting bed was nothing to fear. She dropped the boot squarely on her master's stomach, sure that he would get the hint that it was time for walkies.

 




 

Riven from sleep by the impact of several pounds of Doc Marten on top of an only slightly healed stab wound, Spike prepared to let loose a blue streak such as hadn't been heard for at least a week.

"What the f-."

"William!" Lily's raised voice held a distinct tone of warning and Spike belatedly processed the chatter of several young voices, coming from a few doors down.

Spike grimaced and grabbed the dog by her purple glittery collar, which Dawn must have found at some point during their recent visit to Revello Drive. Rogue panted happily and strained against him, enjoying their game of tug of war. She did think it was cheating when he lifted her up though, just because she braced her front legs against his lap when she pushed back. Finally, he tucked her in under one arm, her head resting on his shoulder and pressed down on her rump until she lay down.

"You alright, love?" he asked in a concerned whisper, once the canine behemoth was vaguely under control, his hand absently brushing along her wiry flank.

"Sure," answered Buffy in a sarcastic whine. "She just bounced the door off my head, tilted the bed all over so that my fingers got trapped between the two cots when it fell back into place, stomped all over my seeping wounds and practically pushed me out the bed to get to you. I'm peachy!"

Spike couldn't help but smirk at her exposed lower lip. "Look at Princess Pouty. Gonna give me a taste?" he coaxed. With Rogue pinning one shoulder in place, he couldn't really manage any more forceful options. Fortunately for him, his partner wasn't immune to the appeal of a wicked grin and a tight, if rather bruised and battered, chest.

She leaned over him and managed several teasing kisses before the pain in her side reminded her that she was supposed to be resting.

As she eased herself back down onto her own cot her hand came to rest on the cream envelope that they had forgotten about earlier. She looked around until she spotted the note that came with it and picked it up. She read through the tailor's message as if she hadn't seen it before.

She looked over to Spike. "It wouldn't seem right to just replace her," she whispered. "I mean, it's not like I want everyone to wear black armbands or anything, but if we asked Bee or Marie, it'd be like we were saying that they could take her place, like she was expendable..."

Spike nodded. "An' it sort of smacks of sayin' to whoever you ask that they didn't make the first round draft pick."

"You watch NFL? No, wait, daytime... Nothing better to do," she answered for him before he could say anything. "Only if we don't replace her then that sort of screws with the numbers and everything sort of falls apart at the first dance."

"Don't worry, pet. For one thing, you've got Rosa on your side of things an' for another, if we're not doing the whole high table thing, I don't see why we should lumber everybody with designated partners, anyway, or make them as might not want to, dance."

"So I have Dawn and Xander and Rosa... And you have Clem and Tara and Anya? And you think that'll be okay?"

"I think you should do whatever you think is best. She was your friend, but it's not like you have to make your mind up straight away. You've got a whole month to decide."

"A month?" Buffy screeched and started mentally counting off on her fingers.

"Well, nearer five weeks," Spike tried to reassure her.

"We don't have five weeks. It was five weeks yesterday and we still haven't booked a photographer and we've got all these bringers and Two Rock Huey, Louie and Dewey and the creepy preacher guy and everything to sort out before then, 'cause they are sooo not invited... And we haven't got the invitations back from the printers yet and we really need to get them sent out by the end of the week."

"Everybody we're inviting is right here in this building, pet."

"My aunt and my cousins aren't, and they need to travel all the way from Illinois or somewhere."

"Alright, so phone them up and say the invitations have been delayed and warn them when it's going to be and ask if they think they'll be able to make it."

"But that's not right . They should get a nice crisp invitation like everyone else."

"An' they will. They'll just get a bit of advance warning before it arrives."

Xander's head appeared briefly around the open door. "I would give in now, Spike. If you hadn't missed out on most of the preparations for that Thanksgiving dinner she cooked, you'd know all you can do is rush to obey her every command. And since, at the moment, everyone including the bitty kiddies in the end room can hear, I'm going to close the door now."

"That is so not true. Spike, tell him it's not true. And then you can call the tailor and tell him we'll all be there at lunch time tomorrow... and Xander, we're going to the mall tomorrow night to get your suit!" she shouted after the carpenter, who had already closed the door and gone.

Spike grinned broadly. "Aren't you the cutest little 'Wedding Nazi'?"
 
Chapter 5.24
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.24
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


The knock at Buffy and Spike's bedroom door was quiet enough that had either of them been asleep, it wouldn't have been enough to wake them. However, at that precise moment, Buffy had been making the most of having Spike and Rogue prisoner in one place to dictate to them just exactly what should be entailed in a rehearsal dinner.

"Come in, watcher," Spike called out. "S'open."

Wes pushed open the door, a slight frown on his face. "You know it's really quite disconcerting when you do that. You could at least let us pretend that you can't smell us all through the walls."

"S'not so much that, though that aftershave is a bit overpowerin'. S'more the footfalls. An' I'm not even goin' to ask what's up with Bit's lad seein' as how he's scuffin' his way 'round like shoe leather's goin' out of style..."

"That's rather a longwinded way of saying you're not interested in something," Wes responded dryly, before getting straight to the reason for his visit. "I was thinking I might see if Faith wants some help on patrol tonight. Nothing fancy, just a quick check on the usual hotspots." Wes rubbed at the five o'clock shadow that adorned his chin. "Then, back in time to see our American friends get a lesson in football."

"It's soccer," Buffy protested. "And who says America's going to learn anything?"

"They're playin' the Mexicans. Watcher'd be lookin' for trouble if he didn't side with his womenfolk."

"Does that mean that you'd be willing to wager against them?" Wes asked.

Buffy's eyes narrowed until, after a brief coughing fit, Spike concurred. "Loser pays for all the beer an' pizzas, but the bet only stands if you can talk Lily into lettin' us up out of bed to watch it.

And?"

"And what?

"And how come you're discussin' your plans for takin' a walk on the wild side with me an' the slayer?"

"Well, I wasn't actually planning on walking any more than was absolutely necessary... and , I was wondering, since it has certain accessories that my own is lacking, if I could possibly borrow your bike for the night."

"Help yourself. Keys should be in my coat."

"Already picked them up," Wes answered, dangling the keychain that he had, in fact, found on top of the TV rather than anywhere else. His smile was all the thanks that were needed between the two men and Wes was just about to back out the door when Spike called after him.

"Don't forget to fill 'er up before you bring her home!"

"Yes, da-a-ad!" Wes replied through the thickness of the door, in perfect mimicry of a petulant teenager.

Buffy grinned and poked Spike in one of the few bruise free spots on his side. "Like you couldn't spare half a gallon of gas?"

"Hey, evil vampire here, not some watcher charity. Percy can probably claim it back on expenses. More than I can."

"And what did he mean that yours has accessories that his doesn't? His is the swanky armchair on wheels with all the chrome you could use to put your make-up on... well, you couldn't what with the whole no reflection thing, but you know..."

Spike gave a broad grin and feigned innocence none too convincingly. "Can't think of a single thing... 'Cept maybe the gun rack."

 




 

"Up for some company tonight?"

Faith paused in her assault on the heavy punching bag and turned to look at Wes. "Might be," she answered cagily. Since Wes had given her his blood, they had maintained their uneasy truce. Within a larger group, each had become accustomed to taking their part so that, to the others, even when Dawn had called on them both that morning, the tension between them seemed to have dissipated. They knew better, but there was a slight possibility that it might not be quite so intense as it once had been. It was even possible that they might have the beginning of a tentative mutual trust. "You got anything in mind?"

"Well, the way I see it, the idea of questioning a bringer is just as valid today as it was yesterday, though I do tend to think there might be easier ways to bring one back than the method that Buffy and Spike chose. Having said that, there's no harm in plotting a route that might take us through a cemetery or two, and as Spike has vouchsafed us the use of his motorbike, we shouldn't have a problem covering sufficient ground. Tara and Giles are going to do a spell to show the location of different types of demons around town. If they happen to find a sufficiently small group, away from their main stronghold, then, I'm sure that with a little help you should be able to capture one alive."

"And if there's a goddamned town meeting?"

"That would be where Plan B comes into effect." The amusement in the watcher's eye and the challenge in his tone suggested that he not only knew exactly what Plan B consisted of, but was almost hoping it would come to that.

Faith looked him up and down before her gaze settled on his face, and her glossy scarlet smile widened some more. "So where do I fit into Plan B?"

 




 

"Wesley?" His father's voice held an imperious tone of command, as if it were his right to question Wes's every movement. He looked at his son as if the leather gear he wore and a day's growth of stubble had transformed him into some sort of undesirable. Or maybe it was the way Faith walked the corridor at his side, Dawn's leather jacket framing the ample cleavage that it was unable to close over, the dramatic colours of her make-up proclaiming her readiness for the hunt.

Wes forced his steps to remain even as he walked on past Roger, wishing he could do the same for his heart rate. "Not now, father. We have things to do. If we get back early enough, I might fit you in before the football starts. Otherwise, I suppose it depends what flight mother has booked you in on."

"Wesley, you are still my son and I will not be spoken to like that."

Faith pivoted on her heel and looked the overweight watcher up and down. "Sounds to me like you just were," she informed him, in a 'what're you gonna do about it?' tone.

At Faith's intervention, Wes was also forced to turn. He stepped up next to the slayer and held out the keys for Spike's motorcycle. "Why don't you go and see if she'll kick over okay?" he suggested softly.

"Sweet," the slayer answered, swiping the keys from where they dangled in mid-air before she gave Roger a last disdainful look and swept off toward the school's main doors.

Wes met his father's gaze squarely, raising his chin defiantly. "From a very early age you made it excessively clear that a man's duty as a watcher was more important than family. I learned that lesson well. Now, if you would excuse me... or even if you won't, one of my slayers is waiting."

 




 

Wes swung a long leg free of the motorcycle's pillion seat, making a mental note that if he ever wanted to be anything other than a passenger that he shouldn't give vehicle keys to Faith again. It was a fate he might have accepted more readily if they hadn't decided that the need to be able to fight at a moment's notice made the use of helmets, which would badly impair their field of vision, undesirable. Having his face flayed by the windswept strands of Faith's coiffure had made the ride less pleasant than it might otherwise have been. The situation didn't look set to change any time soon, though, largely because they didn't have time to argue. He jogged up the path to his front door, the keys already in his hand, and the combination of his recently installed gun safe at the forefront of his mind.

Faith left a perfect doughnut of rubber across the centre line of Revello Drive before another half turn left the motorcycle facing the direction they had come in. She waited impatiently until Wes made his way back out and stowed the shotgun on the rack at the side of the bike. When he braced himself by gripping around her waist, she felt the protuberances that betrayed the presence of a pair of pistols in a shoulder holster and several spare clips. She let out the clutch and the powerful machine carried them in the direction of the hellmouth.

 




 

Thanks to the fact that the chain on the compound gate had been cut once more, they had been able to park the bike near to the new generator, in case they needed it for a quick getaway. Wes pulled a handful of shotgun shells from an inside pocket and passed them to Faith. He picked up the shotgun from the rack and held it out so that the slayer could see. "Safety's here," he pointed out, deftly fingering it so that the gun was ready for use. "Make sure you've got it braced tight as you can against your shoulder, like so." He demonstrated, using a broad based stance, one foot further back than the other. "Take aim a few degrees below where you want to hit to allow for the kick... and squeeze the trigger." The shot rang out, shredding the head of the nearest of the approaching group of bringers. "Grasp the slider on the underside of the barrel, pull it back to chamber the next round, and then forward again." With a short underarm throw the shotgun, which was ready to fire again, was in Faith's hands, but Wes continued talking as he drew the pair of matching 9mm pistols from their holster. "Don't reload unless you have to and try not to leave the gun behind. It's unlikely the police will bring in any forensics people, but in the event that they do, it would be better if they don't find any fingerprints."

Within seconds, the bringer lookouts, who were either too foolhardy to realise they were hopelessly outclassed or had no fear of death, lay motionless on the ground. Blood trickled from the mouth of the one that Faith had hit in the chest, and two more had precision holes in the centre of their forehead. As they strode past the bodies, Faith stooped to lift a curved knife from a dead hand and slide it into her belt before grasping the shotgun in a two-handed grip once more.

"Four down, ten to go," Faith yelled as another group came running from the building, no doubt sent to investigate the sound of gunfire.

"Nine preferably," Wes reminded her that if possible they needed one alive. "And do bear in mind that there may be a hostage involved, if we're looking at the same scenario as when Sarah was killed."

"Five by five," Faith confirmed, grinning as they strode side by side down the gravelled track toward the new school building, secure in the knowledge that even if their targets looked to be trying to find some cover this time, so long as they kept bringing knives to a gun fight, there was really only going to be one possible outcome. "And if we get the chance to kick some preacher ass?" she asked.

"Kicking his ass, fine, but if it comes to shooting his ass, leave him to me. We should be out of here before any police arrive, but, just in case, we can't afford to have you mixed up in what might be another murder when you've only just been pardoned." A couple of heads peeked out, one from behind a cement mixer, the other from one of the building's glassless windows. Deciding he was now within easy range, Wes raised both arms before the bringers could duck back into cover and with only the barest fraction of a second between the shots he took out two more of the opposition. The shotgun sounded as another dark-robed figure rabbited for the building and the bringer fell to the ground as if he had tripped.

"Seven down, six to go and one for the road," Faith observed as she chambered the next round.
 
Chapter 5.25
 

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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.25
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


"You know there's absolutely no good reason for me not to do that?" Faith grinned as she backed Spike's bike into its normal parking spot and dismounted.

Wes shifted the bringer slightly on his shoulder. "It's probably easier if it's someone slightly taller carrying him. Besides, I don't think you're exactly getting off easy carrying those saddlebags."

Faith shrugged at that. There were two cases worth of beer split between the oversized panniers. She set a pair of bags over each shoulder, ignoring the dull clanking of the cans inside. Lifting one of the flaps, she pulled out one of the cans and, holding it well away from her body, she flipped the tab, letting it spray freely for a couple of seconds. She then covered the opening with her mouth to catch the froth before it spilled over the edge. "Suits me," she answered, when she could sip the rest of the beer normally.

Faith stayed with the watcher as he carried the bringer downstairs and helped chain their captive down, using the manacles that had been set into the floor the previous night. Once she was happy that the harbinger had been securely fastened, she tilted his head to examine the violet bruise that was blooming along one side of his jaw, having been inflicted by the butt end of the shotgun that was once more locked away in Wes's gun safe. "That is one handy weapon to have around..." she told her companion,"...but, sometimes, you just gotta go with the classics." Almost as if she planned to use the knife she had purloined as a cutthroat razor, she slid its sharpened edge over the bruise until it caught under the edge of the duct tape that covered the prisoner's mouth.

The blade pried up the first few millimetres and Faith grabbed it, yanking the strip free in one swift exfoliating jerk. The bringer's mouth opened in a croaky scream as he came back to consciousness. The slayer got an up-close view of where The First had had its servant's tongue ripped from his mouth. She reached behind her and took a deep draught from her half-finished beer before she caught the watcher's eye. "Looks like The First goes for the strong silent type," she drawled.

 




 

Faith pushed open the door to the gym, expecting to find it empty. Instead, there were slow, rhythmic, barely audible clinks, coming from the corner of the moonlit room where several weight machines had been set up. She knew that neither Spike nor Buffy would be working out, and the potentials were only allowed to use the gym under supervision, which limited them to the earlier part of the evening. Intrigued, she kept to the shadows, prowling forward until she had a good view of the figure seated on one of the weight benches.

Silvery light limned the man's bare torso, outlining every muscular line from broad shoulders to where his tautly ridged abdomen disappeared into a pair of dark sweat pants. His forearms pressed against vertical pads, pushing with a smooth motion until the pads met in front of the centre of his body and then returned to their original position almost in line with his shoulders. The motion was so controlled that she couldn't resist the temptation to check whether he was merely working with a minimal weight, but, no, the weights he was pulling, while nowhere near her own limits and to judge by the outline of his pale biceps well within his own capabilities, were no picnic.

Leaning against the wall, she ran her tongue over full strawberry lips and watched the show until he finished his set on the machine and reached for a towel to wipe it down. His eyes found hers in the darkness and his voice had that slight lilt she couldn't place as he spoke. "I thought watcher was my job description, not yours."

Faith smiled her best come-on smile and walked forward into the moonlight. "You can't blame a girl for looking, when there's goods like that on show." Her gaze roved over his upper body as she stepped close enough to trace a nail over a blue vein under the milk pale skin of his upper arm.

"Are you always this forward with men you don't know?" he asked, his accent warming the fire in her stomach even further.

"I know you."

"Well enough to know my second name?"

"Ur-Q-Heart," she drawled, her grin widening at the surprise that flitted through his eyes. "Just like the guy in the film with the rabbit."

"Close enough," James agreed. His eyes narrowed slightly as Faith shifted infinitesimally closer, Dawn's leather jacket almost brushing the sweat-slick planes of his upper abdomen. His hand reached up to smooth a stray strand of hair from Faith's forehead. "I've had my share of one night stands," he told her in a gentle half-whisper.

The smile faded from Faith's glossy lips and the teasing glint died from her eyes. She tossed her hair defiantly and took a step backwards before a large hand gripped her upper arm. He knew better than to use force on a slayer but the touch was enough to make her pause.

In that brief hesitation, his mouth covered hers, their lips brushing together with glorious delicacy before he lifted his head. "I'm not saying no, ye understand, I'm just telling ye I'm not about tae walk away in the mornin'." The accent was stronger in that whisper than Faith had heard it before, and she smothered it with her lips on his own before it could disarm her completely. When it was over, there would be the recriminations and the blame, same as ever. He might not walk away. That wouldn't stop her from doing it, but for now she had three years of lost time to make up for. As the kiss deepened, technique giving way to mutual need, tomorrow seemed a far distant shore.

 




 

Tara looked up expectantly when Wes walked into the attic room. The watcher gave her a grim but reassuring smile before he made his way to Marie's side, letting the saddlebags slide to the floor. "We interrupted them before they could get to the main part of the entertainment. The girl had enough sense to make a run for it while we finished them off and got hold of our friend downstairs."

"You brought back a bringer?" Marie asked in a surprised tone.

"That was sort of the plan," Wes affirmed with a self-deprecating smile. "What wasn't part of the plan is that we're going to need some heavy duty telepathy to go with that truth spell."

"Huh?" Bee asked.

"He hasn't got a tongue... Or to be more precise, he had one but it's been removed."

"What are you going to do?" Tara asked concernedly. "I mean, the longer we hold him here the more chance that they'll come try to get him back."

Wes grinned, squeezing into the armchair alongside Marie and then drawing her onto his lap. "Personally? I plan to have a few well-earned beers and watch our Latin American cousins kick some Yankee butt.

Giles and Lydia, on the other hand, have roped a few of the watchers into looking for some sort of spell that might do the trick."

"Are they in the library?" Bee asked.

Wes and Tara's eyes flicked to the demi-angel in an appraising manner. "Are you planning on helping out?" Tara asked. "I mean, there's a spell Willow used to use where she could talk to someone inside their head and then they just had to think the answer back. If you want..."

"That spell's a little darker than you're likely to be comfortable with. I wouldn't recommend it. Anything where you actually go into another person's mind is always suspect.

Actually, I was just going to find out if any of the watchers speak Turkish, in which case I can loan them the book in my room. Otherwise we need to get a hold of a copy of Grossman's Compilation of Mediterranean Folk Magic. It has an English version but the translations in it aren't always entirely trustworthy."

 




 

Lily bustled down the narrow attic corridor, clutching an armful of bedding, Spike's muttered complaints following on behind her. "We could have just lain down on the floor," he griped. "We're not made of bloody porcelain, you know."

Lily tutted. "I know, your mother, she teach you no to speak backward like stubborn mule."

"Bottom and Mr Ed excepted, our four-legged friends aren't much for conversation," the blond retorted.

Lily began to lay out her load of pillows and quilts in front of the sofa as he spoke. When she finished, she turned and fixed the vampire with a steely glare. "You lie on the floor, then, Mr Tough Vampire, but Buffy she not too stupid to be comfortable, so Mr Tough Guy can lie alone and see who care."

"Well, maybe I should just keep her company, like," the vampire back-pedalled, knowing he had pushed his luck just a little too far.

"Where's Wes?" Buffy interrupted as she lowered herself to the makeshift bed, leaving room for Spike to lie behind her. "Spike said he heard him get back before."

"He brought back the beer and he said to order the pizza when you got up. He says he'll be back in time for kick off."

"Yeah, but where is he?" Buffy asked.

"He had a sudden urge to introduce Bee to his mother," Marie answered cryptically.

"And Faith? She came back with him?" Buffy sounded slightly concerned that the pair might have split up before the patrol finished.

"She's back," the Latina confirmed. "Wes said she was going to work off her excess energy in the gym."






 

Faith's back was slick with sweat, making the plastic covering of the exercise mat stick to her back as she slowly came back to her senses. She let her knees fall open, but used the fingers fisted in James' hair to pull him back up her body, his lips brushing kisses on her abdomen and between her breasts as she did so. He crawled over her body, supporting himself on his left elbow, so that his other large callused hand was free to cradle a swollen breast, his thumb brushing the sensitised flesh of her nipple and setting off aftershocks in the pit of her stomach. Her grip brought his mouth back to hers, her slow caresses being matched and passion sparked anew by the fervour of James' response.

His kisses tasted of the salt of both their spendings, evidence of their earlier activities and Faith was surprised to find that the dick that pressed against her thigh was stiff again. Its tip brushed against her as James rocked his pelvis, pressing on her clit and then sliding on her slick lips until he teased the muscles at the entrance to her core, muscles that alternately tensed and then eased open to allow him entrance. Up and down he moved, and Faith arched under him, the plastic peeling from her waist and then her lower back and then her shoulderblades as she tried to meet his movements. His left forearm slipped under Faith's shoulder and his fingers tangled in her hair, so that he could look at her face in the moonlight as he pulled his mouth away and thrust forward with his hips, their relative heights making it difficult to maintain the kiss as he plunged deep inside her.

Faith's eyes widened with pain and surprise, still tight after three years of celibacy. Even as his cock penetrated her for the second time that night, relaxed as she was, she could feel every millimetre of his girth and length pressing against her internal walls. The invasion was an exquisite blend of pleasure and pain as they ground together, his heavily muscled thighs pushing her legs wide as he wiggled his hips, getting even deeper if that were possible. Then, just as she was getting used to the feel of him inside her again, he rolled them both over.

Faith's knees still trembled in the aftermath of her last climax and as he slowly began to move under her, his hands grasped her hips, guiding her gently up and down until she could maintain the rhythm on her own, pain receding as endorphins kicked in again. As she moved over him, his hands were free to skim her flesh, his feather-touch raising goosebumps on her arms, her breasts and her buttocks, until he sensed her tightening around him. He took her hands in his own, guiding them to her breasts, silently urging her to fondle them. His gaze seemed transfixed for a few seconds as she held the well-proportioned mounds in her delicate hands, massaging them with a cyclic motion that alternately pushed them together and let them slide apart. His hands glided along her inner thighs, his thumbs sliding deep between her legs to where she enveloped him in her warmth. A firm touch on either side spread her lips flat until his digits reached the telltale knot of flesh and pressed even more firmly, massaging her with each in turn.

The slayer caught her lip between her teeth, willing herself not to come first this time. It was understandable after waiting so long that she'd been a little over eager the first time, but not again. She was the one in control. She was... Damn, she was coming again.
 
Chapter 5.26
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.26
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


The air was scented with the slightly acrid smell of burnt motherwort and other herbs, but Giles was confident that his truth spell had worked, despite the fact that the inherent threat of cutting out the liar's tongue wasn't particularly potent in this case. Lydia set a Dictaphone to record and placed it on a chair to one side of the circle where the bringer had been chained. She looked round at Bee, Wes, Giles, Penelope, Quentin and Roger, who had both managed to invite themselves by virtue of being in the library when Wes had gone to fetch Lydia and Giles.

"I think we're ready to begin," Quentin averred and nodded toward Penelope who held Bee's book. Everyone in the room remained quiet as she read aloud, except the harbinger who writhed in his bonds, trying to break free before the spell could take effect. Gazes flickered back and forth between Wes's mother and the bringer. Reaching the end of her incantation in Turkish, Penelope closed the book and settled her gaze on where the creature's eyes would have been. "Speak to us!" she commanded.

All eyes were now fixed on the bringer, awaiting his response.

In a dull monotone Travers informed them, "I am a drone in the mind that is evil."

Giles quashed his urge to point out that they had known that already and let him continue on, at least until the rhetoric began to get repetitive. The bringer was ignored once more.

"I say I'm part of the great darkness. I'm only a fragment of the we. We work as one to serve The First."

"And how exactly do you all do that?" Penelope asked. "What do you do to serve your master?"

"We work to prepare for the inevitable battle."

"Why is the battle inevitable?" Wes queried. "Why now? Why has this never happened before?"

"The witch broke the compact when she brought the slayer back from the dead. My master is confined no longer. He is able to give strength to his servant. Soon, he will have physical form and all will bow before him."

"I rather think you might be wrong there," Giles replied dryly.

"The servants of evil will be set free. They will scourge humanity from the earth and when my master's servants outnumber his oppressors, he shall walk the earth once more."

"What is it that you do to prepare for the battle to come?" Lydia asked, returning to Penelope's earlier line of questioning.

"We attend to the needs of the infinite evil. We exterminate girls and destroy the legacy of the slayer. We build an arsenal beneath the dirt. We obey the commands of our teacher Caleb. We are everywhere. We are like the ocean's waves. We watch your efforts and we are not afraid. We will laugh at you as you die."

Giles seemed to decide that the bringer had nothing more to offer except rhetoric. He picked up the silver athamé that Tara and Lydia had used to prepare the herbs for the truth spell the previous night. He crossed into the circle that surrounded the bringer and took a grip on his chin. He had barely pulled the bringer's head back and the blade had yet to touch its throat when Wes gripped his arm.

"There's more it can tell us," he assured the older man. "We just need time to work out the right questions."

With a curt nod, Giles stood again. He carefully sized up his target before he lashed out hard with his foot, kicking the bringer into unconsciousness. "We've got enough for now."

Quentin was the last to leave the basement, rubbing idly at his temple as he climbed the steps as if he could feel a headache coming on.








Wes almost expected his father to try to corner him as they left the basement. There were a full ten minutes before the football was due to start and he was sure his father would like nothing better than to make him late for the start of the match, so he wasn't surprised when his father summoned him with a slightly imperious, "Wesley?"

Nevertheless, there was at least a note of request in his father's tone rather than command. Wes made a point of glancing at his watch. "I have a few minutes."

Dawn gave him a concerned glance as she made her way through the group to station herself by the front door to wait for the pizza guy, and Wes gave her a reassuring smile.

"I thought I should say goodbye tonight, as I'll be leaving in the small hours to get to LA in time for the early flight." He extended a hand toward Wesley, and his son took it cautiously, waiting for the punch line.

They shook hands uncomfortably. "Goodbye, father. I expect we'll see each other in another four or five years."

Roger quietly nodded his agreement. "I'm sure Quentin will keep me abreast of what you're up to in the meantime."

Wes strained to work out whether there had been a hint of threat in the observation or if his father had merely been stating a fact. He decided it didn't matter. He withdrew his hand from his father's loosening grip and looked the older man in the eye. "I'm sure he will." With a last nod of his head, he turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen and the stairs leading to the attic.

 




 

"Aiiii!" The game had barely started when Marie rose to her feet, one arm outstretched toward the TV in protest at the foul by the US captain, Claudio Reyna, on one of the Mexican players, but before she could launch into a full scale protest, the referee's whistle had been blown for a free kick.

"What d'you expect, pet?" Spike asked. "He used to play for Rangers before they flogged him to Sunderland. Have you ever seen an Old Firm match? Hell, sometimes the ref goes off bleedin'," the blond added with a nostalgic grin.

Wes gave the vampire a sideways glance as Blanco positioned the ball, ready for a free kick. "I wouldn't have thought you would have watched that many Old Firm matches."

Spike shrugged. "I've spent a winter or two up north... an' there's always the telly."

The free kick curved toward the goal, everyone holding their breath as the US goalkeeper fumbled the catch and had to make a second grab at it. Marie's sigh of disappointment mingled with most of the others' sighs of relief.

 




 

"Aren't we supposed to get the ball sometimes?" Buffy asked through a mouthful of pineapple pizza, having watched the ball pass from player to player on the Mexican side, turning onto her back to aim the question at her fiancé who lay on his side behind her.

"Like now?" Spike asked, brushing a kiss against Buffy's collarbone as she rolled back over, his gaze never leaving the screen, as Reyna made a run down the right side of the pitch. As he neared far end of the pitch, the US captain passed to Wolff who then sent it into the path of McBride, who sent it streaking into the far side of the net before the Mexican keeper could reach it. Spike tried to keep his grin from being too smug as he glanced backward at the watcher and his girlfriend. After all, the only American in the room who would normally be interested was Brandon and he had divided loyalties, not to mention that the youth seemed to be watching Dawn more than he was watching the match. Marie, on the other hand, understood that football was far more than just a game and would take it hard if Mexico didn't pull back, but... a bet was a bet.

Wes's arm wrapped around Marie's shoulders, as she muttered a string of Spanish curses under her breath. After a few seconds she took a deep breath and raised her face to look at him. "I know. It's only one-nil," she said, in a deliberately calm tone of voice. "And there's lots of time to catch up..."

The rest of the first half passed with Marie perched on the very edge of the couch, ready to either cheer on the Mexicans as they took several shots on the American goal, almost all of which were on target but were saved by the US keeper, or to protest and bite at her lip when the US team gained possession. Wes was pleased to note that that wasn't very often.

 




Monday, June 17th, 2002
 

The second half began much the same way as the first half finished, though if anything the tackles from either team were just a bit more forceful. Again, the Mexicans seemed to be far better at keeping possession of the ball, but the American defence somehow managed to deny them any reward.

"Cool!" commented Oz with typical nonchalance, when America got a second goal with just twenty five minutes of normal time remaining. Marie sagged back in her seat and let her head drop onto Wes's shoulder, tucking her right hand between Wes's upper arm and his body. The watcher looked down and placed a kiss on her temple. The Latina let go of her disappointment with a sigh and wriggled just a bit closer to the Englishman beside her. It wasn't as if a comeback were impossible, and even if the Mexicans drew level, the match would run to extra time and then a penalty shoot out, but any such outcome now seemed remote. Her Latin pride had taken a heavy dent and disappointment made her throat feel thick and unresponsive.

Football, she acknowledged as Wes hooked her left thigh over his right and pulled her even closer, despite what the male half of the population might think, was not the end of the world.

 




 

"No," Lily insisted. "You no need to stay up watch Brazil play. You no Brazilman. You English."

"But whoever wins is playing England in the next round."

Lily snorted. "Is past bedtime for stubborn children who have class in morning. Is long time since VCR made. You watch soccer tomorrow."

"It never works when you do that. Some berk always tells you the score before you get to see it."

"Is all the choice you get." Lily insisted and Clem covered a smile behind his hand, as his mother bustled the vampire back toward the room he shared with Buffy.

 




 

The first light of the false dawn barely touched the sky when Roger's escort undid the bolts on the school's heavy front door. The junior watcher unlocked the doors of the hired Bentley and pulled open the rear door, holding it open until Roger got inside and then closing it behind him. He slipped into the driver's seat and twisted backward to ask Roger if he would like any music.

Roger gave a noncommittal grunt, which was obviously taken for consent by the younger man, who pressed play on the CD player set into the dashboard. The funereal strains of a violin adagio filled the car as Roger opened his briefcase and removed the files that Quentin had given him.

 




 

"I don't give a damn whether they approve of my methods or not." Giles fixed the older watcher with a hard stare. "These texts are cited as references for the only text we've found so far with any information at all. All I want to know is whether your people can make themselves useful by translating them or whether we need to recall some of our able-bodied combatants to do the work."

"You cannot treat long-standing council members as translation clerks," Quentin argued. "They deserve some respect. Why should they present themselves at nine o'clock on the dot, when your own slayer is swanning around taking driving lessons?"

Unheard by either man, one of the double doors squeaked slightly as it opened.

"Because unlike my slayer they are not putting their life on the line on a regular basis, patrolling late into the night or coming straight from those driving lessons to teach potentials. As for treating them as translation clerks, that happens to be their area of usefulness. What did they think they were going to do? Come scurrying across the Atlantic to get the slayers' protection and then just settle in and drink tea for the duration?" Giles' tone was scathing. "We cannot afford to carry dead weight, regardless of how old they might be or what their political influence might be."

"I do hope that you're not including me in that description," Penny drawled, causing Giles to turn.

"I- I was under the impression that your visit here was intended to be short term," Giles replied trying to walk the razor's edge between insulting his colleague's mother and going back on the hard line he had just taken with his employer.

"It was," Penny agreed. "If, however, I can be of some use, especially as my son will be one of those whose safety depends on the progress that is made with this research, you can consider my talents, such as they are, at your indefinite disposal." She gave a slight nod to Giles, and then seemed to peruse the titles of the books that he had set out. "Harold Parkinson is your best bet for that one. You'll find him in the drawing room with a few of his cronies. Tell him I'll bet him a hundred pounds that I can find what I want in this book before he can find it in that one. That'll get his nose out of The Sporting Life." She pulled another book from the pile and passed it into Travers' hands. "I seem to recall there being common roots between Cyratic and Hebrew. I also seem to recall Hebrew being one of your specialities, Quentin. Why don't you be a good boy and lead by example?"

Giles made his way to the door. "Harold Parkinson, you said?" he checked with Penny.

"That's right," she confirmed. "And I'm sure if you mention Quentin's getting his hands dirty for once, the novelty value will be enough to entice his friends to come along."

 




 

Spike, Buffy and Faith formed a huddle in one corner of the room as they looked over their new recruits. "I'll take the good witch an' her mate," Spike said, nodding in the direction of where Tara and Bee seemed to be chatting. "Been too busy to keep much of an eye on her since Red..."

Buffy gave a brief nod of assent. "I'll take Dawn and Brandon."

"Guess that leaves me Wes an' Wolfboy."

"What about Giles' bit an' his Scottish buddy?" Spike asked, looking at Lydia and James, "or are we just sticking them in with the rest of the watchers when we do the alphabetical split? I don't mind havin' her in my lot," the blond suggested.

"I bet you don't!" said Buffy with a prod a few inches to one side of Spike's stomach wound. "I'll take her. Faith, you can have him?" she suggested.

"Nah!" Faith demurred. "Been there. Had that. Vamp boy can have him."

The two blondes exchanged glances and then turned to look at the watcher in a different light. Spike shrugged and Buffy stepped forward, leaving Faith and Spike to each take a few steps to either side.

"Okay, potentials, I want you to line up in front of your mentor... You know, whoever you were designated to go to if you have any problems. Watchers, hands up anyone attached to one of the potentials here, where that potential no habla the English. You go in the same group as your potentials and when we divide into teams I want you to stay with them again. Tara, Bee and James, you're all in Spike's group. Wes and Oz, you're with Faith. Lydia, Dawn and Brandon, you're with me. The rest of you line up in alphabetical order. First third with Spike, second third with me and the rest of you with Faith."

Despite Dawn's glowers Buffy's gaze didn't waver as everyone moved to obey her commands. "These will be your new groups. Everyone will be training with their own mentor this morning. Faith's group, if you would file through the conservatory on your way outside, you'll find some crossbows and shortbows have been laid out on the tables there for your use and targets have been set out at the back of the school. My group will be doing some basic martial arts training on the lawn at the front of the school. Spike's group has the gym. Once you master unarmed combat, Spike will be teaching you how to use staves, axes, swords and other weapons. Until then, he'll be teaching unarmed combat, as well. We know that some of you, especially the watchers, may well already be proficient in certain forms of combat, but we need to work with the groups as a whole until everyone is up to standard. If you're good enough to help guide those less experienced, I'm sure it won't take us too long to enlist your help."

She looked round at the groups, trying to meet the eyes of as many of the trainees and watchers as possible, as Spike had prompted her to do when she'd practised this, earlier that morning. "Okay, everybody except Spike's group, get moving."

Spike began to walk his way down the line of potentials who were assigned to him, pausing to exchange a few words with each of them as he went. When he reached a slightly heavyset girl in a yellow and blue top, she launched straight into an excited stream of Portuguese. "Two-nil, is good, no? Now our teams play against each other."

Spike let out a disappointed sigh and replied in the same language. "Yeah, Pele, I guess we do!"
 
Chapter 6.01
 
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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 6 - Healer in your Heart

For the universe and the stars are around you now.
But the healer in your heart is only a breath away.
For there's silence and there's blindness in a raging world.
But the healer in your heart is only a moment away.


(Runrig Album - The Big Wheel Composer Calum MacDonald)




Chapter 6.01
Monday, June 17th, 2002


"Dawnie?" Brandon's voice called out after her as she left the changing rooms at the end of the afternoon training session. Of course, it made perfect sense that with about a tenth of the competition for the facilities in the male changing rooms that he'd be finished way before her and able to hang around in wait. Like it wasn't enough that he was already teacher's pet with Buffy. Hey, if she'd been doing martial arts since she was about four or something she'd be able to kick butt, too. Suck up!

"Dawn?" Amanda sounded dubious about her attempt to ignore her former boyfriend.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you at least going to talk to him?"

"Nope! I've got better things to do than listen to him make pathetic attempts at telling me why he told Buffy and Spike his dad was going out of town and arranged it all with them that he could stay here but he not only doesn't consult me, he doesn't even tell me about it."

Amanda tilted her head on one side. "And these better things would be like what? 'Cause the only thing to do here is raid the library and it's like real hard to even find a book that's in English in there, and mostly, they're kinda scary. I mean it's kinda like finding out that you're living in the middle of an H.P. Lovecraft novel and they never end well... Unless you think becoming a giant squid is like a good thing. Mostly, I'd rather not know all the different boogey men that are waiting to kill whoever gets to be slayer. Not that any of us are going to become slayer, 'cause that would mean like your sister or Faith would have to die again."

"Chill! Buffy's already been replaced. Even if she died again we don't think there would be another one called. At least, all the watchers seem to think there wasn't one called the last time she died. It's just Faith who's got to worry about the whole dead man's shoes thing. And I've got a date." Dawn added, raising her voice. "Youngish guy, quite cute, name of Ian. Gotta catch Buffy and get her to take me or I'll be late."

Brandon flinched as Spike's hand clapped down on his shoulder. "Wouldn't worry too much, Mikey. It's a pretty fair bet that when a chit makes goin' to Bible class sound like dinner an' a movie, then she's doin' it to try an' make you jealous."

"And this Ian?"

"That would be the minister as is doin' the marryin' for me an' Buffy. I could be wrong, but I get the impression that the main reason Niblet got an invite was to avoid it lookin' as if Buffy and him might be up to somethin' if they had lessons alone, rather than for her undoubted feminine charms. Of course, we all know if there was any impropriety Buffy would probably pull off whatever part was bein' inappropriate an' then I'd drain dry whatever was left, but I hear insurance companies can be funny about stuff like that these days."

 




 

"I still don't get why we're all with the martial arts all of a sudden," Xander whined as Giles used one of his feet to nudge Xander's slightly wider apart, correcting his stance.

"I would have thought that was obvious," the watcher replied, but since Xander still showed no sign of comprehension as the Englishman pulled his shoulders back into a less hunched position Giles had to continue. "We are facing a sustained campaign against an enemy that our friend downstairs apparently believes has the capacity to become more numerous than humankind. We will be fighting on a scale heretofore unknown to us. Buffy, Spike and Faith will have to devote themselves to leading their respective units. They aren't going to have the time or energy to try to baby sit any individuals, no matter how personally important those individuals may be to them."

"Like I have the energy for this?" Xander complained as Giles moved on to Anya, casting a critical gaze over her form, but finding nothing to correct. "I've been shifting lumber all day."

Anya gave a slight snort.

"Okay, I've been supervising the guys who've been shifting the lumber, but I carried some ."

Giles diplomatically pretended that he thought this was a private conversation between husband and wife. "Very good, Anya!" he commented quietly, and gave a nod to Marie, who was also in the correct position thanks to some gentle sotto voce prompting from Wes, who was next in line to her. Bee had also come along, partially as moral support for Marie, and partially because she and Wes knew that they wouldn't be able to continue to attend the daytime sessions indefinitely without it causing detriment to their PI business. If they wanted the business to be a success they needed to clear more cases in the near future.

Wes was, of course, familiar with the moves that Giles was trying to teach and, while the style was different, Bee's experience of Tae Kwon Do meant she was used to learning new manoeuvres and picked up quickly on Giles' cues.

"Right, then, now that you have the correct stance, we're going to start with a straight punch and I want you to take care to rotate your wrist like so as you strike..." the older watcher began, performing the move in slow motion so that his trainees could see what he meant.

 




 

"You're not fit for patrol yet, slayer," Spike protested in a softly persuasive tone as he watched Buffy change into soft cotton leggings and a crop top style bra over which she zipped up a baggy sweatshirt top that covered her still bandaged midriff. "You might be able to stand at the front of a class an' use Bit's bloke as your dummy to demonstrate the moves, but you're in no condition to be making them yourself."

"Yeah, but we can't afford to let them know that, and you're healing even slower than I am." Buffy didn't need to remind Spike about the good witch's theory as to why neither of them were experiencing the accelerated healing that had seemed to become normal after their bond was established. Tara had suggested that when Buffy was healthy, Spike was able to "borrow" her untapped healing abilities and vice versa, thereby explaining Spike's rapid recovery from the poisoned blood and from his beating at Wood's hands. However, with both of them injured to the extent that Spike was adamant in his refusal to take Buffy's blood, each of them were dependent on their own abilities, leaving nothing to spare for their mate. So, to the frustrated vampire, that level of healing that had been the norm for over a century now seemed painfully slow, and if coping with his own injuries was something of a problem, watching Buffy deal with hers was torture.

"Which them? Them, the Big Bads, or them, the Amazon army? 'Cause keepin' that lot downstairs from twiggin' on ain't worth you gettin' hurt some more. Let her take her Jock."

"Them, both them, and you know we've got to do it. You agreed yesterday."

"That was before I knew you'd still have the smell of fresh blood on you by tonight."

Buffy stepped into the vampire's personal space and reached up to cradle his cheek with a tiny hand as she stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. "We'll play safe and I'll let Faith do all the fighting if I can, but you know that if we don't keep up the patrols, or if all of a sudden neither of us is going out, the bad guys will smell weakness."

Spike sighed. "'M not goin' to get you to change your mind, am I?"

"Like you'd be saying anything different if it was you that was the healthier one?" Buffy countered.

The vampire pulled the leather coat he had bought her from its hanger on the back of the room door and held it out for her. Buffy didn't think it fitted with the rest of her outfit, but slipped her arms inside it anyway, knowing that Spike offered it for her protection and as a symbol of both his reluctant acquiescence to her wishes and his affection.

"I'll find what's left of my new coat an' walk you downstairs, maybe have a fag or two when you head out."

The vampire's eyes were suspiciously bright when he returned from the attic's main room, which was where he last remembered leaving his duster. He held the coat draped over his outstretched hands, spreading it wide.

"You do this, love?" he asked, but Buffy's puzzled frown at the clothing's apparent wholeness was answer enough, even without the shake of her head.

Buffy took the coat from him, examining up close the microscopic stitching that was the only sign that there had ever been any rips in either the leather or lining, as if the skin had healed itself organically and the threads of the weft and warp had twined their frayed ends back into seamless strands. "Magic?" she asked, her hands checking the soft fabric of the lining for the telltale stiffness of dried blood and finding none.

Spike nodded. "Mordecai's magic, and it doesn't come cheap, 'specially not for a rush job."

Buffy smiled at his look of wonder. "Guess someone other than me must kinda like you, then," she told him.

 




 

Spike put down the book he'd been trying to read, yet again, and got off the cot where he'd theoretically been resting, if that were possible for someone as tense as he was. He pushed his feet back into his boots and put on his restored coat with a cinematic swirl of leather. He checked again on the number of cigarettes remaining in the packet and pulled one out, his hands feeling for his lighter, even as he opened his bedroom door. He hoped Buffy wasn't going to let her non-smoking principles interfere with picking up a carton for him on her way back from patrol, not that he would have asked if it had meant her going out of her way in her condition, but the Korean convenience store was right by Restfield. He tumbled the cigarette end over end between his fingers, making his way downstairs as silently as possible. Lily had already caught him on his way out twice this evening and herded him back to his room with admonitions that making himself smell stinky was not a good excuse for the damage that descending and then climbing several floors on a steep, narrow stairway would do to his recuperation.

Finally, he made it to the school's main doors and pushed them aside to take a deep breath of the night air before he put the cigarette to his lips and lit it. Faint metallic sounds drew his attention off to one side and he prowled around the side of the building, avoiding the gravel drive. His head told him that Tara and the watcher's wards would have been set off if there were an intruder, but Spike hadn't made it to over a century without his own brand of caution.

He relaxed, however, when he had moved far enough to see how one of the building's harsh security lights illuminated the form of a familiar watcher, lying on his back next to Wes's bike with an array of tools spread out on the blanket he was resting on and a tub full off black sump oil at his side. "Thought it was just vamps as did that sort of thing at this hour," Spike observed, leaning against the school's outer wall to watch as James tightened up the last bolts on the engine plate. Spike realised it was the first time he'd seen the watcher in jeans and a t-shirt, even if the t-shirt was so white apart from a few obvious oil smears that it looked as if it had been dirtied specially for a washing powder advert.

"It's a Zen thing," the Scot replied, wiping at his brow to shift a stray hair and leaving a black streak on his forehead to match those on his shirt.

"Kinda peaceful?" the vampire suggested, after exhaling a huge plume of smoke. "Personally, I normally go with maximum levels of nicotine an' caffeine an' beatin' up as many beasties as possible." Spike bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Watchers not included..." he added hastily. "Least not these days."

"Good to know," James replied. "I'd hate to have to try to hold you off with a tyre iron."

"You waitin' for the other slayer, then?"

James' eyes swept Spike's face. "That obvious, huh?"

"Only to someone as has been there." Spike paused, seeming to consider whether he should say more. He took another deep draw on his cigarette, letting the smoke drift slowly from his mouth before he continued. "Slayer can be a bit more work than yer average bint. Figure they get so used to the idea that when push comes to shove it's down to them, that they feel like they're always on their own. Have a hard time believin' that anyone can understand what they're livin' through an' from what I hear your one's like to be worse than most, what with fending for herself even back before she was called. S'pretty hard goin' to convince them any different but if you can carry it off..."

"It's worth it?" the watcher asked.

"It's the best rollercoaster ride in the world," Spike answered. He watched the man buff a couple of oily smears from the bike's gleaming chrome with a soft cloth. "Know yer way 'round a bike. What d'you ride?"

The Scot shrugged. "I've got a Fireblade, not that the weather's up to running' it for more than about half the year... and I do the work on dad's bikes, these days. His are all vintage; BSA, Indian, an old Norton."

Spike gave a nostalgic sigh at the mention of the old-fashioned British made motorcycles. "Had a Norton, myself, back in the fifties..." His gaze shifted to the far end of the drive and he pushed away from the wall until he realised that the distant footfalls were too heavy to be either of the girls they were awaiting, a supposition that was confirmed when they continued on past the gate rather than turning in. He drew once more on his cigarette. "Ran like a dream. What model's your dad got?"

 




 

Faith walked down the drive, struggling to keep her steps slow enough that Buffy could keep up without pulling open the wound in her stomach. Her mind wandered to thoughts of a huge pastrami and dill on rye and her stomach rumbled its approval of the idea. 'Hungry and horny!' she thought to herself, unable to prevent a knowing smile as her mind returned to the previous night's work out. 'It was just one of those things. That's all! Just a one-off, never to be repeated, night of hot delicious measured-on-the-Richter-scale sex."

She spotted a familiar white-blond head in the distance, the dull red glow of a cigarette confirming his identity as if it needed any confirmation and she wondered not for the first time what might have happened if Buffy's hold on the vampire didn't run so deep that to eliminate it would all but destroy the vamp himself. Then she realised with a surprise that the vampire wasn't alone. He had reached down to give someone a hand up and Faith couldn't help the groan she made when she saw, not only who it was, but his appearance. As if he knew he was being watched, which was ridiculous considering he stood in a pool of bright light that would blind him to everything beyond its scope, he pulled the soiled white tee over his head and used it to wipe at a smudge on his face and another on one of his arms. Faith felt her stomach tighten as she imagined the scent of his soap, engine oil and just a hint of fresh salty sweat.

'Who gave him the right to look like one of those damn calendar guys? Aw... What the hell does it matter if we maybe do it one more time? Or even three or four, maybe five? One more night can't make that much difference... Right?'
 
Chapter 6.02
 
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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 6 - Healer in your Heart

For the universe and the stars are around you now.
But the healer in your heart is only a breath away.
For there's silence and there's blindness in a raging world.
But the healer in your heart is only a moment away.


(Runrig Album - The Big Wheel Composer Calum MacDonald)




Chapter 6.02
Monday, June 17th, 2002


Giles, Lydia and Penelope returned to the basement. For some reason, Quentin had been reluctant to accompany them. However, Oz and Tara had come to help record events and make sure they had enough people if anything went awry. Tara additionally carried a tray laden with soft food, drink and a holistic salve for any sores the creature's bonds might have caused. This time, Giles had a list of questions ready prepared, questions that should allow them to fill in the blanks in what they had found out yesterday.

They let Tara tend to its wounds before Giles cast the truth spell again, leaving the air redolent with the acrid odour of burnt herbs. The others watched as Penelope spoke the words of the communication spell, Lydia's Dictaphone once more at the ready, waiting to see who would be chosen to provide a voice for the harbinger. Tara, alone, could see the fragment of the bringer's sickly aura that detached from the whole and swept around the room. Almost inevitably, it passed over her own aura and shied away from Oz, intimidated by the wolf spirit inside him. It paused briefly as if to consider Lydia and then chose its mark.

"You cannot keep me forever. I will act as a beacon for my kind and bring their wrath upon you." Giles' rich tones sounded incredibly sinister.

Oz tugged the notebook from Giles' unresisting hand. "Kinda slow, aren't they?" He squinted at Giles' miniscule writing for a second and then continued. "How many harbingers are there in Sunnydale?"

The bringer seemed to hesitate, almost as if he were communing with the others of his kind. "Thirty seven, but soon there will be more."

"There are more coming?" Lydia asked.

"More will give themselves. My master's power grows with every day that passes and more will be drawn to him."

"Not if we can help it," Penelope interjected.

"You cannot prevent it. We know how you prepare and we fear you not. My master cares not what I might tell you for he will smite you down and you will be powerless to stop him."

"How many Turok Han are in Sunnydale?" Oz asked before the bringer could even get to the end of his rhetoric.

Again the bringer paused. "Two," Giles eventually answered. "Ask now how many wait under Sunnydale," he countered, with a malicious snigger.

Oz's eyes met those of the others before he framed the question. "How many Turok Han are there underneath Sunnydale?"

"Thousands... Thousands beyond number... waiting only the call of blood to set them free, blood that we will spill freely."

Oz's only reaction was to raise one eyebrow slightly. He looked down at the list in his hand and asked the next question.

 




 

Spike gave James a wry grin as the two women approached. "See you in the morning," he told the watcher as he walked the last dozen or so feet needed to meet up with Buffy and steer her towards the school's main doors, leaving the way open for Faith to speak privately with James.

"You never mentioned you were into bikes," she said as she watched him stow away the tools and the blanket that he had been using in the trunk of Wes's car. He fixed a lid on the tub with the dirty oil and sat it down on top of the folded blanket where it wouldn't mark the carpet.

"You never asked." James gave a grin. "Guess you've decided we're talking again, huh?"

"Talking wasn't really what I had in mind," replied the slayer as she slid her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to meet hers.

James followed Faith's lead, his hands using the curves of her behind to lift her enough to make the kiss more comfortable for both of them. He utilised all his experience to tempt and tease her to a higher level of wanting, until she wrapped her lithe legs around his waist. He lifted his head back as he freed one hand for long enough to close the trunk of Wes's car and waited for her eyes to clear slightly before he spoke. "One condition, Faith..."

"Huh?" She stiffened in his arms, but he drew her into another kiss before she could push herself free.

"Lunch. Tomorrow. Spike says there's a place a wee bit up the coast an' ah need to check how Wes's bike's running."

It was the bike ride that did it. If he'd tried to get her in some restaurant in Sunnydale then she'd probably have backed away, too wary of being pinned down, but as long as they were on the bike he couldn't pry, couldn't talk, couldn't ask questions she didn't want to answer. For Faith a bike was freedom. With a toss of her head, she stared him in the eye. "Whatever," she said in the most bored tone she could manage.

'Damn that grin! Thinks he's won something, does he? Well, I'm just gonna have to kiss that thing right off his face.'

 




Tuesday, June 18th, 2002



Giles was sitting reading the latest London Times when Spike and Buffy made it down to breakfast the next morning, and Spike found himself trying to read the back page across the width of the table.

"You do realise that this was printed before the matches you're trying to read about actually took place, don't you?" the watcher asked as he folded the newspaper and put it down. "Fortunately for you, I caught the scores on the radio before I came downstairs. Japan nil, Turkey one; Korea two, Italy one after extra time.

Good morning, Buffy. I trust you're feeling better."

"'Course I knew," Spike answered with a bluster that fooled no one. "An' I notice you're not asking after my health, Rupert."

"You're dead, Spike," the watcher responded dryly. "Health hardly comes into it."

"We're both doing better," Buffy cut in. "Not great, but better."

"Ehm, I was... wondering if I might be able to borrow Dawn today and perhaps Amanda? I have an errand to which they're ideally suited."

"It's not dangerous, is it?" Buffy quizzed him.

"No, no, nothing dangerous, and they should be back before it gets dark."

"I guess... I've got to skip out with Brandon after lunch, anyway, and it's probably of the good if she's a where that's else."

"We tried interrogating the bringer again last night, by the way. I think it may be a good idea for everyone to meet up for half an hour or so before Dawn leaves, so that we can apprise everyone of the latest information."

Spike grinned as he saw Rosa running across the room in their direction, leaving her mother to juggle two trays until Wes took one from her. The little girl climbed onto the vampire's lap, and for all Giles' pretence at unconcern he caught Spike's involuntary wince as he hugged the child and lifted her onto the chair next to his.

The watcher gave a sigh and decided he'd made the right choice, however much his wallet might regret it. Dawn and Amanda could wait at the house on Revello Drive for the company to take away the irredeemably bloodstained sofa and its matching chairs, and deliver the replacements. At least, when she was able to return home, Buffy would have one less immediate problem to deal with. Nonetheless, it looked as if his other gift was equally necessary. Whether they would admit it or not, the couple weren't recuperating particularly well on the cots they shared. Hopefully, a proper bed would help with that. Heaven knew that, if it weren't for certain compensations, he might not be overly enamoured with sleeping on a sofa himself.

 




 

"Heyyy!" Buffy protested as Spike passed the keys to his precious DeSoto to Brandon rather than her.

"As I remember it, the kid's the one with the licence, slayer. 'Sides, you should be takin' it easy."

"You just love that car more than me," she argued, letting her lower lip form into a pout that was belied by the laughter in her eyes.

"Nope," Spike answered after seeming to give it some consideration. "Close run thing, though. See you once I get rid of the wannabes." He leaned forward slightly to brush a kiss against Buffy's cheek and draw her into a loose hug that wouldn't jar any of her injuries.

"Have fun," Buffy told him with a ghost of a laugh.

"Yeah, right, land me with double the teenage trouble to deal with an' tell me to have fun?"

"You know you love it, really. All the baby slayers getting all hot and bothered about the sexy vamp."

"As if!" Spike replied with an indignant snort. "Not that there aren't one or two who might recognise a bloke's charms, but it just makes them more of a pain in the arse as far as I'm concerned. Now, bugger off, or you'll make the lad late!" Spike gave Buffy's rear a playful swat and headed off in the direction of the gym, leaving her to stick her tongue out at his retreating back.

"You'll pay for that later, you cheeky minx!" he called out, without even bothering to turn around.

 




 

Brandon scanned the airport's arrivals board, searching for his father's flight from Washington. "Gate 6," he told Buffy and they headed off at a brisk walk, following the signs for the appropriate arrival lounge. It had taken them forever to find a parking spot wide enough for Spike's ancient battle cruiser of a car and the first arrivals were already spilling into the lounge by the time they got there.

"Dad!" Brandon ran forward and was soon sharing a manly hug. He grabbed one of his father's bags and guided him back toward Buffy.

"Nice trip?" Buffy asked, trying to sound casual.

"Your sister won't have to worry about Doctor Finn for a very long time, if that's what you mean."

"And the rest of The Initiative?"

Andrew Michaels shrugged. "Some have been moved to other branches of the service. Others... Well, some weren't so lucky."

"And the other thing we talked about?"

"It's been authorised. I have a copy of the tape with me."

"Sounds like someone's been busy."

"I just made sure that enough brass knew about what was going on so that it couldn't all be swept under the carpet. And believe me there are half a dozen accountants working on just finding out where the heck their budget came from in the first place."

"Well, we'll get you home; let you get a shower and a catnap before we ambush you for all the details.

Dinner at the school? It's... well, it's just like cafeteria food except prepared by teenagers who have delusions about being able to cook... but we can order Chinese or pizza."

"Lead on and put me down for chicken in satay sauce with crispy noodles," the teacher answered with a grin.

 




 

Buffy looked at the file in her lap in disbelief. "They gave Riley a dishonourable discharge?" she asked incredulously.

Andrew Michaels gave a sigh. "He was too close to it all, Buffy. For his own wife and members of his squad to be carrying out that sort of op? They couldn't prove complicity but for an intelligence officer to miss all that going on about him... At the very least he was guilty of negligence. Turns out he told his wife everything she needed to know to set Spike up, and he let his personal emotions blind him to the truth of what was going on when her plant met up with him at Willy's."

"But, he... He just doesn't know how to be anything else."

"I think Mikey Senior was tellin' you that he wasn't all that good at bein' a soldier either," Spike interrupted impatiently.

Buffy closed Riley's file and passed it to Spike who pushed it around to Dawn without so much as a glance at its contents.

Buffy gave a sign of relief as she saw the stamp saying reassigned across the front of Graham's records. Somehow, Graham had always seemed to be the voice of reason in Lowell House. The guy who was there to help Riley when his heart was going to give out. The one who came to her defence when Forrest had tried to make Riley dump her. "It doesn't say which unit he's been reassigned to. Just some code."

Andrew Michaels leaned over from her left and skimmed down Graham's record. "I'd guess they've put him into Special Forces training. That sort of record. Cleared of any involvement in the shooting or Dawn's abduction. He'd be a natural."

"How do you know that?" Dawn asked. "I mean how do we know that they aren't firing up the labs underneath our feet right now?"

"Ask Brandon."

"If Uncle Jim says it's been fixed, you can count on it. The Initiative won't be making another appearance in Sunnydale."

"Anyone who's been transferred to other units, Jim's pulled strings to make sure he knows their commanding officers. There won't be a problem."

Buffy quickly passed over the files of several men she didn't recognise, each of them apparently serving terms in military prison, after which they would be dishonourably discharged. When the files reached Dawn she began to shake, recognising those who had aided Sam in her capture.

Brandon pulled the girl close, taking her in his arms before Spike could reach her from the other side. "It's okay, Dawn. They can't get you. They're going to be in jail for a long time before they get out and if they come up for parole or release we'll be notified and Spike'll eat them if they so much as cross the California state line."

"Damn right, I will!" Spike growled, hating to see Dawn reminded of the trauma she had seemed to have almost forgotten since their move from Revello Drive. So many other things had been going on, it was a miracle that they weren't all falling to pieces under the strain.

"Sam?" Dawn asked.

Buffy flicked over the files of a couple of the soldiers who had been exonerated, like Graham, and posted to front line units in Afghanistan. She then passed Dawn the bottom file from the stack.

Dawn looked at the notation on the file and then asked. "What does this mean? If they decide she's not loony any more they let her out?"

"It means she's being held in a secure psychiatric facility. If she were ever found to be sane she would serve the remainder of her sentence in a military prison and her sentence is life without parole. It'll be at least twenty years before she sees the sky again. She can't hurt you any more."

"And the people who authorised this?"

"A number of prominent officials have recently decided to spend more time with their families. They won't be a part of the military decision making process again."

"It's really over?" Dawn asked, still trembling in Brandon's arms.

"It's really over." The teen rubbed gently at her back as silent tears began to fall, feeling no less relieved than the girl he held.
 
Chapter 6.03
 

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

SECTION 6 - Healer in your Heart

For the universe and the stars are around you now.
But the healer in your heart is only a breath away.
For there's silence and there's blindness in a raging world.
But the healer in your heart is only a moment away.


(Runrig Album - The Big Wheel Composer Calum MacDonald)




Chapter 6.03
Tuesday, June 18th, 2002


After their meeting, Spike, the Summers women and the Michaels men all waited together for the delivery from the Chinese restaurant before they made their way up to the attic where the rest of the rather extended Scooby gang were waiting for a rather less formal version of the briefing. This time it was Buffy's turn to protest about the patrol plans.

"You're still in worse shape than I am," she argued.

"Yeah? Well, don't you think you've got other things you should be taking care of tonight?" Spike nodded to where Dawn, Brandon and his father were walking ahead of them.

"But, you're better-."

"An', besides, like you said, we can't show the bad guys that any of us are hurt. An' that means me takin' my turn. She's your sister. You don't need to say anythin' deep or provide a cabaret to keep her entertained. Just be there for her. Chances are Junior's gonna have to go home an' spend some time with his family for once. She'll need you."

"But-."

"Look, we'll bring back ice cream an' if Bitlet doesn't want it, I'm sure we can find other uses for it..." The tip of Spike's tongue hovered just behind his teeth as he broke into a grin.

"Tease. You know you're in no fit state to be eating ice cream from anywhere other than a bowl."

"Well, nothing to stop us tryin'."






 

Faith paced the room, occasionally letting her gaze drift to the watcher in the corner. She barely resisted the impulse that was telling her to run, knowing that until her patrol partner for the night made an appearance there was nowhere to run to and then there was food and Giles' surprise that had taken all the men to assemble in record time and the women five minutes to make up. And talking of beds...

'Tell him it was a mistake. You changed your mind. It was just one of those moments... but it can't last.' He had softened her up but good. The ride north had been nearly an hour of sea, sun and speed, speed that a watcher had no right to pull off with such effortless style. What happened to the uptight fuddy duddies? Then, before the rush of the adrenaline could fade he'd plied her with the best tacos she'd tasted in literally years and that damn chocolate cheesecake should come with its own health warning. Somehow, he'd managed to get her all full and content. He'd taken her to the nearby motel and he'd done it all over again in different ways. They'd had the kind of slow, fulfilling sex that made most people want to call it 'making love'. They'd still been joined, her head resting on his shoulder when he'd started talking and she'd said it. Chocolate flavoured kisses and the lingering buzz of good sex and she'd said it.

"Look, it doesn't have to be some great big thing. You're here. I'm here. Once we either sort out what's going on or die tryin', then you get your life back. You get to figure out what it is you want to do with that parole of yours. Chances are, I'll be heading back to Edinburgh. No one's trying to pin you down or con you into making a commitment. All I'm saying is, for now, why not make the most of the time we've got? I'll get something sorted out so we're not spending the night in the men' s changing rooms or sleeping on the mats in the gym and we take it from there... If, when the time comes to go our separate ways neither of us wants to, then we work out what we want to do then. All we need to worry about for now is grabbing some time for ourselves while you save the world."

"Sure..."

She turned and caught herself watching him again, rubbing at her upper arms and wishing the others would hurry up and get here. He looked up, just as if he knew the second her gaze fell on him. He didn't move, though, or try to crowd her, like he knew how hemmed in she was feeling. He just let his eyes meet hers for a second or two and his mouth twitched into a reassuring smile before he returned his attention to the maps that Amanda was trying to show him and Wes, but tonight he'd be waiting for her in their room, when she got in from patrol. Faith conjured up a picture of the watcher, naked but for a sheet draped over his hips. She turned again and was glad to hear Spike and Buffy's bickering tones echoing up the stairwell before she mentally disposed of that inconvenient sheet and decided to skip patrol altogether. Maybe, this idea wasn't all bad after all, though.

"Giles, they're coming."

Suddenly a whole room full of people seemed to be vying for the best position to see the happy couple's face when they saw how different their room looked. Faith flattened herself against the wall and let them move past her until she was just another face at the back of the crowd.

Unseen by any of the others, James who had also stayed at the rear of the group took her hand briefly, lifting it until his lips brushed her knuckles before lowering it and loosening his grip to the point where she could slip it free almost without effort.

Faith waited for a few seconds before she pulled it away.

"What the b-lue blazes is goin' on here?" Spike's voice carried over the crowd, his words edited for Rosa's benefit. "You can't all be that hungry?"

"Buffy's old friend bought you a present," the child responded enlightening him. "Everybody helped fix it."

Lydia leaned into Giles' ear with a wicked grin, whispering something that turned his disgruntled expression into one of slightly embarrassed pride.

"Giles?" Buffy asked with a look of puzzlement.

The watcher shifted to the front of the crowd without letting go of Lydia's hand and, using the one he had free, flung open the door to Spike and Buffy's room. "You can call it a belated engagement present," the watcher suggested. "I believe I missed the party."

Buffy looked from the bed with its curved beech head and foot boards set into a brushed aluminium frame and then back at the watcher before she almost giggled aloud at Spike's shocked expression and then at the bed again. She bounced on the balls of her feet without even being aware of it, obviously torn between the urge to hug Giles and test the bed. She compromised in the end, grabbing both Spike and Giles and dragging them into the room behind her so that the two men almost collided in the doorway. She loosened her grip just before she threw herself down onto the bed but Spike landed next to her, both of them bouncing several inches on the highly sprung mattress. Buffy drew herself up to perch on the edge of the bed and smile at Giles. "It's perfect. Thank you!"

Spike simply watched his future wife, the joy on her face as entrancing to him now as ever.

"Dawn pointed me at the web site for the store where you bought your bookshelves," Giles answered.

Spike gave a sombre smile and looked Giles in the eye. He inclined his head in a brief nod. "You realise you're going to have a hard time coming up with a wedding present to top this?"

"I suppose you'll have to wait until you're in the area of Revello Drive to let me know if I succeeded."

"There's more?" Buffy asked, throwing herself at her watcher. "Giles... You know if I could, I'd adopt you, don't you?" She held him in a hug that, for once, didn't leave him with cracked ribs. "What d'you get us? Spike, I think we should get married every year!" she babbled excitedly.

"If it makes you this happy, kitten, I'm game."

"What is it, Giles? I could drive us over so we can look."

"There's no need for that," the watcher quickly averred. "It's really very similar to the suite in Spike's apartment. I didn't want to pick anything where you would have to choose the decor to match and Dawn said that you were planning to redecorate so there was no point choosing something to go with the existing colour scheme. Of course, you can always use that one in your basement and buy a new one for upstairs."

"Giles... you're the best watcher a slayer could ever have."

The words carried far enough for Faith to hear and she chanced another sidelong glance at James. 'That's all you know, B. This slayer's had better.'






 

Finally, Mr Michaels had been introduced to those of the group whom he had yet to meet. The food had been eaten and Faith and Spike had headed out on patrol. Giles, Bee, Wes, Xander and Anya had gone to their rooms in order to change before their evening training session. However, Brandon's father had kept Marie back when she, too, would have left. He'd then drawn Lily and Clem apart briefly while the others tidied the debris from the take away, Tara coaxing Rosa into helping with the washing up. Taking a padded envelope from his bag, he drew a black and white photograph from it, showing it to Lily first. It was grainy and not too detailed. but the face that it showed bore an unmistakeable resemblance to his brother's. Lily gave a solemn nod and Andrew Michaels returned the photo to the envelope and pressed it into Lily's hands.

"I'm sorry," he told all three with obvious sincerity. "I know money can't make up for what you've lost, but I took the liberty of ensuring that you would receive a settlement. If you don't want to use the money, I'm sure it would provide Rosa with the sort of education her father would have wanted for her. The details are in there, along with a tape of the security footage from the last day. If it's any consolation, from what we can see on the tape, his death would have been quick, and the soldier responsible was numbered amongst the casualties."

"Thank you," Marie replied in a subdued tone, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"I will need to return the tape, unfortunately. It's not the sort of thing that the government can allow to remain in civilian hands. I'll pick it up tomorrow afternoon. I hope it helps you all find a sense of closure."

"How do you know we won't make a run for it?" Marie asked.

"I don't, but Brandon tells me that you have a nice home and a good job that allows you to provide for your daughter. If you ran, then, you'd lose that stable environment that you've worked hard to give her. I know how much my son means to me. I'm guessing your daughter means as much to you. You don't want her to grow up dodging the government at every turn."

"No," Marie acknowledged. "I don't. I know you must have had to call in a lot of favours to get this for us... even temporarily."

"A soldier, even a retired one like me, is supposed to act with honour. I did what was right."

Wes emerged from their room and gave Marie a questioning look.

"Tell Giles I'll be down in a few minutes," she told him.

"You're sure?" Wes queried conscious of the tears she was holding back.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Right now, hitting things seems like a good idea. I'll explain later but there's nothing we can do until after we put Rosa to bed, anyway."

Lily nodded her agreement. "Go learn. We look after Rosa when she come."






 

Marie explained to Wes about the package and its contents as they made their way up the stairs to the attic after their training session with Giles.

"Look, I think I should wait in our room," Wes offered as they approached the door to said room. "It seems to me like this is a family thing and it would be wrong for me to intrude."

"Piffle!" came Lily's reply from the living room. "You with Marie now. You her man. You Rosa's, too. Why you think you no family? Who they going to have to help if you not?"

Marie gave a weak smile. "You heard the lady."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm always here whenever you want to talk, but I'd understand if you wanted privacy." Wes couldn't help but offer Marie one last get-out clause.

"Lily's an empath. Don't you think she knows whether I want you around?"

Lily gave a disparaging shake of her head. "Men! They always need be told ten times. Give your woman a hug and get your skinny English butt in here and give her mother-in-law one, too."






 

Spike avoided the group in the living room when he got back from patrol. Faith had already wandered off somewhere on what he thought of as the second floor, and if Spike's guess was right she wouldn't be returning to the room she shared with Dawn any time soon. He followed the sound of quiet voices and found his three favourite women, sitting in the new bed with their backs against the room's side wall so that their legs stretched out across the width of the bed. They seemed to be fighting over some sort of computer game that Brandon had left behind when he'd left with his father.

"I am so kicking your slayer butt," Dawn argued, her arms stretched out to stop Buffy reaching the console as she played.

"You've had it for half an hour. I only had it for five minutes. It's my turn."

"You lost in five minutes. I'm still on my first game."

"You've played it before," the slayer protested, as Tara simply smiled at the sisterly banter.

"That's fine," Spike told both Summers women with a teasing grin, as he flopped onto the bed next to the witch. "You two can argue over the Gameboy, an' once me an' Glinda have eaten all the ice cream..." He pulled a tub from each side pocket of his duster, passing one to Tara and scattering spoons over the quilt. "...I'll show you both how it's done. 'S all in the wrists."

He didn't put up too much of a fight when Buffy comandeered his tub to share with Dawn, tossing them each a spoon before he started helping Tara with the tub in her hand. All he cared about was seeing his girls happy.
 
Chapter 7.01
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.01
Thursday, July 11th, 2002


"Have you thought about children?"

Buffy's face flushed slightly and her head turned toward Spike. "It-em-well, it's not really..."

"What Buffy's trying to say is that we wouldn't be able to conceive as a couple. And, yeahhh. I've thought about it."

"You have?" Buffy asked in surprise, staring at her fiancé with a shocked expression on her face and then guiltily glancing at the minister who faced them on the other side of his study table. "I'm sorry. It's just kind of a surprise."

Spike reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing her right beside the band of his grandmother's diamond engagement ring before he explained, his gaze alternating between the preacher and his future wife.

"Buffy's young, yet, an' she's already got more responsibilities than most people see in a lifetime. She's got college to finish an' a career to build, if that's what she wants. We've got Dawn to get through college an' on top of that there's the slaying.

Now, maybe one of these days, Buffy's goin' to want to step back an' let Faith or one of her successors take on some more of that side of things, maybe not. If she decides she wants children, then I'll support her all the way, whether that means finding an adoption agency that won't ask too many questions if the money's right or doing the artificial thing, I don't mind, so long as it's done so that no other man is ever going to walk into our life somewhere down the line and have a claim on our kid.

I know it won't be easy an' she'd probably have to do a lot of stuff on her own, like outings an' school runs an' all that but neither one of us would be sittin' here now if what we were lookin' for was the easy way. Buffy's mother was a wonderful woman, an' I think maybe Buffy's got more of her in her than she realises right now. Chances are she'll want a few years to spread her wings once Dawn's off at college before she even thinks about it, but one of these days, she could make a wonderful mother an', I mean, I know it's not ideal, but I'd be there for the kid a hell of a lot more than some of these guys who work in some office from dawn to dusk or leave them with a nanny all the time." His eyes locked with Buffy's, knowing that she might react badly if she chose to regard the fact that he'd obviously thought this through without consulting her, as him making decisions on her behalf. "All I'm saying is, whatever you want, I'll do anything I can to make it happen."

"You would really be willing to bring up another man's child?" she asked in amazement. "I mean I'm not so surprised at the adoption thing but you are sorta possessive guy..."

"I know. And I'm not saying that I like the idea of another man's kid growing inside you, but it wouldn't be another man's kid, not in any way that matters. He wouldn't touch you, or make love to you, wouldn't hold you through the night, wouldn't be there when you had morning sickness an' he wouldn't get to see that kid that we decided to bring into the world grow up to have its mother's eyes or her nose or her smile. You really think I'd pass up on the chance of watchin' your children grow up an' miss hearin' them call me Dad, just 'cause I can't be their biological father?"

"When you put it that way, I guess not. I just... I suppose I told myself it wasn't possible. Not that it'd be any time soon, but I just never..."

The minister nodded. "Well, I suppose you won't have the problem that some couples have when a child comes along unexpectedly, but bear in mind that if you do have children that it's a long term commitment, one that will make an impact on every aspect of your lives together, and unless the situation changes, your nocturnal activities place you both at risk, so it should be a decision you make very carefully. If you go ahead you should have plans for how the children would be looked after if something were to happen to one or both of you, who would care for them, what sort of financial provision you would make for them, which brings us rather nicely to money. Have you decided how you're going to organise your finances after you're married?"






 

Giles pushed the double doors open with his back and paused to survey the scene. The room already looked considerably more like a library. There were no more packing cases and the books were now arranged on the shelves according to the same slightly adapted version of the Dewey decimal system that the council had employed for decades. More importantly, thanks more to Penny than to Quentin, even though they had doubled up two to a desk, they had had to move several extra tables in to accommodate all the watchers who were now helping with the research. Some of those who had been unable to work on the titles Bee had highlighted as useful were researching local history and myths to see if they could find some clue on either the seal itself, or how the Turok Han had come to be under the town. Others were going through the Council's references on The First Evil, bringers or Turok Han.

Though Giles couldn't help feeling partly responsible for the fact that there was an ongoing exodus of the local population, it had proved useful in that during daylight hours there had been nothing to prevent teams of researchers from invading every library and museum. The town library had been abandoned as had those on campus, any pretence at a summer session long given up as a lost cause. Only in the local museum had any of the staff remained, a wizened curator who had been recruited after the museum had been sued for negligence for having misplaced a priceless mummy and having the poor taste to replace it with a desiccated corpse that wasn't even the correct sex. A curator who knew something of the nature of the hellmouth, one who, as it turned out, was half demon himself, hiding the golden tint of his eyes behind prescription sunglasses, and just as Bee had done, one who had accumulated his own personal stock of research materials many of which were previously unknown to the watchers.

With all the resources the council had at its disposal it stood to reason that they should have been able to do something about the situation before the level of disquiet was such that people, demon and human alike, were simply leaving town. At first it had been in twos and threes; those who had nothing to tie them down, stay-at-home mothers deciding that the summer vacation gave them an opportunity to visit out of state relatives. The last couple of days, however, had seen streams of cars leaving town.

It was perhaps no wonder that the construction site had been one of the first places to close. Every morning fewer workmen had showed up until it just hadn't been safe or economic to work with so few men especially when they were acting so erratically. According to Xander there had been several fist fights and one guy had tried to drive over another with a mechanical digger.

Spike had received a phone call just the other morning that had resulted in him sending Wesley out to pick up some present he'd ordered for Buffy before the premises were sealed up and the dealer and his family quit town, and this morning they had opened the school's main doors to find all the clothes that Spike had ordered for the wedding, boxed, stacked on the topmost step and shrouded in plastic, even though their final fittings weren't due until tomorrow. With a little over a week to go before the wedding Buffy had already threatened the photographer that she would hunt him down if he went any further than Los Angeles or failed to return if she called him once the situation had been resolved. Bee and Tara, being the most domestically minded of the group, were currently in the school kitchen trying out different cake recipes because the owner of the bakery that had been supposed to be providing the wedding cake had disappeared. Of course, if this had been England they would have had a fruit cake and it would have already been made before he'd done his vanishing act, but these colonials wouldn't know a proper wedding cake if it jumped up and bit them, which he conceded wryly might be just as well, depending how things went in the kitchen.

The florist had already closed up shop and was staying with her sister-in-law some forty miles away, but she had promised that she would be back, however briefly, in nine days time to do the arrangements for the wedding, though Buffy had given the impression that this was solely due to Spike's powers of persuasion. The vampire had apparently spun some tale about being a valued customer, but as Giles had never known the vampire to buy so much as a posy, he found it more likely that he'd threatened the woman into making the concession. Giles didn't even blame him.

Buffy continued to insist that she would deal with the threat before her wedding and plan events accordingly. Her determination was positively frightening, but that day was getting closer and so far there hadn't been any major breakthrough on the research front. The potentials and the younger watchers were getting better, and the best of them were helping out on patrol, but honestly, that was the extent of the available good news. As their bringer prisoner had promised, it didn't seem to matter how many harbingers they killed, more seemed to appear out of the woodwork. Unfortunately, three days after it had been captured, Wes had accompanied Tara downstairs to stand guard while she fed it breakfast, only to find that it had committed suicide by battering the back of its head against the concrete floor until its skull had caved in.

Every night, some of the magic users would cast the spell that allowed them to track different types of demon and the patrols did their best to cull the harbingers' numbers back. Faith, Buffy and Spike were still doing separate patrols in pairs later in the evening that managed to keep the numbers of Turok Han low, but every morning it seemed as if more had replaced them. Often the harbingers flocked around Caleb and though the Turok Han didn't seem quite so dependant on him they also tended to use the tunnels near the vineyard as their base. One thing their research had confirmed so far was that their late prisoner's claim tied in with ancient myths. The First had been able to give its designated champion an unholy strength that was unmatched by any of the forces of light. Then things got a bit hazy. There had been some sort of trickery on the part of the good guys and a truce had been called that basically gave The First dominion over an empty realm but vastly curtailed its powers on this plane. So far, that was as much as they'd been able to glean, but if, as the bringer said, the truce was broken and The First could again grant power to its human champion, then that put Caleb in the same league as Glory, even if he wasn't quite so quick on his feet, but now they didn't have a troll hammer. Buffy hadn't been terribly impressed when Xander pointed out that the only person who had been able to pick it up had had a minor case of death at the end of the battle, but at least she had agreed to avoid any confrontation with Caleb until both she and Spike were fully healed, a time that was fast approaching if it wasn't already here.

Giles carried the two large document storage boxes in his arms over to the table where Penelope was working. He slid them onto the desk.

"The police reports?" Penny asked.

"Yes, Quentin's Interpol contacts finally came through." Giles took the lid off the top box and removed a bundle of reports two or three inches thick. "I'll start with these. Why don't you allocate the rest as you think fit? You seem to have more luck getting them to cooperate than anyone else."

He watched as she took some of the files from the box and made her way toward one of the tables on the far side of the room. He hoped the key to the problem was in one of those boxes somewhere. If not, he could imagine that this might be a very interesting wedding.
 
Chapter 7.02
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.02
Friday, July 12th, 2002


Spike prowled the entrance hall with all the restlessness of a caged tiger, pacing out a territory bordered by bands of late afternoon sunlight.

Wes nodded as he made his way past to the drawing room where a crowd was already beginning to gather. "She'll be fine. It's not like it's the end of the world..."

Spike rolled his eyes and then pinned the watcher with his gaze. "You think?" he asked scornfully, knowing that he, for one, didn't want to be around for the fallout if Buffy's mission this afternoon had been unsuccessful.

Wes tried another tack. "The meeting's due to start. If you don't grab a seat soon-." The watcher stopped, realising that his presence came under the heading of superfluous.

Xander's car had just pulled up at the front of the school, pausing long enough for Buffy to climb out of the passenger door before he continued around the side of the building to look for a parking spot. Spike was instantly as close to the main door as the sun would allow and the slayer impacted hard enough to drive him back six inches or so as she threw herself at him. "I did it!" she exclaimed as he peppered her face with kisses before lifting her with his hands at her armpits and whirling her round and round, so that when Xander did get to the door he had to hang back to avoid being kicked in the chest.

"Told you you would do it," Spike announced gruffly as he finally returned her feet to the floor. Xander slipped discreetly past as the vampire set about kissing his fiancée in earnest.

Spike ignored the first loud cough from behind them, and the second, and the third.

Finally Quentin decided to take a more verbal approach. "I know that saving the world ranks rather low in Miss Summers' priorities, especially in comparison with your plans to make a mockery of the marriage vows, but I was hoping that it came in somewhat higher than indulging in public sex to celebrate something so mundane as merely passing her driving test."

With some reluctance Spike finally pulled away, and Buffy blinked at the council chief as if noticing him for the first time. "Huh? Did you say something?" she asked in a bewildered tone. She smiled as Quentin turned on his heel in disgust, taking Spike's hand in hers and leaning over to gently worry at Spike's earlobe. "I was busy thinking about how I'm going to boink my future husband's brains out," she added just loud enough to raise a growl of laughter from the vampire.






 

Over the last few weeks the "usual suspects" had expanded slightly from the norm. As well as the expected selection of watchers and Scoobies, James had made the first team and Ha Nath had encouraged the four demons, who, along with her, made up the security detail at the club where she worked, to sign on for the fight. None of them bothered with the PVC and high heels any more, now that the club had been temporarily closed down, but even so, they gave off a strong girl gang vibe that was mostly focused on making sure that Quentin minded his manners. The museum's curator had also earned himself a seat at the metaphorical conference table, though in general he was content to watch. The last of the new additions was Shannon, who had taken over Kennedy's spot as second liaison to the potentials as she still couldn't manage full training with her injuries and, more importantly, as Spike put it, she didn't get on his wick.

Giles rose to his feet as Buffy and Spike entered the room, his congratulations limited to a brief broad smile given the audience. "Alright, I'll begin by recapping what we covered at our last meeting." He frowned as he turned in his pacing to realise that Spike had slid loose-limbed into his temporarily vacated chair and settled Buffy on his lap.

"Shannon was able to give us a first hand description of her meeting with Caleb, last time. We still haven't been able to ascertain whether his claim to have something belonging to Buffy is merely bait for a trap or whether there is also an element of truth. We do know thanks to our bringer friend that Caleb has been gifted with supernatural strength. For this reason we've been avoiding a confrontation with him until Buffy and Spike were fully healed again."

"Ready to go kick preacher butt!" Buffy confirmed. "No more inconvenient bleeding holes."

"Yes, quite, well, perhaps it is time that we tested just how strong the opposition is," Giles agreed, "but if the indications are correct we really don't want any of you standing toe to toe with this fellow. We can discuss this later. We also know, again courtesy of our former captive, that there are thousands of Turok Han waiting underneath Sunnydale to be freed by some sort of blood sacrifice. Unfortunately, further research has failed to come up with more information on either the where or the how." Giles looked surprised to see Oz raise his hand to just above head height.

"Yes?"

"Wouldn't that be why they've been stabbing people and then dangling them over some big hokey seal?" the werewolf asked. "Just a thought."

"Yes, well, you, em, just might have something there. Perhaps we could arrange some form of practical experiment. Are the girls ready to take on Turok Han, yet?" Giles asked, looking to Spike and Buffy and then at Faith.

A glance passed between the two slayers and then both shrugged. "The best ones, probably," Buffy finally conceded, "if me and Faith both tag along. We can try them with one tonight?"

Faith nodded her assent. "Sure."

"Now," Giles continued. "We hadn't got very far with the book research last time, but one of Bee's sources has pointed toward a possible weapon in the form of a Nihilist cleansing crystal. There are certain qualifications required in order for someone to be able to wield one of these things." Giles' gaze travelled first to Oz, then to Ha Nath and her companions before finally coming to rest on Spike. "There may be several options open to us, but I believe that this is not a topic for general discussion. If anyone decides to take on the burden, it must be of their own free will, not because they've been pressured into doing so. There may be half a dozen or so of these things in existence, but it could take us months to track one down, so we've commissioned one to be made via a well known magic dealer based in L.A. In fact, Bee negotiated us a rather nice discount due to the impending end of the world."

Bee shrugged. "I called my grandmother. She made Uncle Jacob agree to do it at cost. No biggie. It still won't be cheap once they bring in the freelancers they'll need to enchant it."

"Fortunately," Giles answered, looking in Quentin's direction. "The council has deep pockets. Other than that, we really haven't made too much headway on the research front. The police reports have thrown up some interesting material in the Southern states, which we think may be related to Caleb and we've sent a group of watchers to investigate, but it's all old stuff."

"Actually," Penny raised a hand that held a manila wallet. "Robinson came across an interesting report just before I was leaving for the meeting. It's a little closer to home, it happened less than two months ago and..." She pulled out a blown up photocopy of a circular burn with a cross in the centre. "It's got Caleb's mark all over it."






 

Spike pulled the keys for his bike from his pocket, expecting Wes to be equally keen to take to two wheels, but the watcher shook his head. "Unless you want to be stuck there for a whole day, I suggest we take one of the cars and some blankets and since I can't drive yours with all that paint on the windscreen..." Wes switched off the alarm on his Ford, but Spike's attention was elsewhere.

Wes's eyes narrowed as he realised Spike was still looking at the cars on the other side of the main doors. "We're not taking the Daimler. It's a hire car."

Spike shook his head with a wicked grin and pointed at the silver silhouette that hulked over the luxury car. "Look up. Our little preacher likes setting up blow outs. I figure we need a car that can go off road... and if I've got to curl up on the backseat all the way back, we might as well have something with a bit more legroom. You get some blankets. I'll break the bad news to Rupert about his shiny new 4x4. I bet he's only driven about six miles since he bought it. It's probably still got that fresh leather smell."






 



It didn't take Spike long to discard most of the CDs that were in the glove compartment and open up the CD wallet he had fetched from his own car. He pulled a disk from its pocket and slid it into the machine, waiting until Wes had pushed a bundle of heavy woollen blankets into the back seat and climbed into the front to press play. Flicking the end of his cigarette out the driver's window onto the drive, Spike gave a joyful howl as Wes turned up the volume and Shane MacGowan's drink-roughened rasps filled the air.

Neither of them had any illusions about the seriousness of the situation they were in, nor of the mission they had to complete but that didn't mean that they couldn't listen to good music. Giles threw open the library window, leaning out to berate them before he realised that anything he might have to say would be drowned out by the strains of "If I should Fall From Grace With God". Suddenly the idea of cursing Spike with a soul and making him wear that trinket when it was ready didn't seem quite so sadistic after all... if only that didn't involve talking Buffy into the idea as well.





Saturday, July 13th, 2002
 

Spike snorted as he noticed the first of many banners that decorated the town. "Gilroy - Garlic Capital of the World. Gilroy's World Famous Garlic Festival July 27th & 28th. Think Rupert's trying to tell me something?"

"Like what? That he's noticed the only thing in the school that eats chilli-garlic bread faster than you is Rogue? Just keep going. The mission's the other side of town"

"Just so long as there's no bells an' no shimmering lights."

Only minutes later they pulled in beside the mission building. Wesley looked up at the light tucked under the eaves of the main building. "You're safe," he told the vampire. "No shimmering, just good old-fashioned electricity."

There was another electric lantern in the courtyard by the mission's doorway, the potted plants still arranged perfectly, as if the monks had simply gone out for a stroll and not come back.

Spike tried the rightmost of the pair of doors and it pushed open with a loud creak, revealing a dark candlelit interior.

"Hello-o-o! Anybody home?" Wes called out from behind the vampire, figuring that they had already lost any element of surprise they might have had. "Someone had to light the candles," he half-whispered to Spike.

A door was pushed open on their right and slightly behind Spike. Wes took a step to the left and brought up his shotgun, just as a black-robed figure was about to dive at him. The figure stopped dead and raised his hands in the air. Spike was already fairly certain that he would find a human under the dark cowl rather than a bringer. A bringer would most likely have thrown itself at Wesley regardless of the shotgun, not to mention the whole knife thing. He reached out and pulled the hood back, just the same.

Wesley looked in some puzzlement at the man who was revealed. "I thought this was a Franciscan mission. Shouldn't you be wearing brown?"

"Wesley." Spike ground out with a slight hint of impatience. "I think you can stop threatening the nice monk, now."

"Oh, sorry!" Wes lowered the gun. "We weren't expecting anyone-."

"Tell me about the mark," Spike's voice was soft yet firm as he raised a hand to indicate the burn on the monk's face, the vampire moving closer in order to check his suspicion that it matched the one Shannon wore on her neck.

"Oh..." The monk lifted a hand to his face, covering the scar and he began to back away from the two intruders, obviously terrified.

"Hey! Are you part of Caleb's faction?" the blond asked, wondering if that were the reason for the man's sudden fear.

The vehement shaking of the monk's head and his obvious distress at the idea as he mouthed a chorus of denial made it clear that he was not.

"Then tell us what happened," Spike continued, resuming the reassuring but resolute tone he had adopted earlier.

"I c-can't," the monk stammered, stumbling over backward.

Wes checked that the safety on the shotgun was on and rested it against the wall so he could crouch down at the victim's side. "We need your help. It's important."

"We're trying to fight him. Caleb," Spike added. "We need to know everything you can tell us."

"You can't fight him. You can't stop him. You can only run."

Spike tilted his head slightly and looked at the man. "Me, I mighta thought about it, only I'm pretty sure my girl missed school the day they taught running away. She's the stubborn type." Spike extended a hand to the monk and pulled the man back to his feet. "Talk."

"I'll do better. I'll show you." The monk lifted a candelabra from a nearby dresser and began to walk slowly along the corridor as he spoke. "One night, some time ago, a man arrived at our doors."

"And you said, 'Come in. Do some damage.'?" Spike replied, knowing the answer already, since the inscription over the mission door was obviously the reason he had been able to enter rather than what they had thought was the building's abandoned status.

"We are - we are a benevolent order, and, yes, we welcomed him. We offered to feed him... but he had come for something else." The monk stopped in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary which occupied an alcove. With a touch, the back of the alcove and the statue swung away, to reveal a hidden void. "Behind this, he revealed something even we didn't know was here. A secret room." The monk walked into the centre of the room with Spike and Wes following behind. He raised the candelabra high to show three bare walls and on the fourth a medium sized tapestry. "He was excited, talking the whole time... destiny, that sort of thing."

"Yeah," Spike drawled. "We hear he's a real smooth talker."

The monk stepped forward, taking down the tapestry from the wall to reveal an inscription in Greek lettering. "He was going on about this ancient inscription. He read it... and he didn't like what it said. His temper... He was the purest evil I've ever seen. He burned his mark on me. And then I ran and I hid... and I listened to the others die."

"And by running away you survived," Wes told the monk in a comforting tone as Spike took the candelabra from the monk and stepped closer to the inscription. "You being here to show us this may make all the difference."

Spike mumbled the words of the inscription aloud as he translated them "It is not for thee. It is for her alone to wield." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

Wes tried to give the monk a reassuring smile as Spike passed on their progress report to Giles. "So... Dominican, then?"
 
Chapter 7.03
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.03
Friday, July 12th, 2002


This time, Buffy kept watch herself until Giles' 4x4 disappeared through the school gates. After Spike's decision to come back into the school once already she wasn't taking any chances. As soon as the vehicle cleared the gate this time she returned to her original plan with military precision.

"Okay, I'll go and tell Giles that this evening's training session has been postponed. You three," she said with a nod to Anya, Dawn and Tara, "take the boxes on the right down to the ballroom. There isn't enough space up here. Xander, you've already got yours but I want to see it again, Clem, that one's yours and I'll take Giles his." Her voice softened slightly as she turned to the little girl. "Rosa, you come with me so Mr Giles can't get all mad because we're making him late."






 

"It's the only chance we're going to get, Giles."

The watcher raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Okay, it's the only chance we'd get until the next time Spike's patrolling with Faith, and this way Faith's here to mind the fort."

"Couldn't it wait until after the session?"

"Ew! No-o-o. Anya and Tara and Xander would be all sweaty... or if they shower, their hair would be all wet." She added the final part as Giles looked like he might dare to interrupt. "And it would be past Rosa's bedtime so she wouldn't get to see everyone else."

There was a gentle tug at Giles' jacket and the watcher found plaintive brown eyes looking up at him. "Ple-ease, Mr Giles."

"Oh, alright, then." He looked at Rosa. "Why don't you go and tell your mother that the evening training's been delayed?" He watched as the girl scurried off eagerly. "Though why she should be the only one to find out after me..."

"Marie was with Wes, who was talking to Spike."

"I do think bringing Rosa to make puppy dog eyes was rather a dirty trick."

"It's okay. I was saving how hot Lydia's going to think you look for a back up. Just tell her no ripping any buttons off and no bodily fluids until after the wedding."

Giles reddened slightly, but didn't comment. He looked down at the box that Buffy had deposited on his library desk. "I assume that you want me to try this on now?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to use Lydia's office because we're all in the ballroom. Just give us a few minutes and then come along and knock."

"I don't suppose you'd accept my opinion?"

"Why should I start now?" Buffy asked with a teasing smile as she left the room.






 

"You realise that I can hardly walk in this thing," Dawn complained.

"At least you get to breathe... and eat," Anya answered back, as Marie helped to lace her into an ivory satin Victorian-style corset that covered her from breast to hip. "I haven't worn one of these things in nearly a century. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable they were."

"The split in the back of that thing is quite high enough," Buffy added. "You'll just have to take little steps. Now come and help me with these buttons."

Dawn snorted. "You really should have got one with a zip if you wanted it to survive the wedding night."

"Mommy, can I go and show the other girls my new dress?" Rosa asked hopefully.

"No, sweetie, they can see it next week. You have to be careful and not get it dirty now, while you wait until everyone else is ready." Marie tied off the ribbons at the back of Anya's corset and moved to help Tara with hers.

"Can I show grandma?"

"She'll see it next week, too. Now, just sit down on the bench there and wait until I've finished helping the others."

Buffy turned so that she could watch everyone else getting ready while Dawn fastened the fifty fabric covered buttons that secured the back of the dress. "Hey!! You have cleavage," she protested as she watched Anya don the skirt that went with her Edwardian school marm style outfit.

Anya rolled her eyes. "Even Eddie Izzard has cleavage when he wears one of these things, but no one will see it once I put on that blouse and jacket."

"But I don't have any cleavage," Buffy replied looking down. "Well, not much."

"If you wanted cleavage, then you shouldn't have been living off salad for the last five years," her sister answered unsympathetically. "And you've got more now than you had three months ago. You'd probably look almost normal if you'd been eating Spike's cooking for the last month instead of cafeteria slop. At least you don't look like one of those nasty old prints of kids that look as if they're going to burst into tears any more. You know the ones with the great big animé eyes?"

"I could send you back to those monks, you know," Buffy mock argued.

"No, you couldn't. Spike wouldn't let you. And who else is going to have the patience to do this for you? Couldn't they have made the loops a little looser?"

There came a knock at the door. "Can we come in, yet?" Xander asked.

"No!" came a chorus of replies, but the women stopped chatting and got down to the task of making sure that everyone was fully dressed.

Finally, Buffy looked around the room. They'd have to sort out hairstyles and make-up for the actual day, but all the clothes that Mordecai had made fitted beautifully. There were just four more people to inspect and one of them was on his way north. "You can come in, now," she called imperiously and was almost sure that she heard a muffled, "about bloody time," from the other side of the door.

Xander pushed the door open and stepped in with Giles and then Clem at his heels. Although Xander had lost a few pounds since his own wedding and looked more like the guy who had gone to senior prom and she'd never seen Clem look so elegant, it was Giles who caught her eye. His expression, as he looked at her, was one of awe and unmistakable love.

"You look absolutely beautiful. Spike is a very lucky man."

Buffy blinked away the tears that threatened as she glided toward her surrogate father. "Well, duh. Lydia's not doing so bad either. Now turn around so I can see how that suit looks from the back."






 

"You don't mind?" Buffy asked Marie as she climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV. All the clothing for the wedding party, except for Spike's suit, was back in its boxes and stacked in the back of the vehicle, ready to be transported over to the reception hall, away from curious vampire eyes. Maybe it was just an old superstition, but on the hellmouth, Buffy wasn't taking any chances on Spike seeing that dress before the wedding day.

"It's not a problem. And it gives me a chance to work out how to get there without Tigger giving not so helpful directions. Lily will give Rosa her bath and read her a story and I'll be back in time to say goodnight. It gives me something else to think about."

"Other than wondering how Wes is getting on?" Buffy asked.

"Other than that," Marie agreed with a self-deprecating smile.

"Well, they've had plenty of time to get clear of town and they haven't got into a fight... yet," the slayer supplied. "So, I reckon they're probably in the clear until they get where they're going, which won't be for another couple of hours unless Spike plans on picking up a few speeding tickets."

"So, it's not just me, then?"

"No... I mean, normally, Spike's got my back so there's not so much of the worry but lately he's been going out with Faith or doing stuff like this... so, yeah, I worry... but I know that he's a pretty tough guy to keep down and I know that Wes can handle himself, too, and they'll watch out for each other. So, I know it'll be okay, but I can't help worrying just a little.

The claim thing helps, too. I made him promise not to block it, so I'll know if anything goes down."

"You don't think I'm being silly?"

"I think you're just doing what comes with the territory when you care about someone... but if you want, I can get Giles to let you know when they call in."

"I think I might sleep a little better if you do."






 

"Giles, I need to speak to you about these location spells that you've been getting the spell casters to do." Quentin almost seemed accusatory as he caught Giles coming out of the training session.

"I wasn't aware of any problem. It seems to me that the system is working remarkably well, allowing the patrols to concentrate where they're needed."

"It isn't their use that's the problem, Rupert. It's the results that they've been producing, especially the results they're generating with regards to the occupants of this building. It seems that even after we eliminate all your known associates there are still, as a rule, two more demons than you have informed us about."

"The wards have not been breached," Giles insisted.

"And that was why I was willing to wait and double check the results, but they are consistently out of step with the situation as you would portray it to us."

"I really don't see what you're expecting from me." Giles kept his expression deliberately bland.

"I expect you to tell me which two of your confederates are demons or perhaps you don't actually know..."

"I fail to see how that would be any of your business."

"Might I remind you, Rupert, that you recently returned to the council's employ?"

"As I'm sure I've already mentioned, that buys you my services not my soul."

"So long as the council is paying for that cleansing crystal you wanted, then I think it only right that we should be aware of any potential candidates who might be induced to wear it."

Giles gave a cold smile. "That does make a convenient excuse, doesn't it? Though I'm not sure anyone would appreciate your methods of inducement. However, I find myself unconvinced as to it being your true motivation. Rest assured that I will talk individually to those who might be capable of wielding the crystal and will let you know of the results. What I will not do is to disclose the identity of anyone who, thanks to the attitude of people like you, might wish to keep their not-completely-human status a private matter."

"So, you know who these demons are? And you allow them to live amongst us, passing as human?"

"Whereas you would have them sew big yellow labels on all their clothes, I suppose?" Giles gave an impatient sigh. "Unless you wish this entire situation to fall to pieces around you I suggest you back off, Quentin. My confederates would probably survive without the potentials. I doubt the reverse applies."

"Very well, Rupert." Quentin's tone made it clear that the matter was very far from being settled.






 

Giles waited for Bee to emerge from the women's changing room, falling into step alongside her as she made her way toward the kitchen and the stairs to the attic. As usual, she was the last to emerge, even at this late hour, taking the time to style her hair into that no longer quite so perfect bob, the local hairdressers being amongst the first wave of the Sunnydale exodus, and for the reapplication of her trademark red lipstick and black eyeliner.

"Bee, I need you and Tara to work on something for me. It seems that Quentin is getting overly curious regarding the spells we've been doing and the number of demons inside the school. I'd be grateful if you would either set up some sort of blanket protection on the school or preferably work out a way to mask those people who might not wish to be detected by the spell we've been using... That way, we don't run into complications if Caleb does turn out to be launching an all out attack when the spell is cast."

Bee gave a little smile. "I think we can arrange that. Would it be possible to arrange for Lydia to help with the-." The petite blonde stopped dead as the school was plunged into darkness.






 

"What the fuck?" Faith spat out, turning from side to side to scan the area for possible adversaries as her eyes adjusted to the sudden absence of any street lights or even the muted glow from the few scattered homes that had still been lit. They had been cutting through the centre of town and the slayer's gaze was drawn immediately to the fire escape at the side of the cinema. "Watch the 'Mini Me's, B, I'm going to check out how far this thing goes." Her sprint gave her the momentum she needed to make the jump and for several seconds she dangled from the bottom rung of the ladder that made up the lowest part of the structure.

Buffy herded the potentials and the almost equal number of watchers into a double-layered defensive circle in the centre of the deserted street, making sure that she could watch Faith from her arc of view. "Number up in twos. I want the twos to close their eyes so they'll adjust quicker, while the ones keep watch. We're too close to where the spell said that ubie was to let our guards down. One."

Amanda, who found herself on Buffy's left whispered, "two," and soon the whisper worked its way around the circle until it came back to Vi on Buffy's right. From behind Vi's shoulder Lydia sounded off and the word chain continued on around those within the inner circle, who were armed with missile weapons. Other than that, none of the potentials made a sound and those who had been designated to do so closed their eyes without comment. No one shuffled nervously or tried to look in any direction other than the one they were facing, even if some of the trainee slayers looked rather more wide-eyed than normal. For weeks now, Buffy and Spike's training had focused on how to work within a group; how, to be successful, it was important to do your own job and trust the others around you to do theirs.

Faith raised herself hand over hand on the ladder until she was able to bring her feet up and climb her way off the first vertical section and onto the metal stairway above. She pelted up the remaining flights and peered around from her improved viewpoint. "Whole town's gone dark. Looks like the people from the power company just got the hell out of Sunnydale!" she called down to the group below.

"Okay, swap," Buffy told patrol members as Faith made her way along the front of the building to get a look in the other direction.

The dark slayer was halfway along the length of the building when there was the unmistakable sound of a crossbow being fired, closely followed by a shout of, "bringers!" She looked down at the awning below with a scowl and hesitated. The guys were okay to take out a few bringers without her. No big. In fact, her view from here should give her the best chance she was going to get for an objective assessment. Not that she liked the idea of missing the fight, but by the time she took any sort of sensible route down there, it'd all be over. She looked over to the mouth of the alley from which the black-robed figures were emerging, gauging their numbers. In their midst she spotted a bald, pale grey head. As if sensing her gaze, it looked up with a growl.

'Ah hell,' the slayer thought, with a glance toward a certain watcher, who was far too close to the vampire for comfort. 'Why should I miss all the fun?' She curled herself into a ball as she jumped over the building's edge, hoping she could get the timing just right to unfurl her arms and legs to absorb the momentum, otherwise this was really going to sting.
 
Chapter 7.04
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.04
Friday, July 12th, 2002


The bringers smashed into one side of the defensive circle like a black wave breaking on the shore, but though the circle deformed slightly, it didn't break. Watchers and potentials fought side by side to hold back the eerily silent harbingers. At first, without risking serious injury, the front line could do little more than simply fend off the attacks of their all too numerous opponents. Gradually, those in the central circle were able to take carefully chosen shots and disable or slay the black-robed figures. Maybe that was simply how it seemed to James, his adrenaline-hyped senses allowing him to see what was happening immediately around him with a clarity that was akin to viewing events in slow motion. Beyond the watcher's field of vision, those at the edges of the bringer tide found themselves double teamed and were rapidly culled unless they stepped back, away from the potentials' defensive line, a move that made them safer targets for the bowmen, as it lessened the risk of them injuring the people on their own side. It seemed that the outcome would be hard-fought but inevitable.

James found himself in the heart of the melee, calmly keeping the bringers nearest him beyond the reach of the broadsword he carried. He scored an occasional slash or nick on his opponents, but it fell to those in the row behind to claim most of the finishing blows. His current adversary stumbled forward, as if pushed from behind, and almost in the same moment as he skewered it, he twisted his wrist to relieve the suction on the blade and kicked the harbinger, who had yet to realise it was dead, from his sword. A chilling scream that ended in a gurgle came from his left and he twisted his head to see the young watcher, who just weeks ago had told Giles that Turok Han were a myth, fall at the hands of the very creature he had been so certain didn't exist. The man had been using a halberd that should have allowed him to keep opponents at bay, but the vampire had simply knocked it from his hands with a backhanded swipe and moved in for the kill. The petite Italian potential who stood between James and the other watcher paled, but sidestepped to stand over the body before the ubervamp could take advantage of the hole it had created. From behind, hands grabbed the watcher's clothes and dragged him backward into the safety of the centre and James sidestepped, too, moving closer to the vampire as another bringer made a lunge toward him.






 

The awning split before Faith could completely recover from her fall and she had to twist in mid-air like a cat to land on her feet. She crouched, legs bent and fingertips barely touching the ground, as she assessed the scene. From down here she couldn't see the ubervamp, just the bringers who had shifted around to surround the potentials. Fighting was fiercest on the far side off the circle, but Buffy, due to the style of fighting they had chosen, was no more free to swap position than any of the others who stood beside her. As she rose, Faith drew a curved dagger, a souvenir of her outing with Wesley, from a sheath inside her boot, and selected a longer than average stake from an inside pocket of her jacket for her off-hand. Sticking to the shadows at the side of the street, she loped toward the conflict.

The bringers had been thinned to little more than a single ring by the time she arrived. She picked off two of them who were engaged with the potentials near the Turok Han in rapid succession, yanking them off balance by grabbing a handful of the back of their hoods and then using her dagger to slit open their throats. By the time The First's forces were aware of the enemy at their back the slayer had snapped the neck of a third and the Turok Han found itself with three opponents at its front and a slayer at its back. Turning to face Faith, it caught her with a spinning kick that knocked her stumbling to one side. The Vampire followed on from its attack, driving her back further with another kick until it was out of range of those who formed part of the circle. Bolts thudded into its back and side every time the distance between it and Faith allowed the good guys to fire on it with a degree of safety, but it seemed to swat them off as if they were mere inconveniences.

Faith grinned and twirled the stake in her hand. "Let's go, buddy."






 

The little Italian potential caught James' adversary with a gutting slash from the side, just as Buffy gave the command for them to, "Mop up!" Those in the centre drew swords and other weapons and took position around the injured. The outer circle dissolved, its people freed at last to pursue the enemy. James dropped his sword and picked up the polearm that lay on the ground by his feet. As if he were ten feet from the goal line with a line of opposing players in his way, he used all his speed and body mass to give him the forward momentum he needed and charged the ubervamp. When the tip of the halberd hit it square in the back he kept going, even though his arms juddered with the shock. He felt an impact at his back and recognised Buffy's voice urging him to push. Then, there was nothing holding them up and he and the slayer tumbled to the floor, as Faith dodged to one side to avoid being impaled.

"Geez, B, ain't that vamp hottie you're gettin' hitched to enough? This one's taken." She reached down and, grabbing a handful of the watcher's T-shirt, she hauled him up far enough to steal a kiss.

 






By the time Giles and Bee made it to the basement, where he and Anya had stacked away several hundred candle holders, a couple of dozen safety lighters and a couple of thousand tea-lights, the former demon had already beaten him to it and was standing guard over the supplies. The four candles she had lit illuminated the stairs and the area nearby, the only light that Giles had seen in the building.

"I've sent Dawn and Brandon around all the dormitories to get one person from each to come down and get supplies. I told you we'd make a killing if this happened. Here. These are for upstairs. I've allowed us double because we've got all those individual rooms to light." She pushed two boxes of candle holders, two trays of candles and two safety lighters in Bee's direction. She lifted a nearby clipboard, scanned down until she found the line marked 'Attic: 24 bulb style candle holders, 2 x 12 tea-lights, 2 x safety lighters' . She stabbed at the box next to it with her pen. "You need to sign here. It looks better than if I do it," she told Bee. "Come back tomorrow between three and four for more candles. Giles will be here."

She picked up a magic shop gift bag and passed it to Giles, who seemed slightly nonplussed by this announcement. "One small room package," she told him, watching to make sure that he, too, signed for his and Lydia's allocation. "It's easier to pass them out while it's still light, and I shall be at The Magic Box. I am sure that those people who do not treat this as a cue to leave town will wish to purchase extra candles. I intend to fetch the slug candles from the store room and offer them for sale at a discount. We could bring some here and issue them to Mr Travers for his personal use. Of course, for him, we would charge full recommended retail."

 






They didn't really expect the ambulance service to be running but Lydia tried dialling nine one one on her mobile phone, in any case. When she couldn't get anything other than a busy signal, she rang Giles instead and when it turned out that he still hadn't got into the habit of carrying his mobile with him, Buffy rang Xander's number.

Less than ten minutes later, Xander's car pulled up next to the group and they manoeuvred the watcher who had been most seriously hurt into the back seat. One of the potentials, who had a deep but not life-threatening cut on her arm, climbed into the passenger seat and Xander headed for the hospital.

When he got there, the place was in total disarray. Although it had an emergency generator, and unlike most of the other buildings it still had limited electricity, staff were scarce and it appeared that many of those who were there were spending more time trying to discharge patients where possible and get others reallocated to other facilities in the area than admitting new arrivals. In the end, Xander picked a random white-coat as he bustled through the emergency waiting room and dragged him over to where the watcher lay sprawled across a sectional sofa. "Fix him! And while you're doing that you can find someone to stitch her up, because once that shirt's soaked through I'm not stripping down any further," he added with a nod in the direction of the blood-stained blue denim shirt that the potential had wrapped around her arm.

 




 

Giles didn't need to ask how it had gone as he watched the group trail wearily back down the drive.

"Hey, you waiting up for us?" Buffy asked.

"Actually, I'm still waiting to hear from Spike and Wesley."

"It might help if you kept your mobile with you," Lydia remarked dryly, as she curled an arm around the older watcher's and stood on tiptoe to give him a tired peck on the cheek.

"I do. I mean, I did."

Lydia held out her hand and Giles reached into his pocket and placed the device on her palm. "It also helps if it's switched on."

"Well, I didn't switch it off!"

"But I bet you didn't charge it either?" Buffy asked.

"Wounded to the kitchen. Everybody else get what sleep you can. No training until tomorrow afternoon," Faith called, giving Giles a nod of greeting as she made her way past him and the blondes to get the first-aid post set up.

"Well, em..."

"Nice to know that you still haven't made your peace with technology. I bet you're even enjoying the atmospheric candlelight. Come on, we'll swap in the battery from one of the spares, otherwise Spike'll break every speed limit in the state to get back if he can't get through."

"Or he might try ringing you at two in the morning or whenever it is that they expect to get there."

"He'll do that anyway once he knows we're back from patrol. Oh, and tell Wes to call Marie, too."

Giles dutifully followed Buffy to the attic, but he saved his questions about patrol until he returned to Lydia's office. "How bad was it?" he asked, his eyes on the blonde who was already stretched out on the sofa with a quilt covering her lower body, her golden hair draping her shoulders, so that Giles was unable to tell whether she wore anything under the covers or not.

"Massey won't make it out of hospital any time soon, and Claire Wisniewski should probably get out once they stitch up her arm, but it'll scar... badly."

"And the Turok Han?" Giles asked, pulling his shirt off over his head and sliding off his jeans before he joined the woman under the covers and wrapped his arms around her satin draped frame.

"Toast, but we both know there'll be more tomorrow."

Neither of them bothered to extinguish the few small candles that lit the room before they curled around each other, and hours later when Spike called, Giles still lay awake in the same position. He didn't think Lydia had slept either.
 
Chapter 7.05
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting






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

This chapter borrows heavily from the episode "Touched", written by Rebecca Rand Kirshner.


SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.05
Saturday, July 13th, 2002


The sun wasn't long over the horizon when Spike and Wes slipped into the school, the vampire draped in a tartan picnic blanket. After Wes's first stumble in the darkened hallways, he felt a hand take his.

"You tell anyone we were holdin' hands an' I'll make sure they find out about the first record you bought."

"I told you that on the proviso you would never say anything."

"An' how often do I have to remind you do-gooders that I'm E-vil," Spike retorted, as he led Wes around the debris that had been left in the kitchen by the potentials' patching up session.






 

Spike stripped away his coat, watching Buffy from the foot of the bed as he did so. She hadn't moved when he entered the room, but he could tell that she wasn't sleeping by the strident beating of her heart. His boots and socks were next and, as he perched on the edge of the mattress to pull them off, Buffy rolled from her back to her side, as if, despite the darkness of their room, she were trying to watch him in return.

"Rough night, love?" he asked in a throaty whisper, as he twisted to run his hand along his fiancée's jaw.

"It was..." Buffy replied. "It just got better." She grabbed a handful of shirt and slowly drew him down toward her until she could brush her lips over his, could reassure herself of every taste and touch and scent.

Spike managed to catch himself on his elbows before he landed with his full weight on Buffy, who was once more lying on her back. He surrendered to her, letting her use his mouth and his tenderness as a balm. His lips met hers as softly as a feather's touch.

The tingling sensation at her lips was matched by another lower down. She loosened her grip on his shirt and wound her fingers into his hair, deepening the touch until the vampire responded in kind.

He slid his body over the mattress until it lay alongside hers, letting the kiss continue until the slayer sank back into the pillows, gasping for breath. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Buffy lifted ghost-filled eyes. "Later," she whispered. "Make me feel... whole. Make me feel whole."

Spike leaned down, and cradling her face in his hand, he pressed his lips to the gap between her brows, and then to the tip of her nose and finally, with frustrating brevity and chasteness, to her lips. His hand moved to brush stray strands of hair from her face and then he was gone, only a slight indent on the quilt showing where he had lain.

There was a spark in the darkness and she recognised the scent and the blue-yellow flame of Spike's Zippo.

Deft fingers pulled a partially burned tea light from the bulb where it rested and held it at an angle to the flame until the wick caught light once more before dropping it back into the holder. One by one, the vampire moved to each of the candles in the room and lit them. That done, he slipped the lighter back into the pocket of his jeans. He whispered slowly into the night as he unfastened his shirt. "I've got a habit..." One button. "When it comes..." Two buttons. "To you..." Three buttons. "Of letting my mouth..." Four buttons and the cotton flapped open to display the firm pale planes of his chest. "Get ahead..." Right cuff. "Of my brain." Left cuff and the midnight-blue cloth drifted to the floor.

"That's why," he added, as his hands moved to the button fastening his jeans. "I need you..." The zipper slid down, each of the tiny teeth sending a shiver through Buffy's body at the sound of its release. "To see me." The denim slipped down his thighs, past his knees and he stepped out of its confines and prowled his way back toward the bed.

"I know you can feel it in my touch," he said as he peeled back the bedclothes to expose the satin camisole and shorts set that she had worn in case she had to get up in the middle of the night. "I know," he told her, as he crawled toward her, "that with one stroke..." He demonstrated by letting one fingertip glide from her shoulder down her right arm, over the pulse point at her elbow and down to her palm which she closed around him to grip the wandering digit. "I can tell you everything you need to know about how I feel." He raised an eyebrow as he straddled her body, and waited until she gave a gentle nod to acknowledge the surge of mingled love, concern, desire and, in the background, fear that travelled through her wherever his skin met hers. "That doesn't lie. Your blood in mine, and mine in yours, it calls out to everything that we are, but there's more than that." He sat back enough to push the straps of her top from her shoulders before his eyes sought out her face again.

Even in the flickering candlelight, his face unchanged from its normal human appearance, his eyes almost seemed to glow with the intensity of the emotion behind them. With every tempting line and curve that her eyes could feast upon, Buffy's gaze could no more release his than she could stop the tears that welled at the corners of her eyes. "Who says you're no good with words?" she asked him.

"I normally take the hint when you go storming off with your knickers in a twist," Spike answered with a wry grin.

An answering smile flickered on her lips and Buffy gave a slight shake of her head as if she should have known it was too good to last. "Shut up, bleach brain, and come here and show me."






 

Hours later, Buffy lay all but spent in her lover's arms. Spike hated to break the peaceful mood, but if he left it, Buffy would drift into sleep and, when they woke once more, there would be no break from the burdens of the day until they returned to the room that had become their haven.

"Tell me about it, love."

"What?"

"What it was... other than missin' my tight little body... that kept you awake till near six in the morning."

"We're losing, Spike. It doesn't matter how many of them we kill, how many we take down, they just keep coming back and all I can do is watch them rip us apart. It gutted Massey like he was roadkill. Xander took him to the hospital, but I don't think he'll make it, and Claire Whiz won't be back in the fight for months with her right arm ripped up the way it was and we don't have months. I know we've got to give them the chance to fight. I know we can't win this thing with just the three of us, but are we winning if they're whittling us down until there are none of us left?"

"Listen, slayer, we may be down but we're a helluva way from being out. This thing, this weapon that only you can wield, it's important an' it pissed the preacherman off right royally when he found out he couldn't get it. Don't know why, an' I don't know how, but if he's that brassed off about it, it's important an' it might just turn out to be the key to this whole thing."

"Yeah, right. And when it turns out that all it is is another sword and Invulnero Guy throws us round the room like crash test dummies, or when we can't find it, then what do we do?"

"You're not fooling me, Summers."

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"You're not a quitter. You're not going to stand back and let this guy walk all over you. You know where that thing is. You know that has to be what we heard the wise monkeys in black robes diggin' for."

"Why shouldn't I quit? Why should it always be down to me? Why can't I just have one day, one lousy day, where I can be with my hunny, get married and not have some wacko monster out to ruin everything. Let's go. Let's just take Dawn and get as far from here as we can. They've got Faith. They've got a whole damn council worth of watchers. I'm done. It should have been over when Kendra was called. That should have been it. I had my turn. Why can't it be over?"

"It can't be over because, guilty as you feel about leading them, you'd be even more guilty if you left them. What if this thing really is just for you? Not just the slayer... Buffy . That message he gave Shannon... 'Tell the one and only, accept no substitutes, slayer'. Isn't that what he said? You want to walk away before the fat lady sings? Before you know whether I'm gonna take you somewhere nice on our honeymoon?"

"I can't do this, Spike. I can't be responsible for taking them out there and watching them get shredded. Massey, well, he was a geek, but he was one of our geeks, like Jonathon if he hadn't gone evil on us... only taller. And Claire, she was hoping she could get a baseball scholarship when this was over and done with. How's she going to get a scholarship if she spends the whole season in physio trying to get the use of her arm back? I can't make plans where I know that people around me are going to die or get their lives screwed up."

"You'd rather I made the plans?" Spike asked with a hint of a self-deprecating smile. "There's always casualties in a war, Buffy. If it makes you feel better, let some of the watchers plan the actual battles, so long as we get the right to tell them when they're talkin' out of their arses, but you have to lead them. You have to be the one to show them how it's done, 'cause if you leave them now they'll collapse quicker than a house of cards in a tornado. If they think you haven't got faith in them, they're never going to have faith in themselves. Way I heard it, the watcher froze. Not much to be done about it. We took him through the drills. We did everything we could to prepare them for what it'd be like out there, but he panicked, an' sometimes that's all it takes."

"Fine. I'm the great white hope. The Amazon warrior. I'm Xena with better clothes. Just forget I said anything."

"You listen to me. I've been alive a bit longer than you and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine and done things I'd prefer you didn't. I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain so I make a lot of mistakes. A lot of wrong bloody calls. A hundred plus years and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of. You." He reached out and took her chin in his hand, tilting her head back until she looked him straight in the eyes. "Look at me. I'm not asking you for anything... not right now at any rate, and it's not like it's that big a deal wantin' you to spend the rest of your life with me. I mean eighty years tops, blink of an eye." His smile faded. His tone became totally serious and the bond affirmed that the sentiments behind his words were equally sincere. "When I say I love you, it's not because I want you, or because you're mine. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You are a hell of a woman."

Tears began to stream down her face in earnest now and Spike ducked his head to kiss them away.

"You're the one, Buffy."

"What if I don't want to be the one?" she asked tremulously.

"I don't want to be this good-looking and athletic. We all have crosses to bear."

Almost in spite of herself, she smiled and gave the athletic chest in front of her a playful push with the heel of her hand.

"Get some rest now, love," he told her, pulling the quilt back up to cover them from where it had been kicked to the foot of the bed.

Buffy rolled over and wriggled until she was spooned against him, the one-time enemy, who now guarded her back.

"Will you hold me?" she whispered before he had a chance to wrap his arm around her.

"Always, kitten, always."
 
Chapter 7.06
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.06
Saturday, July 13th, 2002


Oz made his way through the library until he spotted Giles' head over the top of a stack of text books.

"Got it," he told the watcher, sliding a receipt toward the older man. "Restocked the fridge some while I was there."

"Who is around upstairs at the moment to help out?" the watcher asked.

The werewolf ran a hand through his currently dark brown hair and shrugged. "Xander, Brand and Dawn, but I don't think Buffy would rate her little sister going out on this one... That Amanda kid."

"Faith and Buffy?"

"No Buffy. Bad night or so Dawn said... Faith?" He shrugged again. "I could try her room if you want."

"Do that. Get James too. Tell everyone who's coming to be in the foyer at half past ten."

Oz gave the barest possible inclination of his head.

Giles picked up the receipt and made his way to what had once been the stable block.






 

"Are they ready?" Giles looked at the slightly built, bespectacled watcher who had taken over the small building. It looked like a mixture of scrap yard and workshop. Various devices were bolted down to the massive workbench that dominated the centre of the room. Tucked under the table was a refuse sack full of drinks cans that were undergoing a type of recycling that was slightly different than that which the soda-drinking potentials were probably expecting.

"Ain't this where you tell me?" The man pushed a small box of shotgun cartridges toward the watcher and then moved to open a long narrow safe, set into the cement floor at the back of the room. "How many?"

"Two should be sufficient, I believe."

The wiry-looking old man pulled a brace of pump-action shotguns from the safe. "Handguns?"

Giles considered further. "Another two."

The other man grunted and pulled out a pair of Desert Eagle handguns with a slightly pinkish looking silvery sheen. "Titanium Carbon Nitride finish. Good for resisting rust, not that it's much of an issue here," he provided, catching Giles' look of distaste. "Take whoever's going to be using them out back and make them fire off a couple of practice rounds."

"Even what's left of the Sunnydale police might come to investigate the sound of gunfire," Giles argued. "They've been rather more belligerent than usual of late."

"Suit yourself. Ain't my fault if the casin's hit them in the head 'cause the dumbasses can't deal with the recoil." He opened another box inside the safe and pulled out a box of ammunition. "Hollow points. If the gun jams, just bring it right back here. Don' go tryin' to clear it yourself."

"If the guns jam there's a good chance no one will be bringing anything back."

The wizened-looking man wheezed out something that might have been a chuckle.






 

"If Buffy wasn't my sister, you'd let me go." The teen climbed out of Oz's van to better get in Giles' face.

"If Buffy wasn't your sister and Debbie Harry wasn't about to be your brother-in-law, then we all might have a chance of surviving if we let you come with," Faith pointed out. "Get back in the van. Keep the engine running, look out for bringers and, if we don't come out within the next quarter of an hour, go fetch help."

Giles passed a handgun each to Faith and to Oz. "The shotguns should do the job, but if it looks like the situation is out of our control, then you might want to use these. Head shots are the only thing that'll bring them down, so don't waste bullets on anything else, unless it's the only way to avoid hitting one of us. Make sure you're braced properly and holding it firmly. Safety is at the side, and it's currently on. If it jams, go back to your primary weapon." The watcher indicated the halberds that everyone except he, James and Dawn were carrying.

"Hey!" Dawn rolled down the van window. "What about random people wandering in off the street? What do I do with them?"

"It's a closed site. There shouldn't be anyone just wandering in," Xander argued.

"Wanna tell them that?" Dawn replied, twisting and sliding until she sat in the van's window space with only her legs inside the truck. She pointed across the van's roof at a group of teenagers, who were making their way over a flattened portion of perimeter fence.






 

James passed his shotgun back to Giles, who stowed both the larger, more obvious weapons in the back of the van once more. Oz let his halberd drop to the ground and the others followed suit before they stepped away from the cover of the van to get a good look at the gaggle of kids who were making their way toward them.

"This site's off-limits to the public," Xander shouted. "Just turn around and we won't have to call the cops."

"You tryin' to say that the old guy an' the bimbos are union? You've got no more right to be here than we have. You're not going to be calling anybody."

"Well, in that case," James called back. "I guess we're just goin' to have to make you leave all on our ownsome."

The guy who seemed to be in charge of the opposition looked around at his rather larger group of companions and then back at Xander, Brandon, Giles, James and Oz. "A runt, a senior citizen and three of you against ten of us?"

"Hell, no!" Faith responded, as she broke into a run that closed the last twenty feet between the two groups. "For ten of you, I don't need any help."

"Do try not to kill any of them," Giles drawled, as some of the gang skirted Faith, deciding to bring the fight to the others instead. "It might be rather more difficult to obtain a pardon for a third murder." The leader of the group paled slightly at Giles' blasé tone the watcher noted with satisfaction, while he waited nonchalantly for one of the teens to make a try for the easy target. His kick made a satisfying crunch as it shattered the youth's kneecap, and he easily deflected his adversary's punch with his forearm before his fist connected with the teenager's jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground, where he had the good sense to stay. "Senior citizen, indeed," the watcher muttered.

He looked around and realised that the fight was already all but over. James had taken position at Faith's back, and with only those at her front to worry about, a few well-placed punches and kicks had disposed of half the opposition within seconds. James took out one on his own, as, Giles noted, did Xander, using the martial arts that he'd been so reluctant to learn. Amanda was coping ably with an opponent six inches taller than her and twice the width, right up until Oz tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned, Amanda kicked him behind the knee, dropping him to a kneeling position and Oz punched him squarely on the jaw. It was done.

"Dawn, that really isn't what Faith meant by stay in the van," he added as the one-time Key kicked at a prone figure.






 

After some further remonstrance, Dawn was eventually returned to the confines of the vehicle and everyone else reclaimed their original weapons. Oz grabbed a large grocery sack from the back of the van, and they were ready. As they made their way toward the basement they discovered a few more citizens had taken refuge within the building. None of them were particularly friendly, but none of them remained conscious for very long, either.

"This is it," Xander announced, indicating a doorway. "Things get a bit fuzzy beyond this point. Walls don't seem to match the plans. Turnings that're there one day are gone the next. We'll just have to play it by ear." He pushed open the door and a fresh wave of sound reached them.

Faith brushed past him, taking the lead. "Or we could just see where the chanting's coming from."

The 'Fiat Lux' spell that Giles had had Tara prepare turned out to be unnecessary. Far from having to search out the seal, it was in the room adjacent to the entrance. It was also glowing brightly enough to illuminate the whole room. As they made their way down the steps the chanting stopped. The people in the basement were dressed in every day clothes. They ranged from around Dawn's age to older than Giles and the watcher felt a twist in his stomach as he recognised a former patron of The Magic Box turn sightless eyes upon him.

"More will give themselves. My master's power grows with every day that passes and more will be drawn to him." Giles remembered the captive bringer's words and for the first time their meaning was clear. These people still had hair, they wore their own clothes rather than black robes, and if the chanting was any indication, they still had their tongues. However, unlike those they had incapacitated on their way in, these were no longer human. They were the enemy.

Faith vaulted the rail at the side of the steps as soon as there was sufficient clearance between it and the floor above. Xander hesitated for a fraction of a second while he considered following her example, but the prospect of landing in a tangle of body parts and sharp-bladed halberd didn't appeal too much, so he kept on going down the stairs. James pressed close on his heels with Amanda behind him.

Three of the new harbingers moved to intercept Faith, but two reached the bottom of the narrow staircase. Xander didn't have space to use his polearm properly and none of the others could get past him to help. There was a sound from behind him; a sound that had always made him think more of a ripped Linda Hamilton in T2 than watchers and demon hunting, but Xander wasn't that slow that he didn't know to duck. The bringers obviously didn't have the same appreciation of the classics. Everything from the collarbone upward on the nearest bringer dissolved into a red mist. Its companion seemed oblivious to the carnage and yanked at Xander's ankle, dragging him bouncing down the last couple of steps. Amanda let out a piercing whistle and it straightened up as if to see where the noise had come from. That gave James his shot and it met a similar fate.

Faith threw the halberd like a spear, impaling one of the harbingers so deeply that six inches of blade protruded from his back. She whirled between her remaining opponents like a dervish, delivering blows with impartial hands, feet and, on occasion, her head. The rest of the group filed down off the stairs, but stayed back, confident that their help would be neither needed nor wanted and reluctant to intervene in any case lest they disturbed the balance of the fight... until one of the bringers staggered back close enough for Giles to club it into submission with his rifle butt. Faith literally threw herself at her remaining opponent, in a move more reminiscent of Saturday morning wrestling than any of the council approved manoeuvres. She flew feet first through the air to grab her in a headlock, twisting the bringer's neck and dragging her to the ground as they both landed on the glowing seal.

Faith pushed herself back up to her feet and nudged the body of the bringer with a heavily booted foot. "Rest of you guys planning on joining me any time soon, or are you all too hot and bothered watching me do my thing to get in on the action? Maybe you want some quality time with your lonely right hands before you get to work."

"Faith, I hardly think we've done anything to deserve those remarks," Giles protested.

"No? You think I don't know exactly what every guy I've ever met has wanted from me... From Uncle Johnny when I was twelve and the three minute wonder..." She tossed her head toward Xander without looking up from the harbinger's corpse. "Right on through to our Scottish friend. All I am to them is how I look... how I feel when I ride them." Her head lifted and she raised clouded eyes to stare at James. "And all they are to me is a vibrator that doesn't need batteries."

There was a coldness in James' eyes as he passed his shotgun to Giles. That was the only warning he gave before he launched himself into a headlong dive at the slayer.

Faith gave a half snort of disdain as she sidestepped out of his way and he only just managed to tuck into a roll that took him beyond the seal's far side. "You really think you can bring it to me? You think you can keep up with me in any way, shape or form? I must be good. Maybe I should try out for Julliard."

"Or maybe," James retorted, his tone bitter, his accent becoming stronger with the derision in his voice, "you should just take yersel' doon the docks like the hoor ye are, an' that way the poor bastards that have the misfortune tae have anythin' tae dae wi' ye'll ken whit they're lettin' themselves in for."

Faith ran at him and he didn't even try to block. He just grabbed a handful of denim jacket as he let her impetus drive them both over, taking the punches she threw until he could wrap strong arms around her and hold her to him. The punches slowed and then stopped. When he risked taking an arm from around her torso to push her hair away from her face, her eyes were brown again; brown, and hurt, and defiant and confused. He loosened his other arm and the slayer immediately pushed herself away.

"Are we gonna do this thing, or what?" she asked.






 

Pouring pig blood onto the seal, watching it open and even clinically dispatching the Turok Han that emerged with the shotguns seemed like an anti-climax after that. Faith was first out of the basement. James lingered to cast one last glance at the still glowing seal.

"I'm sure, once she has some time to think about it, she'll know that you were simply doing what it took to get her to move off the seal," Giles told him in his most reassuring tone.

"Yeah, an' I'm sure that she more than half believes every word that came out of her mouth."
 
Chapter 7.07
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.07
Saturday, July 13th, 2002


"This is important!" Buffy shrieked. "Why did nobody wake me up and tell me before? I was counting on you guys."

"It's not their fault, Buffy," Spike intervened between Buffy and Bee and Tara. "They did everything they could. If the cookers won't work without electricity, it's hardly their fault."

Bee gave a rueful grimace. "We thought we'd just be able to light the ovens with a match, but there must be some sort of safety feature that cuts off the gas if it can't detect an electric current for the ignition."

"Look, it's no big deal." Spike knew the minute he caught a glance at Buffy's expression that he'd made a mistake.

"No big d-."

Spike placed a hand gently but firmly over Buffy's mouth. "All I mean is that the reception hall is about ten miles away from here. It's still up and running. You keep going another ten fifteen miles you get Dutton and all that. There has to be a baker's in Dutton that can do the cake and it'll be as easy for them to deliver to the hall from there as it would be for the guy we originally ordered from. No big deal. An' if the power goes out as far as Dutton, then the cake'll be the least of our worries." He loosened his grip and almost wished that he hadn't.

"Yes big deal!" Buffy insisted. "This is our wedding day and you're acting like I'm getting hysterical over nothing. How do you know there's a bakery in Dutton? What makes you think anyone will take it on now we've got less than a week's notice, huh?"

"Believe me, kitten. If there's one thing I know it's that people will do anything if you offer them enough money. You'll get your cake an' it'll be pretty as a picture. Okay?

We'll make some phone calls on Monday morning. Once we get it narrowed down some, then you can take the girls and go check out the places, eat some cake, look at their pretty picture books... It'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"'Cause we can't have a wedding without cake..."

"We'll have cake. We'll have everything you want."

"Promise."

"I promise," Spike replied, keeping the fingers of his right hand crossed behind his back as he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and began to steer her away from the kitchen.

"What did you mean if the power goes out in Dutton?" Buffy asked, suddenly pouncing on Spike's earlier remark. "Giles doesn't think that the outage is going to spread, does he? That's not what this meeting's about? Did they tell you what this meeting's about? The church'll be okay, right..."

"Dawn just said Giles wanted everyone together and it was urgent."






 

"Faith?" Giles pushed.

"I don't know... I guess. I mean it's not like I'm normally Miss Congeniality."

Giles raised a hand as if to reach for his glasses and, with only the slightest hesitation when he remembered he was wearing contacts, ran his hand through his hair instead.

"We need to know the extent of the changes that the seal was able to produce in order to assess the danger in which anyone guarding the school might find themselves. Would you have made those remarks if you hadn't been possessed?"

"Probably not..."

"Were the sentiments you expressed an accurate version of your true opinions or did the seal exaggerate things?" Giles probed, glancing over into the corner where James sat, his attention apparently riveted to something on the carpet.

Faith shrugged.

"Enough!"

Almost everyone in the room turned to look at Lily, surprised at her sudden outburst.

"You all shoo," the demon insisted, her gaze settling first on Giles, but then shifting to encompass everyone in the drawing room other than Faith and James. When no one made any immediate move to leave, she prodded Wes, who was sitting next to her on one of the sofas, in the arm. "Scoot. I send nice Scottish boy to find you when we finished. Go find other room, set up wardens for goat seal so no more people be with no eyes and no tongue. We busy."

Spike and Clem were amongst the first to get to their feet but the others soon followed.

Lily shifted to the central portion of the sofa and turned her gaze first to Faith. "You, here," she ordered in an imperious tone, indicating the space on her right. "You, here." She nodded at James and pointed to her left.

"Look, no offence, but I don't need no grandma demon to impart her country wisdom. Life is what it is. Ain't no point pretending any different."

Lily stared the slayer in the eye and, as inured as Faith was, she found it hard not to glance away. "Life is what you make it, young woman, and you make it more painful than it needs to be. Sit." All trace of any accent was gone and the demon's gaze had gone from motherly to deathly serious in the blink of an eye.

Faith obeyed, still not entirely sure why she was doing so.

Lily's gaze transferred to James and he rose to his feet, almost scuffing his way across the room with his eyes still fixed on the floor, avoiding any eye contact with the brunette, and then flopping onto the opposite end of the sofa.

"This man," Lily asked, grasping James' hand and holding it in one of hers, "has he ever done anything to hurt you, to make you unhappy?" She looked at Faith, waiting for an answer.

"Hey, don't pin this all on me. I might have said some things but he had plenty to say as well."

"Y'know fine well I was just trying to get you mad enough to come after me so y'd get off that seal," James replied bitterly.

"Do I?" Faith drawled.

Lily took one of Faith's hands, as well. "I think you do. Maybe you're scared. Maybe you don't want to believe because that would mean having hope and it would hurt if that hope was taken away, but you're not stupid."

Faith's head lowered slightly, her hair falling to obscure her features.

"And you," she turned to James. "You're wondering what you should do... You care about her. You wanted to give this thing between you a chance to see if maybe you could love her. Then, she says that you don't mean anything to her... and now you don't know what you should do. If she meant what she said, then you should have no more to do with her, or you're going to get hurt more when she leaves you than you would now. If the evil in the seal was making her fears talk rather than her heart and she didn't mean what she said, but you leave her anyway, then you're proving her right. You would be hurting her and hurting yourself for no reason, but you don't know what the truth is, so you can't decide."

Lily released their hands and stood up. "I could tell him the answer he needs, but he deserves to find out from you. I'm going to make some tea. You have until I get back to decide what you're going to do and if you aren't truthful with each other, then I knock your stubborn heads together." She lapsed back into her normal accent as she finished. "I bring first aid kit too so you can wrap up chest, and ice for bruises."

Faith's head lifted immediately as Lily mentioned James' injuries. There was a mixture of concern and horror on her face as she remembered the pummelling she had administered while they both lay on the cellar floor.

James didn't need to make her put her feelings into words. He had his answer.

Lily closed the door behind her with a satisfied smile.






 

"What did you do with the people that were already there?"

"We, ehm, well... We couldn't take the chance that they might make their way back there while we were busy," Giles blustered, looking slightly embarrassed.

"We stole all their cell phones and dropped them off in the middle of nowhere," Dawn supplied. "A couple of them were nearly conscious though, so they should make it back to town before dark."

"So my little sister has now added mugging to her colourful résumé?" Buffy asked, giving Giles a hard stare.

"It wasn't exactly like that," the watcher argued.

Buffy sighed and turned to face the others who were milling around the candlelit basement. "It seems to me that we don't really have a lot of options here. We can't let any more innocents end up as bringers."

"I doubt the ones as are heading down there exactly class as innocent," Spike argued.

"Whatever! When they're human, even if they're mass murderers, they're the police's problem. Let's keep them that way. We're going to need to pull in everyone who's in training. Split each class in two. That gives us six groups, four hour shifts. We'll rearrange the patrol groups from who's left here and who's freshest when it comes to going out. If need be we'll go back to you, me and Faith. We keep them on the perimeter of the site, in pairs, so they can watch each other for signs that the seal's having an effect. Giles, see if you can scare up some walkie talkies and enough batteries to keep them running. Spike, you work out the rota and figure out how we're going to have to change the training schedule to work it in. Choose someone to be in charge of each group and when you've worked out who's up first make sure they've got a cell to call for back up if there's an all out attack, and get someone to drive the first team down there. Wes, Xander, you're with me. Tara, Bee, Lydia, when you're not taking your turns at the site, we need you to try to work out some sort of counter to this. Something to stop it drawing people in. Get some of the old guys on it, too."

"What? Where?" Xander babbled as he followed the diminutive blonde up the stairs.

"We're going to check the site and make sure it stays bringer and vampire free until the first bunch of 'mini-me's gets there." She turned at the doorway to give both Spike and Giles a slayer glare. "You've got maybe an hour before I get impatient. And, Giles, when you go to fetch those walkie-talkies, don't take Dawn. I don't want her to add looting to her list of misdemeanours."






 

Spike looked again at his list: Oz, Amanda, James, Tara, Brandon, Fitzpatrick. Two watchers, one potential, one werewolf, one witch and Bit's boyfriend, which was probably going to earn him some grief, but the boy had held firm when The Initiative came after Dawn, and the rest, despite Amanda's habit of rabbiting on ten to the dozen, all had cool heads. That was what would count, more than who could knock down their opponents fastest. Having someone who could keep calm enough to decide what they were capable of dealing with on their own or know when to call in reinforcements would be the difference between success and failure. Kennedy might have had a shot, but for one thing he didn't like her and for another her head was swelled enough as it was, already trying to boss around the other girls, not to mention the odd watcher.

That was it. It'd have to do. Wes was too handy to have around if there was an emergency. Lydia was tied up with keeping the school running day to day. Bee, whilst knowledgeable enough, would probably wind up putting the damn cell-phone down somewhere and walking off and leaving it. Maybe there were more watchers who might have been capable, but most of them did their best to have as little as possible to do with the vampire, which made it difficult for him to trust them. Time to go and break the news.






 

"You should be taking it easy," Faith argued.

The watcher simply smiled, shrugged on his leather jacket with only a slight trace of awkwardness, and held up the keys to Spike's bike. "I'm guessing that you've never seen a rugby match? You might be bad, but a cracked rib and a few bruises is nothing compared with the state I've been in now and again after eighty minutes on a rugby pitch. And that's what I do for fun."

"How'd you talk him into it?"

James shrugged. "Not a lot of use to him during the day. Did an oil change and a tune up for him."

"I'm supposed to be taking a training session in a couple of hours." Faith seemed to be wavering.

"Guess you better get a move on, then, if you want some more of that cheesecake."

Faith snatched the keys from his hand. "I'll drive. That way we have time for cheesecake and tacos."
 
Chapter 7.08
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.08
Sunday, July 14th, 2002


Tara jumped as she heard the grating rasp of the Zippo's wheel on its flint, but a gentle smile spread to her lips as the flame illuminated the planes of the vampire's face. She extended a hand, which the vampire took as their protocols dictated he should, letting her know that it was really him rather than The First.

Spike used the grip to tug her close enough for a welcoming hug before he set her free, and gave a nod to Bee who was acting as the witch's partner.

"How goes it?" Spike had already circled the building site's perimeter at a distance. He had eavesdropped on the conversations of the pairs of watchers and potentials, listening for any signs of undue rancour between them and had been moderately surprised to find that even the normal bickering that seemed par for the course when the group were at the school was missing. This group seemed far less edgy than when he had made a similar visit to the other half of his group earlier in the night.

"I put a calming ch-charm over the area," Tara responded as if she almost expected the vampire to berate her for it. When he gave an encouraging smile instead she continued. "I need to strengthen it about every half hour because of the size of the area and I think the seal sort of wears it down... but so far no one's made a try for the seal."

"Knew I put you in charge for a reason," Spike replied with a grin.

"Spike, I-I."

The vamp pressed a single finger to her lips and turned to Bee. He gave a jerk of his head so that his chin pointed to a pair of watchers who stood about thirty yards along the perimeter from where they were. "Why don't you keep them two company for now, pint size, an' me an' Glinda'll go check on the troops? I'll give her back when we've worked our way round."

He waited until Bee was half way over to her new post and the watchers had obviously seen her coming before he put an arm around the witch's shoulders and began to steer her in the opposite direction, pausing when they were out of easy hearing range for any of the seal's other guards. He kept his voice low as he spoke. "Something you want to ask, precious, or d'you want me to take a guess at what's troubling you?"

"I, well, I was wondering why you put me in charge of a group. I mean Wes-." She hesitated when Spike gave a soft sigh, not of impatience or even really disappointment, but almost as if this had been what he expected.

"Kept Wes back 'cause if there're any more trips like that one to Gilroy to be made he's a good guy to have at my back. Picked you for all sorts of reasons.

First an' foremost, I trust you." Spike let that dangle in the air for long enough to make sure Tara took in its full significance before he continued.

"Then there's the fact that, unlike Wes, you've been training with most of these guys. You know their names, who they are, what they're like, an' that counts for a lot.

You've got a heart that's pure an' true and you're braver when it comes to the crunch than you think. That means that not only are you goin' to be the last person to cave to the vibe that that goat's head doodad is givin' out, but if there's magic to be done, then you're the best placed to do it. Knew it from a long way back, an' I guess from what I heard about you an' the watcher's bird doin' them wards the other day that maybe you've had to begin to accept it, too. You're one in a million, little owl. A heart pure as yours asks the right way for somethin' that doesn't go against her ways an' that goddess of yours isn't gonna have the heart to say no to you any more'n the rest of us would. Maybe you're not as showy as Red used to be. I can't see you hacking your enemies apart with a bag full of knives. It's not the way you work... Not who you are, an' that's not the sort of power that I'd ever want you to know, but when it comes to drawin' on the power that flows through the earth an' using it to protect those around you, the only limits there are to what you can do are those you set on yourself. S'why the watcher bint had to pull the power out through you to do the wards. She could tell it was there, but she had to work against the fact you didn't believe you could. Like I say, 'long as you stick to stuff as your goddess would be willing to give, an' you give her the respect that's her due... Figure even with all them watchers an' all, you're the best magic user we've got."

"Willow-."

"Willow would've been swallowed up by that thing an' spat back out by now. Willow took power wherever she could find it, good or ill, an' never stopped to wonder whether she should do anythin', just whether she could. That seal glowin' the way it is, she'd've been like a cat in a field of catnip. You've got a fortitude that Red never had in her life. School came easy to her. Magic came easy to her an' she never appreciated anythin' or anyone she had when she'd got them, because she never had to work to get any of them. Not Wolf Boy, not you, an' not even the power to bring someone back from the dead. Red was fireworks on the fourth of July, noisy, gaudy and brief. You're the moon in all its womanly serenity.

You're wiser an' stronger than ever Red was an', here an' now, I'd sooner have you than two of her. It's not just me as thinks so, neither. Wager folks here would mostly all do anything you wanted for the askin'. They know you won't ask more from them than you'd give yourself and that they're not just chess pieces on a board to you that you'd sacrifice as need be... That's more my line."

"Even though you're the one who should be back in bed with Buffy, but you're out here checking on us and doing the pep talk instead?" Tara raised an eyebrow over a suspiciously bright eye.

"A good commander always knows what's happenin' with his troops, an' I put my two groups on nights so that I'd be able to check on them. No point doin' that if I'm going to stay in m'pit."

"And Buffy doesn't object?"

Spike gave a wicked grin and began to steer the witch toward the next pair of sentries. "That'd depend how much I tire her out beforehand, poppet."






 

"Gah!" Buffy shivered as the naked vampire enfolded her in his arms. "You know most women just have to worry about cold feet."

"Most women don't have a gorgeous hunk of man flesh to warm them up." Spike turned Buffy to face him and pressed a languorous kiss to her lips, his hands rubbing her back as if the friction would compensate for the chill that the night had given his flesh.

"Most women don't have their guys sneaking out of their bed to visit other women less than a week before their wedding," Buffy retaliated, but not until her contented sigh had given away the fact that she was nowhere near as annoyed with him as she might pretend.

"Can I help it if I'm popular?" Spike replied, and despite the darkness Buffy knew there was a smirk on his lips.

In a trice she rolled them until she straddled her fiancé's waist as he lay on his back. Her fingers traced their way along his arms until they met and intertwined with his, holding his hands out to either side of his head. "You can help if you're a great big undead flirt," she answered, ducking her head to claim another kiss.

"I do what it takes to keep morale up."

Buffy couldn't prevent her mind from flashing on the image of Spike in nothing but a pair of jeans, demonstrating hand to hand moves for an audience of enraptured potentials, every lithe muscle on display. They definitely paid more attention to his teaching than they did to hers. She wasn't shivering any more.

"An' I think you mean a great big undead tease. Bints all know I'm taken, heart an'... well, maybe not soul."

"Better be," Buffy mock threatened as she shifted against him, her body instinctively seeking to unite more intimately with his.

"Till the end of the world, starshine," Spike answered as Buffy enveloped him in her warmth.

There were no more words, just the unhurried slip of flesh on flesh and a flood of reverence and love as Spike allowed his emotions to flow into her as freely as his seed.

Long minutes later Buffy freed her hands from his and laid her head on his shoulder. Her lips pressed against the mark of her claiming with nibbling kisses and she earned a rumble from Spike's throat that came somewhere between a growl and a purr for her efforts. "We are so going to have to stop doing this all the time now that there's no hot water to wash in, or I am going to be stinky Buffy."

There was something about the idea of Buffy being marked so pervasively with his scent that it was obvious not only to his vampire senses but to those of every male with whom she came in contact that appealed to Spike at a primitive level. Clearer than any words could have expressed, his dick, which had previously been semi-rigid in the cocoon of Buffy's muscles, returned to attention.

Buffy's eyes widened as Spike rolled them over once more. His hips slammed hard against hers once and then his pelvis began grinding in a tiny figure eight that pressed on all the right spots. His bent his head to tease one tiny erect nipple with the brush of his tongue.

In a breathless gasp Buffy found her voice to protest feebly, even though her body's instinctive arch toward him belied her words. "This would be the vamp version of stopping, huh?"

"I guess I'll just have to lick you all clean when we finish," the vampire growled, amusement in his words, before he turned his attention to her other breast. He sucked hard on the rosy bud at its tip before administering a playful nip that induced Buffy to give a ragged moan. His tongue swept lower to lick a bead of sweat from where the curve of her breast met her ribcage. "Every salty inch."






 

"Spike? Are you awake?" Buffy whispered. Morning light filtered through the sheeting that covered the tiny window in the roof of their room and the slayer knew that the time had come.

"More or less. Wha's up, apple blossom?" The vampire yawned and kissed the bare shoulder in front of him.

"I'm going to the vineyard. Today." She rolled over to face him, her eyes holding a plea that he didn't yet understand. "I'm tired of waiting for him to come to us. I'm tired of taking the defensive."

"Just say the word and I'm there. You know that."

"I know... and... I appreciate it. Really, I do..."

"But?" Spike asked, beginning to realise what was coming.

"But if you're right about him having some weapon there, then you aren't going to be any better placed to get it or use it than Caleb is. He won't expect us to hit during the day. We've been keeping to night time patrols, so far, and we haven't made a direct attack. It's our best chance."

"We could take the DeSoto..." Spike knew he sounded pathetically over-eager.

"I... You know that when it comes to a fight that there's no one on this earth that I'd rather have at my back than you, but there's more to this than that. I don't know why, but my gut is saying that this is a slayer thing. This is something we have to do. Me and Faith. Together. She's spent too long in my shadow. We have to do this and we have to do it as equal partners. If you're with us, then Faith ends up being the third wheel. We have to go alone. One to distract Caleb and one to find the slayer spear of destiny or whatever it is."

Spike rolled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side, rubbing at his face with both hands, not wanting to let her feel his turbid jumble of confusion and resentment, lest it undermine her.

"I-. Hell, you know already how much it'll tear away inside me, knowin' that you're in danger an' feelin' that I should be there to help you. Figure if you know that, an' you still feel it's not my place, then 'bout all I can do is give you my blessin'."

"I don't get it either, Spike." Buffy shuffled across the mattress on her knees and wrapped her arms around Spike's shoulders, pressing against his back. Spike was surprised to find that her own feeling of loss echoed his own. "But it feels right. It feels like something we have to do. It's a step that I have to take with Faith, but it's just one step and the rest of the way it'll be me and you."

"Bollocks!" Spike gave a resigned sigh. "Buffy, you know I'll be waiting right here when you get back."

"I expected more pacing in the lobby, actually."

"Well, yeah, like as not, but here in the building, waiting to hail the conquering heroes just the same."

"Heyyyyy," Buffy allowed a touch of humour to return to her voice now that she had his acceptance. It would have been easier for her to sneak out while he thought she was busy with a training session, maybe even to leave him a note, but it would have been wrong somehow to begin this with a deception. "No hailing any heroes other than me."
 
Chapter 7.09
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.09
Sunday, July 14th, 2002


"I envy them. Isn't that the strangest thing?" The speaker's features and even the softness of her tone might have resembled Buffy's in every detail but her casual familiarity with the turncoat preacher, with whom she strolled the underground wine cellar, was proof enough that it was really The First.

"Well, it does throw me a tad. I mean, they're just." Caleb screwed his face into a grimace. "Well, they're barely more than animals, feedin' off each other's flesh. It's nauseatin'. But you. you're everywhere." His voice grew louder and his expression more rapt as he continued. "You're in the hearts of little children. You're in the souls of the rich. You're the fire that makes people kill and hate, the fire that will cure the world of weakness. They're just sinners. You are sin."

"I do enjoy your sermons," the phantasm replied, but her cleric was not yet done.

"And you're in me. Gave me strength no man can have." His eyes were filled with an insane reverence. His gratitude obvious to the world, had anyone else been there to see.

"You're the only man strong enough to be my vessel. And I know you feel me but. I know why they grab at each other. To feel. I want to feel." The First's voice was filled with yearning, before it turned to ice. "I want to wrap my hands around an innocent neck and feel it crack."

"Amen," the clergyman added with all the fervour of a television evangelist.

"But the time when that will happen draws nearer..." She fixed Caleb with a stern glare. "I f you don't continue to let the slayers and their tame vampire annihilate all my earthly followers."

"The slayers and their people won't matter. Let them chase our little no-eyed boys all 'round town. It shouldn't be long now. Prophesies say one thing, brute strength says another. We'll get it out."

"I heard you, Caleb."

"We're almost there," the clergyman argued.

"Yes. That's true. Now rouse the Bringers that we have got left and get them back to work."

A series of dull thuds drew their attention to the stairs that led up to ground level, and a bringer landed almost at their feet, his own dagger embedded in his chest. Buffy stood on a small landing where the staircase took a right turn. Everything about her demeanour announced that this time she had come to settle this. "Hey. I heard you got something of mine." Buffy placed a hand on the metal rail at each side of the staircase and lifted her feet so she slid gracefully and swiftly to the basement, appearing as practiced as any mariner. "Some kind of holy hand grenade or something?"

Once she reached the lower level, her eyes darted left and right, taking in the huge casks that seemed to be built into the walls of the large, open chamber. Other not quite so large drums sat in groups on their ends, and the smallest ones, which were still at least as large as your average garden rain barrel sat on racks two or three high or were stacked on their sides. Nowhere was there anything to indicate where something might be hidden. There was no doorway, no staircase to lead down to the level where she and Spike had heard the bringers digging.

Caleb sauntered toward her, his tone casual and yet ominous, just like every crooked good ol' boy sheriff in a slew of movies from the seventies and eighties. "Well, if it ain't the long-anticipated Slayer. I thought you might have taken me up on that little invitation a mite sooner. I guess li'l Shannon wasn't as convincing as she might have been."

"Where's it at?" Buffy interrupted. She wasn't about to let him know just how big an effect his invitation had had on her. "I'm going to find it sooner or later."

Caleb continued to close the distance between them with the same nonchalant gait. "No, you're not. I lay one hand on you and you're just a dead little girl."

"Lay a hand on me." Buffy replied, turning her words into a dare with a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow that would have made Spike proud. "If you can."

Caleb smiled complacently and pulled his arm back to throw a punch. As his fist flew forward with a force not known to any human, Buffy bent over backward, almost into the crab position, and the blow sailed right over her head.

"You do realise that if you wanted that punch to be a surprise you shouldn't let your jawas know what's going on." She twisted out of the way as he staggered forward, his momentum throwing him off balance.

The preacher let loose with a right hook and Buffy ducked under his flailing arm and dove forward, tucking into a roll that brought her up several yards away. Caleb's insincere smile had faded now and when he turned to face her his countenance was livid with rage. He lunged for Buffy like an NFL linebacker aiming to sack the quarterback, his shoulder aimed squarely for her solar plexus, but Buffy flipped up into a handstand on top of one of the upended casks, and then back onto her toes atop one of the stacks of kegs, her balance so perfect that the pyramid didn't move so much as a fraction of an inch. Buffy danced her way along the top row of barrels. "And people say that cheerleading is no use in real life?" she goaded the one-time clergyman, scanning the room from her new vantage point as she did so for any way to a lower level or anything sufficiently out of place to indicate a possible cache.

Caleb made a grab for Buffy's ankles but was just a touch too slow. His weight and the strength behind his lunge sent the stacked drums crashing down around him, splashing red wine all over him as they tumbled to the floor. He threw aside shards of wood and metal as he got to his feet, looking around frantically for his opponent. His gaze fell on the blonde, who sat perched atop one of the upended casks, her legs swinging like those of a small child on a porch swing as she watched him. She raised her eyes to look over his shoulder. His head whipped around to find another Buffy staring down from where she was walking the rafters behind him like a tightrope.

"Guessing that IQ isn't a major requirement when you're recruiting?" Buffy asked her simulacrum as Caleb's head twisted backward and forward.

The woman on the barrel shook her head with frustration. "Caleb, this is getting embarrassing."

Caleb lunged at the feet of the Buffy behind him, but she tucked into a handstand and back upright again, before she added one more somersault as she dismounted, landing yards from the disoriented man. Caleb made another desperate dive, but when Buffy twisted out of his reach he hit the ground hard near where The First was sitting.

"Do you have to look like that?" he asked, as he raised his eyes toward his deity.

"Will you concentrate?" she retorted.

"It's just a little confusing," Caleb half-sighed, sounding vaguely exasperated.

"Fine. Go. Kill." The First seemed to fold in on itself, and then from its centre there was a ball of light that expanded sideways and blinked into nothingness.

Buffy grinned down at the preacher from the top of a pile of drums. "You know, it seems to me like your floor is leaking more than solid concrete should." She looked down at the steadily shrinking puddle of wine on the floor.

This time, instead of making a grab for her, Caleb tugged away the cask from under her feet.

Buffy skipped to the next barrel along and pushed off against it, grabbing at one of the ceiling beams and swinging to land on the floor once more out of Caleb's reach, and closer to the area where the wine was draining from.

Choosing one of the foremost kegs at random, Buffy grabbed the top edge with a hand on either side and tilted it until it fell over on its side before she kicked it in the cleric's direction. Maybe she couldn't go toe-to-toe with this guy, but she still had slayer strength.

The First's disciple stared at her from his hunched position where he seemed to be using one of the casks to help him stay upright despite his breathless, scarlet-faced fury, only dodging out of the way of the incoming barrel at the last instant. "You whore."

"You know, you really should watch your language," Buffy remonstrated, her voice painfully chirpy as she skipped her way to the top of a rack. "If someone didn't know you, they might think you were a woman-hating prick."

Caleb grabbed another of the containers and hoisting it over his head, he threw it straight at the slayer, only to have her nimbly twist out of the way and let it go sailing past her. It smashed to kindling as it hit the nearby wall, splashing more full-bodied red over the floor. He snatched another barrel from its resting place and this time he scored a perfect hit.

Buffy fell backward, but she managed to push the drum to one side before it crushed her between it and the floor. She rolled to her feet, her eyes meeting the preacher's before they dropped to the now exposed trapdoor in the floor and then returned to Caleb, both of them watching for the tell that would give away their opponent's next move. The slayer began to circle round, as if hoping to draw him away from his spot just feet from the way to the chambers below.

Caleb hurled another keg in her direction and she dodged to one side. The impact sent one of the racks tumbling, casks spilling in all directions and covering the entrance to the lower level in a pile of debris. "Not so smart now, are you, little girl?"

Just then a reedy electronic version of "London Calling" began to play from the pocket of the slayer's jacket. Buffy's eyes sparkled with laughter as the cleric seemed to sense something wrong for the first time and began to lumber his way toward her over the mound of wood and metal in his way. The slayer darted up the stairs to the upper level. "Gotta go. My ride's here."

For a second the preacher stared after her retreating form, but then with a howl of rage he began to pull the mess away from the access hatch that led down to the excavations below.





Earlier that morning
 

"Yeah, yeah!" Faith rolled her eyes at Spike. "I've got it. Go in through the tunnels. Kill any bringers that get in the way. Find Excalibur Mark II and steal it. Need reinforcements, call Buffy's cell. Got the goods, call yours and Buffy can get the hell outta Dodge. It's not rocket science. I get Scottie here on Wes's motorcycle for my getaway driver. B gets Wes with Giles' Jeep. Either way, we're out of there pronto."

"Alright, then," the vampire concurred slightly morosely before passing his cell over to Buffy.

The slayer gave him a grateful smile and pushed the device into the opposite pocket to the one where she carried her own phone. "I never expected to say this to you, but it's a good plan," she whispered, leaning in close to his ear. "It'll work. He won't be expecting us to come from both sides."

"I hope you're right, pet." Spike turned and rested his forehead against hers, long pale digits brushing a caress against the claim mark on her neck. "Just make sure you don't let him lay so much as a grubby finger on you."

Buffy placed her hand over his. "Check. I've got all the fingers on me that I want."

"Geez, get a room," Faith teased scornfully, but she didn't pull her own hand free of James's as the couple made their way out into the false dawn.

Buffy pushed onto tiptoe and wound her fingers in Spike's curls to draw his lips down to meet hers. His arms folded around her, holding her close until she drew her head back and then slipping reluctantly away to let her go. "Come on, Wes. Quicker we go the more chance we have of getting back before he combusts from pure impatience."

"Actually," Wes corrected her even as she pushed him out the door. "When we can leave is rather more dependent on how long it takes Faith to find this thing you're meant to wield, and whether it's specific to you or whether it can be used by any slayer."

Buffy turned at the bottom of the school steps and gave Spike an apologetic smile. "Back soon," she mouthed silently.

"Just come back in one piece an' I'll be happy," Spike whispered in a belated reply as he stood in the school's doorway to watch Giles' 4x4 disappear down the drive.






 

Faith twisted the neck on the last remaining bringer. For the first time she was free to give her attention to the weapon that rested with its blade embedded in solid rock. The bringers had chipped away the granite surrounding it into a podium of sorts. The rock immediately adjacent to the blade had been burned and blackened, melted almost into glass. The edge of the blade was a gleaming silver, the remainder a gleaming metallic red. There was a grip behind the axe head and the end of the wooden shaft was sharpened into a lethal point. Faith couldn't help but gaze at the axe in awe. Slowly, she made her way forward, a growing sense of belonging coming over her. She reached out and with almost no effort she pulled the axe from its resting place. She tested its weight in her hands and for the first time since her father had walked out she felt like she was home.
 
Chapter 7.10
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.10
Sunday, July 14th, 2002


Just as Buffy had expected, Spike was waiting for her in the entrance hall. His eyes seemed to burn into hers as soon as she walked through the door.

With a huffing breath that might have been an amused snort, Wes announced his intention to check on Marie and Rosa before he joined the debriefing in the library.

As soon as her arms wrapped around Spike's neck, she felt a rush of desire that swamped her awareness like a tidal wave, though it was equally matched by her own fight-induced arousal.

Spike's hands slipped under her coat and found the curves of her behind, lifting her and pulling her close against him. His human teeth tugged and nibbled at her earlobe in between whispered promises and endearments. "You know that you are soddin' amazing, right? You really showed that wanker. Could see it all so clear, it was almost like I could feel you makin' every turn, every jump, every damn handstand. Like I could feel my muscles movin' to match yours."

The words conjured images of a different sort of communion and Buffy reacted instinctively, even though a small part of her brain was telling her that they were right out in the open. Her legs wrapped around Spike's waist, so that she could feel the hardness of his dick pressing against her centre and, unable to help herself, she began to rock against him. Her back slammed into the hardwood panelling and she gasped as Spike matched her small but forceful thrusts.

"You make me hard as an iron bar... even when you're half a town away. The way you move..." His hands no longer needed to hold Buffy in place, he skimmed his fingers along her sides under her coat, feeling her shiver in response to the barest touch through the cotton of her top, even before his thumbs stretched across to brush against her breasts, teasing until her nipples stood so erect they almost seemed to grate against the lace of her bra, creating sensual pain with her every movement. "All that grace... an' all that power." He splayed his fingers as one hand slid down her body as if laying a territorial claim to her womb before it strayed even lower. His kisses became more open-mouthed, working his way down to her collar bone with playful nips and sucks that stopped just short of anything that might leave a mark. "Like a mountain lion."

Buffy's gentle mewl as his fingernail rasped its way over the central seam of her jeans made him grin against the golden skin of her neck, and he let it repeat its trail several times before he began to press more firmly against her, eventually using his whole hand to provide friction where she needed it most. When her mewling shifted to moaning he pressed his other hand over her mouth, and drew back his head, only to fasten onto the other side of her neck. Finding the scar that marked his claim with unerring accuracy, he didn't even need to draw blood. His tongue traced the raised lines on her flesh as he sucked at her skin. The writhing of their bodies became more frantic and Spike pressed down harder with the hand that covered Buffy's mouth, stifling her rapturous scream. It took every one of his one hundred and twenty two years of experience not to soil his jeans as he felt the waves of second hand euphoria wash over him. Buffy trembled through orgasm after orgasm with only the wall at her back holding them up as he pulled at the sensitised area on her neck until her body couldn't take any more and she slipped into unconsciousness.






 

Giles lifted the axe, turning it over in his hands, peering at the gleaming metal finish on the blade and trying out different ways of holding it. "This is really rather ingenious," Giles commented, trying first a hacking motion, then, gripping the side of the blade, he used a reverse thrust to stake an imaginary opponent, before reversing his swing to slash open the throat of another. "I wonder what it's called."

Faith shifted her weight onto one leg, tilted her head and gave the watcher a sceptical look. "Well, gee, Giles... What say, since it looks like an axe, feels like an axe and swings like an axe, that we call it an axe?"

"There's no need to be facetious. It's clearly intended to be used as a stake and almost-." Giles coughed as if to clear his throat before going back to his minute inspection of the weapon.

"Almost what, Giles?" James asked.

The watcher reddened slightly. "Well, almost like one of those Klingon ceremonial weapons. I mean I only watched it that year I wasn't working and it was really Spike who put it on. It was just that occasionally I happened to be in the room at the time."

James leaned forward and patted the older watcher on the forearm. "It's okay. She won't tell anyone other than all the... Scoobies, I think you call them, and maybe Lydia about your Sci-Fi habit. She doesn't actually talk to Quentin."

"But you say that you can feel a mystical connection when you hold it?" Giles asked the slayer, ignoring his future humiliation.

"It's not like I came in my pants," Faith retorted. "But, yeah, it feels like there's power there and it's like it's mine. Not in an 'I paid for it' sort of way, but more like it was a part of me that was missing only I never knew it up until now."

"In addition to being ancient, it's clearly mystical."

"Ooh," came a chirpy voice from the doorway. "I know this one... 'Cause it's all shiny?"

"Did someone announce a day of Giles mockery without telling me?" the watcher asked as Buffy made her way into the room, looking rather flushed, closely followed by a rather smug looking Spike.

"Not that I know of," the vamp responded, "but I'm sure we can oblige."

"Ooh!" Buffy's eyes widened as she got her first look at the axe. "It really is shiny. Does this mean that light bulbs are mystical, too?"

Faith reached out and took the weapon from Giles. Holding it by the handle she tossed it underarm, sending it spinning in a high arc toward Buffy. The blonde slayer grabbed it out of the air, twirled it a couple of times like a majorette's baton before imitating the moves that Giles had made a minute before, albeit in a slightly different order.

"Actually, B, there's also the whole Excalibur deal."

"Faith said she could feel a connection with the weapon?" Giles prodded.

Buffy tossed the axe back toward Faith who caught it just as deftly as she had. "Hoo, yeah. There's a feeling. Can only think of one thing that feels more like it belongs to me."

Giles gave his slayer a puzzled look, but it was Spike who answered for her. "That thing had better be five foot ten, rakishly handsome, a bottle blond, an' answer to the name of Spike," he mock growled, as he stalked up the library's central aisle and wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling at her neck.

Buffy twisted to get a view of his face and batted her eyelashes innocently. "Mr Gordo's not that tall."

Spike planted a string of teasing kisses down the side of Buffy's neck as she squirmed in his arms. "See what I have to put up with... an' this is before we're even married. God only knows what she'll be like once she gets the other ring on her finger."






Monday, July 15th, 2002

 

"Nothing?" Buffy asked the assembled watchers in a disbelieving tone.

"You can't always find the information you're looking for in the first volume that comes to hand," Penelope offered consolingly, "but I'm sure we'll find the answers soon."

Giles sighed. "We have teams working at the town library, the main university library, the archaeology department library and the town museum. There are people working on Bee's books and the curator's private collection as well as the council library. There has to be something somewhere about either the weapon itself or what was on the site before the vineyard existed to give us a clue as to what we're dealing with. If Caleb knew to look for the inscription at that mission, there must have been some clue that told him where to look. With enough time we'll track it down. I find it hard to believe that a weapon like this could exist without some word of it reaching the council."

"Who says they didn't know? It's not like they go out of their way to spread the news and we don't have 'enough time', Giles. In case you've forgotten, I am getting married in five days. I'd really rather not have this Caleb creep decide that he's officiating at the ceremony... and I can't say that I'm not worried about the guy who is doing it, but since he won't move from where his parishioners expect him to be, there's not a lot I can do about that other than try to get rid of these guys as soon as possible. We did our bit. We went out there and got the thing. The potentials and your guys are all keeping an eye on the seal... but sooner or later if you don't get your act together and get me some answers we're going to send a relief squad out there and it'll be our guys that have turned into the next generation of bringers or strung each other up over that seal."

"Buffy, I'm sure we'll find something soon."

"You better hope for all our sakes that soon is soon enough."






Tuesday, July 16th, 2002

 

Penny looked at her single page of hand written notes that condensed the progress of the various teams. "It seems that the vineyard was originally set up by some Benedictine monks. The site was sold into private ownership after a major quake destroyed the monastery building in the 1920's but the winery survived. However, there is some evidence to suggest that the monastery may have been built on the site of a Pagan temple."

"We talking Indian, here?" Spike asked.

"Native American, Spike!" Buffy corrected him rather sharply.

"It's difficult to say. The descriptions aren't exactly precise," the watcher admitted.

"Well, try," Buffy ordered, seeming to add the word, "please" as a conscious attempt to mitigate her short temper slightly. "We've got that purification crystal that we ordered now, and you tell us that we've got a volunteer to use it, even if he doesn't want people to know who it is until it's time. We've got the shiny axe. If you don't come up with something soon, then we're just going to have to raid the butchers, open up that hole in the ground and go see what all the fuss is about, but I'd really rather it wasn't a kamikaze mission."

"Isn't there some hocus pocus you could maybe do on the actual axe to get more information?" Faith asked, her fingertips brushing up and down the weapon's haft where it rested atop her thighs in an almost sensual caress.

"Frankly, unless we have some concept of the level of power that we're dealing with, or at the very least an intimation that the power within it is benign, I'm very loath to ask anyone to try," Giles told her.

"Too damn right," Spike agreed. "Not gonna let anything dark get its claws into Glinda."






Wednesday, July 17th, 2002

 

"So, hundreds of watchers looking at thousands of books and we're no further forward than we were yesterday?" Buffy demanded, almost hysterically, despite the soothing hands that caressed her arms and back with calming strokes. "We have a little over seventy two hours to deal with this thing, Giles! My aunt is flying into town in two days time. I already had to tell her that the hotel where she was originally booked to stay had been closed 'cause all the staff had gastric flu and book her in somewhere out of town, but I still have to meet her at the airport and take her to her hotel and make it look like the world is not about to end. We need answers, Giles!"

"We've found hundreds of references that could be it, Buffy. The problem is simply that none of the illustrations or descriptions are definitive. It could be The Axe of Dekeron, in which case it would be unspeakably evil or it might just as easily be The Reaper of the Tigris, in which case the power within the axe is neither good nor evil except in how it is used. Or it could be any one of a hundred others. You see our problem?"

Spike rose to his feet, taking Buffy's hand as his movement tipped her from his lap. "Come on, pet. Watchers aren't finding anything out while you're yelling at them."

"Watchers aren't finding anything out, period," Buffy countered, tears of frustration threatening to overflow her eyes.

"Shhhh..." Spike brushed his lips against her forehead and then leaned down to rest his brow against hers while his arms gathered her close, answering her in a soothing whisper as if she were a distraught child. "The answers might not be in the watchers' books, but that doesn't mean we can't get them. We can do this. We're meant to get through this. Ain't no force in the world strong enough to take what we've got away from us."

Buffy made a small noise that was half sob and half hiccup and Spike swept her into his arms. His gaze met Faith's and then dropped from her face to the axe she carried before travelling back up. The darker slayer stood and slotted the axe's handle into Spike's pocket before he carried Buffy from the room.

"We just need to do this our way..." the vampire reassured her.
 
Chapter 7.11
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.11
Wednesday, July 17th, 2002


Buffy was vaguely aware that Spike wasn't heading in the direction of their room but, right then, she couldn't bring herself to care where he was taking her. It was only when she realised that he seemed to have made certain preparations that she began to pay more attention to her surroundings. Spike laid her gently onto a two foot high stack of thick exercise mats and placed the axe by her side before he made his way back up the basement stairs, closing the door at the top and locking it.

Candles burned in holders on every second step and every foot or so around the edge of the room, which was still almost bare except for the mats and the chains in the centre of the floor.

The vamp let his duster slide slowly down his arms to drape itself over the concrete floor as he prowled back to his woman. "You know what we have to do... don't you?" he asked in a rasping whisper, listening to the acceleration of Buffy's pulse as he crawled along the length of her prone body to look into her eyes.

For just a fraction of a second, the slayer's expression bespoke the same confusion and frustration that had marred the meeting upstairs. Then, she realised the full significance of the territorial gleam in the vamp's eyes. Although he was still holding himself in check, the tiny hairs on the back of Buffy's neck prickled their awareness of a nearby predator. Suddenly, Buffy knew that she didn't have to wait helplessly for Caleb's next move while her wedding day drew closer. She knew that there was one avenue of enquiry that had yet to be explored, one that was only open to her and her mate and one that had the potential to be a lot more exciting than reading any of Giles' dry old books. With that knowledge Buffy felt the power grow within her, as if her feelings of helplessness had stifled it like an oxygen starved fire that now roared into a beautiful and deadly inferno.

She reached up and gripped the neckline of Spike's T-shirt in both her hands, ripping it apart as if it were as easily torn as wet tissue paper. "I know what we have to do," she responded, her eyes bright with an inner light. She savoured the vampire's feral grin, their gazes locked on each other, as she slipped free of her shoes and curled her legs up between them. Instead of letting her knees drop to one side or wrapping her legs around Spike's waist, she pushed out against his solar plexus with a strength that launched him backward several feet.

She rose from the makeshift bed and shucked off the shirt that covered her strappy top before she picked up the axe.

Spike grinned his approval from where he was sprawled on the concrete floor, trying to regain the breath that he no longer needed. He pulled the shredded cloth from his torso. "Come on, kitten," he urged as he rose to his feet and beckoned her on. "You know I like a bit of rough and tumble."

Buffy sauntered cockily towards him, holding the axe loosely in one hand as she closed the gap, but her first quip was cut short as Spike drove a shoulder into her stomach and propelled her back onto the mats.

He reached up and tore aside the thin fabric that covered her torso.

Buffy's bared breasts heaved up and down, holding the vampire transfixed as she gasped for the air he had driven from her body. That lapse of concentration was all that the slayer needed and she rolled them both until she looked down on her mate, the wooden point of the axe's handle pressed against the pale skin over his heart. "You're going to reach down very slowly... You wouldn't want to do anything that just might make me slip, and you're going to take off those jeans you're wearing."

Spike raised his hands and moved them unhurriedly down to his belt buckle, sliding the leather end free of its belt loops and unfastening it with a rattle that was so familiar that it alone caused Buffy's stomach muscles to tighten and her heart to race. Quick as a striking rattlesnake, his arm swept the axe to the side, leaving a livid pink scratch across his chest, and sending the weapon flying from Buffy's grip.

Buffy immediately tumbled into a roll, snatching the weapon from the floor as she moved. She was surprised when she turned to face the vampire once again, to find that he was kicking off his boots.

Button by button he undid the flies of his jeans and pushed the heavy cotton down his legs, before stepping free of it. "All you had to do was ask, gorgeous. 'Sides, they were gettin' a mite restrictive."

Buffy found herself unable to resist staring at his swaying cock, fascinated by the way it brushed against the rippling muscles of his stomach as he swaggered naked towards her. The balance of power had shifted again and she was once more hunted instead of hunter... not that it really mattered since in this game they both came out as winners.

"Your turn, spitfire, unless you plan to go back to our room with your arse showin' later..." Spike raised an eyebrow as he slowly but inexorably closed the gap between them. He reached out and pulled the axe from Buffy's suddenly nerveless fingers and hurled it backhanded across the room so that the blade buried itself horizontally in the plaster and lath wall above the mats. The thin fabric of Buffy's low-riding trousers tore easily, as he shredded them and her panties with the same economy of movement, every sensual action speaking of raw animal power constrained, and Buffy eagerly kicked her way free of the remnants.

"You really do think you're God's gift, don't you?" she asked more from reflex than from any desire or power or rapidly receding concept of rational thought. Grabbing the vampire by his forearms and swinging him around she pushed him back against the wall. An instant later her naked body crashed into his, her mouth claiming his with mounting ferocity, before she in turn was picked up, and her back smashed against the wall.

"Know you are," the vamp hissed against her ear in reply. Only the pressure of Spike's body pinning her against the wall kept Buffy from slipping down. Then, cool hands slipped between her thighs and guided her legs around his waist and conflict evaporated into co-operation as they drove toward their mutual goal.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she raised herself up until she felt the tip of his dick brushing against the damp folds of her sex. She slammed home, her eyes widening in momentary pain and short-lived satisfaction at the sudden penetration before she began to raise and lower herself in a deliberate rhythm.

Spike gripped his lower lip between his teeth and, focusing on that minor pain instead of physical pleasure of their joining or the primal feelings of desire, joy and power that coursed through their shared bond, he managed to stagger his way from the basement's side wall, to the end wall and finally to the mats in the corner before he let them tumble over. Buffy's body landed under his, the momentum of their fall driving them together with a force that sent tremors through both their bodies. The vampire guided Buffy's hands to where the axe was embedded in the wall above her head before he let the tide of their emotions carry him away.

Her fingers slipped naturally around the wood, one hand grasping the grip behind the gleaming axe head, the other wrapping around the stake-like handle, her knuckles whitening as she pressed back against the axe to stop Spike's pounding thrusts from driving her further and further up the mats. She revelled in the ferocity of their mating, the channeled violence calling to the primitive inside her in a way their more gentle lovemaking never could and she began to feel the first tremors in her muscles even before Spike's head dropped to nuzzle at her claim mark.

"Change... Spike," she gasped with the little air that she seemed to have left to her. She felt the pressure build in the pit of her stomach as clearly as she felt his shifting bones pressing against her neck.

The vampire lifted his head for long enough to claim a scorching kiss, sharp teeth leaving cuts in each of their tongues though Buffy was too lost to the pleasure to notice such a minor pain.

Instead she whimpered at the loss when he dropped his head to her neck once more.

His teeth pierced deep into her flesh, and as he drew the first mouthful of blood from her veins she plunged over the edge.

She screamed out his name as his seed spilled inside her and while the echoes of her cry still reverberated off the walls, she fastened her mouth over the area where Spike's neck and shoulder met and bit down until the copper taste of her mate's blood filled her mouth, mingling with the taste of her own.

"Mine," Spike growled by her ear, his hips moving more slowly against hers now, grinding firmly against her at the end of every stroke and setting off aftershocks that made Buffy's whole body quiver.

"Yours... always," Buffy replied as he began to lick closed the wound on her neck. "Mine?" she asked, nipping playfully at one of the vamp's earlobes as he finally stilled.

"'Til the end of the world, princess."

Buffy lowered her arms, dropping them over Spike's head and letting them rest against his back as the visions began to overtake them both. It was much later, when the flashes of the future had long since faded into an exhausted sleep, which in turn had given way to a hazy languor, that she realised that she still held the axe.






 

Penelope's eyes went to Giles as she felt the floor move beneath her feet. "Is that an earthquake?" she asked with a slight tremor in her voice as she mentally measured the distance between herself and the nearest doorway.

Giles barely glanced up from the book on the desk in front of him. "I'd like to think so," he replied.

"Couldn't it have some paranormal significance? Wasn't there an earthquake when The Master was released?" Penny asked.

Wes smiled at Giles' obvious reluctance. "I suspect we'd find the disturbance too localised to qualify as an earthquake. Let's just say that, when it comes to Spike and Buffy, talk about the earth moving isn't always hyperbole."

"Oh!" Wes's mother flushed a delicate shade of pink.

"But if we're lucky then, yes, it will have some paranormal significance."

Wes grinned when Penny's eyes widened even further as she realised exactly what was taking place beneath their feet. "Does Quentin know that they're mated?"

"Funnily enough, we've never got around to asking him. We were a little disappointed when he sent an assassin as his engagement present so we didn't mention it to him," her son remarked.

The library doors pushed open just at that moment, framing Quentin Travers as he rubbed at a large bump on his head. "Was that an earthquake?" the council head asked.

Penny raised her eyes heavenward as if in exasperation. "It is Southern California, Quentin. What did you expect?"

 




 



Buffy unclenched stiff fingers and let the axe slide to the floor beside the mats. When her gaze returned to her fiancé she found his eyes still sleepy but open and watching her in turn.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both so that his weight no longer pinned her though neither of them made any move to separate their joined bodies. "Love you," he whispered at her ear, though the words were superfluous in their shared afterglow.

"Love you, too, smarty-pants," Buffy half-sighed. "But I don't know why you couldn't think of this days ago," she added, giving him a gentle prod in the chest.

"Wasn't sure how you'd take to gettin' hitched with fresh fang marks on your neck. Thought I'd let the council of wankers have a try."

"I suppose I should get dressed and go tell Giles, and then we can try to find that place."

"Where's the hurry, love? In case you didn't notice it was dark in that vision, an' I reckon if it wasn't meant to be somethin' for us both to do, they'd have found the answer in one or other of their books by now. Just like you an' the jailbird were meant to find the thing, you an' me are meant to find out what you do with it."

"But, Spike," Buffy pleaded as she widened her eyes disingenuously. "There must be hours before it'll get dark. Whatever will we do?"
 
Chapter 7.12
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.12
Wednesday, July 17th, 2002


"So what's this aunt of yours like?" Spike asked as he tugged slightly on where his hand was joined with Buffy's to draw her off to the left of their previous path.

Buffy shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"So, if worst comes to worst, she'll cope with all the drama?"

"If you mean will she wig if Caleb turns up at the church with a bunch of his hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil monkies, you bet she will... She's not from Sunnydale. She doesn't know that you're meant to ignore these things."

"But she's your mum's sister, right? She'll swing an axe and take care of herself if push comes to shove?" His gaze travelled to the gleaming weapon that Buffy clasped in her other hand.

"I guess... But she's not going to have to... Right? 'Cause we're going to get this all sorted out before she gets here."

"Course we are, kitten," Spike answered as he pushed open a wrought iron gate swathed in dead vines at the graveyard's boundary. "You didn't see any bad guys muckin' things up when we were dancin' in that first vision we had, did you? And now they're pointin' us where we have to go to get everythin' all tied up in a nice pretty bow before your family get here. Can't go wrong when we're gettin' hints like that, can we?" He nodded toward the small pyramid that stood before them. "Told you I'd seen it before."

Buffy paused to look at the Egyptian-style engraving that had been gouged into the lintel above the blackened iron door. A reddish brown disc was centred in a pair of outstretched wings.

"The Winged Sun Disc," Spike's soft tones informed her, as if he had heard her unanswered question.

Buffy twisted to face him and raised an eyebrow. "A hint as to what it means might be more useful."

Spike shrugged. "Take your pick. Some reckon it's to do with rebirth an' the way Isis and Nephthys brought Osiris back to life. Some say it's a sign for Horus, the sun god... that he commanded Thoth, the god of knowledge, that it should be brought into every sanctuary to all the gods to drive out evil. Others reckon it symbolises air and it's used when you want to invoke the protection of the sylphs. The Masons used it as a sign for Jesus.

'For behold the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble: and the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the Lord of hosts, that it shall leave them neither root nor branch.

But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.

And ye shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this, saith the Lord of hosts.'

The Rosicrucians used it as a symbol of 'The Golden Age'. Same as the Egyptian myth, with the Gods coming back to rule over the earth in person and everythin' being all rosy an' bright, but the Christian version. Then some clever Dick decided that the sun god and Satan were the same thing an' some of these lots gave up on usin' it. Had it removed from all their stuff. Like I say, take your pick."

"Are you sure you weren't a watcher before you were turned?" Buffy asked and Spike released her hand, whether from disgust at her suggestion, or to allow her to approach the door would have been anyone's guess, if not for the fact that their bond told her his offence was as false as the attempted scowl on his face.

"Just because you couldn't make ten minutes to check out what it had to say on the internet. Some of us would as soon not walk into a situation blind when we don't have to... though I reckon in this case I'm not much further forward.

Gave the place the once over when I was lookin' for the Gem of Amarra. Door wouldn't..." The vampire's jaw dropped as Buffy took one step back before kicking in the hefty metal door so hard that it flew off its hinges and went skidding down the steps behind it. "Budge an inch," Spike finished in an awed whisper, as he began to follow his mate down the staircase she had revealed.






 

Buffy stepped warily into the chamber of finished stone that they found at the bottom of the long stairway. Both her hands gripped the axe she carried, ready to put it to use at an instant's notice. A flaming torch was mounted on the wall at either side of the doorway where they entered and flames flickered in a shallow brazier at the other side of the room. Unless there was some magic at work, and Buffy conceded that there probably was, the torches would have burned out long ago without someone to attend them. She heard the change in Spike's step behind her as he moved from the stairway to the level surface of the room's floor and the scraping noise he made as he lifted one of the torches from its holder.

Buffy peered into the corners of the mostly bare room as Spike held the torch high. Jars and baskets were clustered in groups in each one as if banished as far out of the way as possible. The light fell upon a curtain of filmy gauze that screened off a corridor leading from the room, but before Buffy could reach it, the insubstantial barrier was pushed to either side and an old woman stepped into the room.

The woman's face was lined with the marks of great age and her skin had the transparent glow that Spike had once associated with the later stages of tuberculosis. Her hair was drawn away from her face, but then spilled past her shoulders in waves of palest grey, but her back was straight and her voice surprisingly strong as she greeted them. "I'd forgotten. I'd forgotten how young she would be. Comes from the waiting. The mind plays tricks." She nodded toward the axe that Buffy still held in both hands. "I see you've found our weapon."

"Well, technically, Faith found it, but close enough," Buffy answered. "Who are you?"

"One of many," the old woman replied before she seemed to reconsider. "Well. time was. Now I'm alone in the world."

Spike moved up to stand at the slayer's side. "I think she was looking for something a bit closer to plain English, pet."

Buffy gave the vampire a grateful smile. "So you're some kind of ghost?" she asked, her eyes travelling over the robes that the woman wore, pretty certain that no one with the woman's pale complexion had worn that style of clothing since before Columbus had sailed the ocean blue.

The woman gave a smile that came close to being a laugh. "No, I'm as real as you are. Just. well, let me put it this way... I look good for my age. I've been waiting." She held out both her hands, palms upward and without any further cue Buffy laid the weapon on them, earning a look of relief from the vampire when the woman's fingers were solid enough to prevent the blade from falling to the ground. "You pulled it out of the rock-."

"Agai-. Ow!" Buffy protested as Spike stood none too gently on her toe.

The woman seemed to wait for the pair to return their attention to her. "You pulled it out of the rock. I was one of those who put it in there."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Was a time when if someone took as long to tell me what I wanted to know as you are, I'd have been pullin' their fingernails out with pliers by now."

This time it was Buffy's turn to kick the vampire in the shins. "Rude much, Spike. Ignore the King of Instant Gratification, here... not that time isn't at a premium.

What is it?" she asked.

Again the woman smiled as if haste was something that had become little more than a vague memory. "A weapon. A scythe. Forged in secrecy for one like you who- I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Buffy."

"No, really."

Spike smirked, earning himself a sidelong glare, but when Buffy shrugged the woman continued.

"We forged it in secrecy and kept it hidden from the Shadow Men who-."

"The who?" Buffy interrupted.

"Those who bound a demon into The First Slayer and bound her to the earth, forcing her to fight the creatures of darkness for them. Those who decreed that when she died the curse would fall upon another and when she died upon another and another. And they became the Watchers and the Watchers watched the Slayers. but we were watching them."

Spike's nose twitched slightly. "So you're like the Internal Affairs of the demon world?" He reached out and roughly grabbed the woman's arm, pulling her away from the curtain and propelling her halfway across the room. He grabbed the axe with his newly free hand in the instant he let the old woman go, tossing it back to Buffy and backing off until he was close enough to take the woman by the hand again. It all happened in just a fraction of a second but Buffy was ready and waiting for Caleb when he ripped down the semi-transparent curtain.

"You went and ruined my dramatic entrance. It was a real heartstopper," he accused Spike.

"This thing?" Buffy asked, her question aimed at the ancient, though she never took her gaze from the man before her. "This is what we needed to hurt this guy, right? That's why he wants it so bad. Because it can stop him?"

Caleb made a grab for the axe, but Buffy refused to relinquish her grip, gritting her teeth with the effort as he lifted her from the ground.

Her foot lashed out, a wickedly pointed boot catching him on the kneecap and Buffy found herself standing on solid ground once more. She swung out and hit her opponent on the side of the head with the stake-like end of the axe, drove the tip of the blade into his gut as if it were an old fashioned can opener and then she drew the weapon back, slashing across his body with the width of the lethally sharp blade.

"It's the only thing that can truly hurt him." The woman gasped as Spike jerked her sideways and stepped around her, just in time to drive a knee into Caleb's gut as the cleric grasped at the wall for support, the ferocity of his lunge for the old woman having driven his fist through a foot thick stone pillar and bringing the column crashing down in a cloud of dust.

Spike darted backward before The First's priest could make a grab for him, but Buffy brought the axe blade smashing down into Caleb's lower back as he moved to straighten up.

She gave a smug grin as he slumped to the ground, his spine obviously severed and a huge gash exposed as his fall ripped the blade from his flesh. The smile faded as the man's bones began to knit together before their eyes. Buffy was so mesmerised by the rapidly healing damage that she failed to see the hand that shifted to grab her foot and yank it out from under her until Spike gave a belated warning.

"You must separate his head from his body or cleave his heart in two," the grey-haired woman called out.

"And you couldn't tell me this earlier?" Buffy asked before she rolled to her feet, taking a brief second to rub her bruised pride as Caleb also picked himself up off the floor.

"Can't you see, girl?" The preacher's drawl was as patronising as ever. "You can't stop me. I can just keep going back for more. It's like being reborn."

Buffy lashed out with the axe aiming for Caleb's neck, but this time he seemed to be playing things slightly more warily.

He ducked under the blow, avoiding contact, but Buffy continued on the offensive, swinging, slicing and thrusting. Caleb seemed to effortlessly evade every attack and Spike had his hands full just keeping the old woman out of the way of both combatants.

When their circling finally brought the vampire back to the stairway, he pushed the old woman toward the steps. "Get out. Hide. I'll track you when we finish with Pat Robertson, here."

"I can't..."

Spike barely registered the old woman's words as he watched the former clergyman draw Buffy into what his instincts screamed was a trap.

All Caleb's weaving and dodging had ceased. He smiled and stood upright presenting himself as a perfect target. Too perfect.

Buffy swung the axe in what would have been a beheading blow.

Without even a sideways glance, Caleb's hand darted out and grabbed the axe-shaft in mid-swing, stopping it cold. In that instant his other fist crashed into Buffy's jaw so hard that she flew backward into the opposite wall, the impact raising a cloud of dust and numbing Buffy's arm from the elbow down, so that the axe tumbled from her fingers.

Spike stepped forward and swung the torch he carried like a club. The blow was hard enough that the torch broke in two, its flame doused as the top half rolled on the dusty floor.

Caleb gave a howl of pain and frustration as Buffy reached the axe, grabbed it and flipped back to her feet.

Spike threw down the splintered wood in his hand and grabbed the other torch from the wall. "What the hell do you mean you can't?" he yelled, rounding on the old woman who had climbed no more than half a dozen steps, as Buffy and the preacher battled on.

"I can't leave the pyramid. My life has been extended by years beyond number but if I leave the shelter of Isis's sanctuary then time will have its due."

"All you had to say was you'll die if you leave," Spike growled, seemingly allowing his impatience with the old woman's long-winded speeches to distract him from the fight. However, when Caleb found the vampire's turned back to be too tempting a target, Spike's back kick demonstrated that appearances could be deceptive, connecting crunchily with the preacher's kneecap before he was close enough to land a punch. Even with his back turned, Spike could see every move through Buffy's eyes. He had deliberately offered himself up to allow Buffy a breathing space from Caleb's relentless assault.

"Just keep her safe, Spike. This is my deal." Buffy sounded tired, but there was a determination in her voice that he was familiar with.

He gave a curt nod. He knew that sometimes there were things you just had to do on your own. He took a few steps back into the stairwell. "He's all yours, starshine."

 

 

 

With thanks to C and her daughter Q for identifying the inscription on the pyramid. And also to Google and http://www.seanet.com/~raines/disc.html.
 
Chapter 7.13
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.13
Wednesday, July 17th, 2002


"We need talk."

"Hmm." It took Giles a few moments to draw his mind away from the research that had him engrossed and process that it was he to whom Lily was speaking. "What is it?"

"Not here. Must talk alone." The demoness turned her back on him and strode from the library. She plainly didn't even consider the possibility that Giles would choose not to follow her.

With a sigh, the watcher ripped a sheet from the pad he was using to make his notes and bookmarked his place before he jogged after her.

"Lily, if this is what I think it is, I really think we already have the best candidate available."

Lily frowned at Giles, making him feel like he was once more in primary three and being reprimanded by his teacher because he wouldn't tell how his glasses had become broken and his knuckles bruised.

It hadn't mattered then that he knew that eventually someone would put together the bruises on the bully's face and those on his fists. The boy had been in another class, one two years above his own, and Rupert would not be the one to tell tales. No more now could he tell Lily what she wanted to hear.

She made her way to the kitchen and out through the school's back door, taking a path that curved around the back of the conservatory and into what once long ago had been the formal gardens, now a tangled mass of weeds and straggly plants and hedges. She took a seat on one of the old marble benches and looked up at the moon while she waited for Giles to join her.

"Is my task," Lily informed him in a tone that brooked no argument, waiting no more than a heartbeat after he had taken a seat beside her.

Giles paused as if trying to think of a diplomatic way to phrase his answer. "Whoever wears the amulet must be of superhuman strength. We cannot risk the possibility that the bearer will be exhausted before the amulet's work is done."

"Pfff!" Lily fixed him with her red-tinted eyes that paradoxically seemed both alien and motherly. "There is strength enough in these old bones, and more in this heart, to do what must be done. Is not the muscles that will be tested but the spirit.

I old woman, but is why it should be me. I had good life. Now Clem happy and Marie and Rosa happy, is not big thing for me to go be with my husband and my little Thomas. Is fitting. Who is better?" She cast the watcher a sidelong glance as she asked what she clearly regarded as a rhetorical question.

"Is no good to curse William," she announced unequivocally. "We no have a century for him to sulk like grandsire and your slayer, she no never no more look at you again like father if you take him. Is breaking her heart if no wedding."

"I had already ruled out Spike. As you say, the results of the ensouling spell would make him too unpredictable to be a viable subject."

"Ha Nath, she volunteer..." Lily was obviously fishing, her gaze fixed on the watcher, but, other than a distant sadness and a deep-seated guilt, which she attributed to the fact that he was the one who must play god and decide to whom the task should be assigned, she could pick up nothing of the watcher's emotions.

"Yes, she did... as did a number of others including your son." The watcher gave a sigh. "I wish I could reassure you but I swore that the person in question could retain their anonymity until the time for action was here. If I begin to rule the others out then you will simply keep going until there is only one possibility left. My choice, however, is already made."

Lily gave a snort of disgust. "You no father, so you no know... no really. Maybe you have tiny idea. Maybe you love your slayer so you know little what is like to see someone make her happy. Maybe you imagine what is like if you watch her from baby, if you no wait till she is woman-child to love her, if you belong to her from her first breath. Maybe then you try harder again and think what it like if you no just see her happy, if you feel it inside when she smile or laugh or it tear you apart when she lonely and you maybe begin understand what is like for empath to be parent.

Is no right that a mother should bury all her children. Is not as should be. Clem, he in love. If you take him away, then will break old woman's heart, but is for Rosa, I will curse your name. She no need lose uncle and father." Her warning seemed matter of fact, as if she didn't really think that Giles would call on Clem but she was making her position known. Then, she continued, her voice chill.

"But if you take from him his happiness. If you are choosing Ha Nath, then you be doubly cursed. I no stand by and look. Ha Nath, she no nothing to you. She stranger. You maybe think she no matter-."

"I assure you-." Giles' indignation at the mere suggestion that he might be biased by his own emotional attachments boiled through instantly.

"Is only human ," the old demon replied, cutting him off before he could go further and her tone became almost sly. "Same if choosing were mine and I not so old, I choose werewolf. I say is for the best. Is not good for him to stay now mate is dead... but is really because he stranger, because it no hurt my heart if he die."

"Oz is young. He'll find someone else."

"Oz is wolf. When the witch die, his heart die, too."

There was a certainty to her tone that made the watcher want to weep for the stoic young man. "Surely-."

"Is not in his nature to love another. Even so, is better that burden fall to one who old, who have family waiting for her on other side." The empath gave a satisfied smile as she felt the deep confusion that Giles kept hidden beneath the mask of self-discipline into which he schooled his features. When the conversation had begun, Giles had been resolute. Now, he was undecided. It was a start. "The children, they all have much left to do... Is not fair to ask this of any of them." Lily pushed herself to her feet and slowly made her way back toward the school, her gait slightly stiff as a result of the cold seeping into her bones.

Giles watched her go and wondered how the old woman had managed to cloud an issue which had seemed so clear cut before. He tried to convince himself that his reasoning was just as sound tonight as it had been when the choice was first made, if it could really ever have been called a choice. Somehow, even with all the facts at his disposal, he only partially succeeded.






 

Caleb kicked out with his legs, unseating Buffy from her position over him and throwing her several feet to the side. He jumped to his feet in an instant and, as Buffy staggered tiredly to her own, he drove his fist into her face. The blow sent her stumbling backward and the preacher followed her, hitting her again and again until he had driven her back against one of the walls, but Buffy refused to give up the axe.

The cleric's eyes glowed with an unholy joy as he gave vent to his misogynistic fury, finally beating down the whore who had humiliated him over and over since he had come to Sunnydale. "You know, this is no one's fault but your own. You could have stood back and let us take care of business." As if to demonstrate the point he stepped back, smiling at the way Buffy seemed to be curling in on herself. He gesticulated as if he were using his hands to illustrate a sermon. "You didn't have to interfere, but like every woman back through to Eve you had to stick your nose in where it wasn't wanted or needed."

Buffy charged at him, but Caleb sidestepped out of the way and used her momentum to his advantage, half tripping and half throwing her so that she landed flat on her back on what appeared to be a stone altar. Buffy kicked out as he approached and connected hard with his stomach, but it earned her only a brief reprieve before he scooped her into his arms and threw her into another of the columns that Buffy hoped weren't load-bearing. The stone shattered as her back impacted with it, bringing the column toppling around her as she fell dazed to the floor and the axe slipped from her fingers.

Caleb bent down and lifted the axe from the ground, and there was nothing Buffy could do to prevent him.

Her head pounded and her thoughts were fogged as if she had been ripped from a deep sleep. In her head, two words repeated over and over again. Get up. Get up. Get up. Feeling almost like a puppet, being dragged around by strings that someone else manipulated, she began to struggle to her feet. She was only dimly aware of Caleb, once again going for the gloat instead of the kill as he twirled the axe in his hands.

"I was kinda hopin' it'd go this way." He raised the axe over his head for a two-handed blow, knowing that all the fight had been beaten from his opponent and that all he had to do was administer the final killing blow. The vampire hadn't even moved from his position guarding the stairway. He didn't even appear to want to intervene. "First I get rid of you. Then your pet vampire. And then I take out the second string batter and all the little girls." He brought the axe down hard and too fast for Buffy to move aside.

Buffy's hands moved up to meet the axe as it fell. The strength she needed came partly from rage at the idea he would dare to threaten Spike. The remainder seemed to flow into her as if it had been willed there. It brought the same feeling of being home that she felt when she awoke wrapped in her lover's arms. The axe stopped dead, and then, infinitely slowly, she twisted her grip until the axe head pointed not at her, but at the former minister. She stamped sharply on the pastor's instep and in the instant that the pain caused his concentration to waver she drove the axe forward, smashing it into Caleb's face.

The preacher's grip loosened and Buffy pirouetted gracefully, bringing the axe round in a complete circle. The blade sliced cleanly through the hand that Caleb held up to stop the blow and then bit deeply into his neck. Black ichor flowed from the wound and leaked from every available orifice as the man slumped to the ground.

Buffy raised the axe, and drove it through what remained of Caleb's neck as if she were chopping firewood. She kicked the head to one side, making sure it was completely severed and flicked the axe so that the liquid ran off its blade.

"So... You watch the watchers?" she asked the old woman as if their conversation had never been interrupted. Spike met her halfway across the room, pulling her in against his side, and she wrapped her free hand around his waist, using it for support as the strength she had borrowed ebbed away. "But who are you?"

"Guardians," the woman answered. "Women who want to help and protect you. We forged the blade centuries ago, halfway around the world."

"Hence the Luxor Casino theme," Buffy theorised.

"Forged there, it was put to use right here. to kill the last pure demon that walked upon the earth," the weapon's guardian supplied as she settled herself upon the next to bottom step on the stairway. "The rest were already driven under. And then there were men here, and then there were monks. And then there was a town. and now there is you. And the scythe remained hidden."

Buffy frowned, unsure whether her confusion were natural or the result of one of the recent blows Caleb had inflicted. "I don't understand. How is it possible that we didn't know any of this?"

The woman's shoulders barely moved in a near imperceptible shrug. "We hid, too. We had to until now. We're the last surprise."

The weariness began to fade from Buffy's face, replaced by hope. "Does this mean we can win?"
 
Chapter 7.14
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.14
Thursday, July 18th, 2002


For the briefest moment as Buffy contemplated the trip down multiple flights of stairs and along what her brain insisted was nearly a mile of corridor to get to a bathroom, she almost wished that she was a vampire. Then, she remembered that the warmth of their conjugal bed came from her own body heat and that Spike's arms would be as cool as the night air if they didn't sleep so closely that their bodies might as well be one. Unwrapping the vampire's arm from around her waist as gently as she could and pulling regretfully away so that his dick slid free of the dampness between her thighs, she slipped from under the covers. She wrapped herself in an oversized red satin robe, a gift from Spike for these occasions, which covered her from collarbone to ankle and saved her from the necessity to retrieve nightwear that had been flung across the room or kicked off somewhere beneath the covers.

She turned to face the bed and savoured the sight of the sleeping vampire. His curls were wild and untamed. Thick dark lashes brushed against his pale, perfect skin in deceptively fragile contrast. The fullness of his lower lip made her ache to bend over and draw it into her mouth to taste its ripeness and the hollow of his cheek beneath the elegant arc of his cheekbone seemed to beg for the stroke of her hand.

There was a flicker of movement at the corner of her eye, just a glimpse of fabric-strained moonlight on the white of a clerical collar, but she didn't shift her attention from the precious vision in the bed. A southern accent spoke softly from her right side. "Pretty, ain't it?"

"He," Buffy corrected, her eyes still drinking in the visual banquet that her fears told her she might never get to see again. "And pretty doesn't come close. You're not Caleb."

"No," The First Evil admitted. "You killed him, right and proper. Terrible loss. This man was my good right arm." It seemed like the fall of its champion might actually cause the apparition a moment of regret, but it was swiftly over, shrugged off as easily as the chill of a night breeze. It continued with barely a pause, its tone brightening. "'Course it don’t pain me too much. Don’t need an arm. I’ve got an army."

Buffy gave a barely audible snort, still keeping her voice soft enough that Spike didn't even stir in his sleep. "An army of vampires. However will I fight—"

"Every day our numbers swell," the insubstantial preacher added. "But then you do have an army of your own. A couple of hundred pimply-faced girls as don't know the pointy end of a stake and bookworms that went past their sell by dates without ever getting in a real fight. Maybe I should call this off."

Finally, the slayer turned to face The First, her irritation at being disturbed now evident in the tone of her voice. "Have you ever considered a cool name? I mean, since you're incorporeal and basically powerless... how about the Taunter? Strikes fear in the hearts of-"

Again, it tried to cut her off. "I will overrun this earth. And when my army outnumbers the humans on this earth, the scales will tip and I will be made flesh."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Talk on. I'm not afraid of you. No wait, don't. It's getting boring."

"Then why aren't you asleep. in your dead lover's arms?"

"It's called a bladder." Buffy turned away from her adversary, reminded now of the reason she had woken up, and walked to the exit. She paused with the door open, her hand still resting on the handle. "Not that you're ever going to get a chance to find out what that's like. You wouldn't be here trying to convince me that we're going to lose if you didn't know that the end was close. Make the most of the time you have left. I have a rehearsal dinner arranged for tomorrow night and the only killjoy I plan on being there for that is my wicked stepmom." She left the room and pulled the door closed after her.

The preacher glared at the door. Knowing that to follow the slayer would make him look like a second rate spook, The First folded in on itself in a transient flash of light.






 

"Okay," Buffy began, seeming slightly nervous despite the reassurance of Spike's arms around her waist and his cheek beside hers. She looked around the room, checking to make absolutely certain that Quentin Travers was nowhere in sight. "Important stuff first. Some of you people weren't around when we were working out the whole wedding list thing, but it wouldn't seem right, now that we've all got to know each other better, if you weren't all invited to the wedding. Anyway, Spike has to go over to the reception hall today and pay the rest of the deposit and give them the numbers. We'd really like it if you could all make it." Her gaze lingered on Faith before moving on to James and then to Bee, Penelope and finally to Ha Nath's co-workers. "So, if there's anyone who hasn't already sent us an official RSVP but would like to come along on Saturday night, can you just stick your hands in the air?"

Spike smirked as Giles caught Lydia's hand before she could finish lifting it. "Kinda guessed that madam librarian was your plus guest."

"Just as long as you ain't expectin' formal wear?" Faith asked with a lift of her eyebrow. "I guess I could cope with a party." She lifted the hand whose fingers were entwined with James' rather than the one which held the axe.

Around the room several other hands, belonging to watchers and demons alike, rose into the air. Spike did a rapid head count and whispered, "Got it," into Buffy's ear.

"Right then, back to the whole deal with the thousands of ubervamps waiting to chow down on the human race until there isn't one... In case anyone missed out on the widespread jubilation last night, Caleb is no more. As those Pythagoras guys say, 'he has ceased to be'... but that isn't going to help us, if we don't deal with this soon."

"Wasn't the mad preacher guy the one in charge?" Marie asked. "Won't things go back to normal now that he's gone?"

"Giles?" Buffy looked at her watcher. "You want to field this one?"

"Right..." Giles removed his glasses, dangling them from his hand as he spoke. "As far as we know, Caleb was the one who was directing the bringers. We haven't yet seen him command any of the Turok Han. They may or may not have been receiving instructions directly from The First Evil. In fact, it's difficult to imagine that they would have taken orders from any lesser authority. With Caleb's death, any remote chance we had of closing down the seal has disappeared, though I never did expect us to be able to wring any tears of remorse from him."
He settled his spectacles back into place. "Our only hope is that if we tackle the evil which lies beneath the seal, then its ability to influence people will be destroyed also.
We cannot leave it unguarded but neither can we continue to expose our people to it indefinitely. Ultimately, that would lead to our own corruption. The matter has to be settled once and for all and it has to happen soon."

The watcher nodded at the angular girl whose hand was waving in the air. "Yes, Amanda?"

"Didn't Buffy say there were thousands of them things or like tens of thousands or something? I mean there's maybe a couple of hundred of us between the girls who're old enough to fight and the watchers who aren't too old and last time we took on one of them things, even when there were a whole bunch of us and just the one of them, there was a bunch of people got hurt. I mean it's not like I'm not willing to try, but there's just an awful lot of them..."

Buffy shook her head. "Beyond a certain point their numbers don't matter. Bee assures me that the amulet her uncle has provided will be powerful enough to destroy all the Turok Han in the area when it is activated. All we have to do is to take and hold some sort of bridgehead long enough for the person with the amulet to do their bit. We need to hold a defensive line. You guys have all done that loads of times when we've patrolled."

"Against bringers ," Shannon protested. "Not against a whole bunch of those things. You and Faith and maybe Spike and them..." She nodded toward the demons with Ha Nath. "...Are the only ones who even have a hope of going toe to toe with Turok Han. They'd just smash through the rest of us like we were nothing."

"Trust me," Buffy asked her gaze meeting the potential's. "I'm not going to say that this is going to be easy. I'm not going to say that everyone will make it. They won't. People will get hurt. People will die, but we aren't planning a kamikaze mission. We have a plan to even the odds some. Travers isn't going to like it but we aren't asking his permission... and that's why some of us need to talk to the potentials after we finish here."

Faith spoke up. "Bottom line is that we don't have a choice. We fight now and some of us die or we do nothing and we watch that seal twist people around until one of us ends up being the next Caleb and we're right back where we were or worse. You want to fight against people you've trained with? That's what we're saying. Getting the axe and getting rid of Caleb are just steps on the path. We've got to walk the rest of the road. Anybody want to disagree?"

No one did, though Giles was heard to mutter under his breath about his saying exactly the same thing but no one taking any notice.






 

"Yes, I already put my suit in the car. Yes, I have checked it fits. Yes, I've got a blanket if I need one... an' a spare but seein' as it's kinda overcast anyway I doubt I'll need it."

Buffy couldn't help the quirk at the corner of her mouth as Spike tried to convince her that he had everything under control. "Humour me?"

"Check Revello and my place for any replies or phone messages that have come since the last time we checked. Work out the final numbers. Pick up the cake on the way... and some pastries an' fruit juice for Wes an' the other wankers that we left watchin' the queen of the Sunnydale Pyramid. Go pay the deposit..." Spike paused as he mentally added arranging the final touches for Buffy's wedding present that was waiting at the reception hall where Wes had left it to the list. "Come back, drop off the goodies with the watcher an' tell him you an' Jailbird an' the magic bints will be over to do the business soon as you bring the munchkins up to speed on the plan. Take a turn over to the manse an' make sure the vicar's still walkin' an' talkin' an' then pick up the tickets and the other bits an' pieces for the honeymoon..."

Buffy frowned as she tried to think whether there were any other errands that needed running before the big day.

"...An' that's it except for one last thing that might need a bit more practice." The vampire stepped closer until there was barely half an inch between their bodies.

"Huh? Practice? What do we need to practice?" The slayer's voice held more than a hint of panic.

Spike smirked, looking inordinately pleased with himself. "Hear tell I'm meant to kiss the bride."
 
Chapter 7.15
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.15
Thursday, July 18th, 2002


Buffy looked around the ballroom that had been converted to a gymnasium. For this meeting, they had pulled in not only the older potentials who had been taking part in their training program, but as many of the others as they had thought would be mature enough to understand the implications of their decision. There were girls out there who were barely eight or nine and they were being asked, under the worst possible circumstances, to make a choice that would affect the rest of their lives or even whether there was a rest of their lives... but that was the problem. No one else had the right to make that choice for them, or even for the younger girls who were happily playing upstairs but they had needed to draw the line somewhere. There were times when civil liberties had to take a back seat.

Of course, this many girls, not all of them able to speak English, came with more than a handful of watchers, not all of whom were happy with the idea that it wasn't the council making the decisions. Some of them seemed to be getting a little hot under the collar but they had already thought of that. The last doors had been locked as soon as the meeting began. No one was going to sneak out part way through to warn Quentin, not unless they were so rabidly loyal to the council head that they would take a dive through one of the conservatory windows. When she, Faith, and Lydia left the building, assuming that the vote went as expected, then Giles, Ha Nath and her friends were ready to take up a rear guard position to ensure that they got a good head start. Tara was already waiting for them in Giles' car, a cloaking spell in place that would mask the presence of anyone within twenty feet of her from detection by magical means.

"Alright, ladies," Faith continued, stopping her restless pacing for the first time since she began speaking and watching the crowd, trying to look as many of the girls in the eye as she could. She handled the gaudy axe in her hands as if it were some sort of personal good luck talisman. "That's all she wrote. Now, it's up to you to decide.

All those who want to be able to hit back just as hard when those ubervamps come at ya, gimme a 'hell, yeah'!"

There was a roar of assent. Only a handful of the watchers interspersed amongst the crowd were deluded enough to try to argue, and they were soon silenced by the glares, or even the occasional fist of the potentials around them.

Faith waited for the crowd to settle. "All those who want to face these things without slayer strength or slayer speed because once upon a time some guys decided that was how it should be, speak up now!"

A deathly silence ensued. Before the other watchers in the crowd could absorb the import of the quiet, Giles, who was positioned by the exit at the top end of the room, twisted the key in the door at his back. As Ha Nath and her friends formed a line at right angles to the door he pulled it open and with the demons between them and any unfriendly watchers in the crowd, Faith, Lydia and Buffy slipped away. The door was closed and locked again before Ha Nath kicked the first of the protesters into unconsciousness.






 

"Careful," Wesley called out as he heard the scuffing of shoes on stone.

Buffy slowed her pace and, as she neared the bottom of the narrow stone stairway, she realised the need for Wesley's warning. The guardian, who apparently was otherwise known as Ruth... and that somehow freaked Buffy out far more than if she had come up with something that sounded completely alien, had set out a large and intricate ritual circle in the pyramid's main room. The circle was so large that, had Buffy stepped straight into the chamber, rather than edging to one side immediately she reached the bottom of the stairs, then she would have been standing on it.

"Hey..." Buffy's greeting was generalised, a smile forming as she noticed that Wes and another four watchers, who were clustered near the corridor from which Caleb had emerged, had several empty juice bottles and discarded Krispy Kreme boxes by their feet. Nevertheless, when she asked what was going on, it was to Wes that she looked. She hoped that Wes had been able to get the remaining details out of the old woman, and that he understood the workings of the ritual that was about to be performed.

Buffy skirted around the room until she could reach the watcher, keeping an eye on where the old woman had looked up from her work to greet Lydia and Tara. It was as if there was a whole culture of which the slayer knew nothing. First the old woman took both Lydia's hands in hers and then both women bowed until their foreheads almost touched the backs of their hands. Even more disconcertingly, when she reached Tara the ancient didn't stop at a bow but dropped to her knees in a way that obviously made shy, helpful Tara wish for nothing more than to help her up.

"Yeah, Wes..." Faith echoed Buffy's curiosity as she came to stand at her side. "What's with the meet and greet? And I hope you understand enough of this..." She jerked the axe in the drection of the symbol that sort of reminded her of the cover art for the albums by The Fields of the Nephilim that one of her mom's string of deadbeat boyfriends had used to own. The first time she found out that he had hit her mom, she had burned the whole damn lot. Then he had hit her. When the school had called her in, her mom had told her teacher that she had fallen down the stairs. No one had asked where in their trailer the mythical staircase was. "To be sure that this isn't some con trick from The First to get all the slayers and the axe and our best magic users all in one place and suck the life out of them or something."

Wes nodded. "As best I can tell, everything is consistent with what we've been told. As a ritual to Isis to empower the feminine, none of us," he said, nodding to the other male watchers who had accompanied him, "is able to take part or help prepare, but I haven't seen anything contraindicative to the purpose as stated. As for the welcome, I believe Ruth has been waiting for someone to whom she could pass on the wisdom of the guardians, so that when she completes her part in this she will be free to die. If I were a betting man, I would say that she thinks that Tara is her successor."

"You got all that from her?" Buffy asked in a slightly mocking tone. "You've only been here overnight... or does she save the cryptic for slayers and vamps?"

Wes gave a slightly superior smile though his tone when he continued was more self-depracating. "My résumé does include watcher. Picking out the facts from overly long narratives is part of what I was expected to do, especially after Quentin Travers became council head."

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Buffy looked around the chamber in distaste. "This doesn't mean that Tara has to move into some musty windowless basement with no indoor plumbing, does it?"






 

"As your role is to represent the virgin, you must take your place here at the beginning of the cycle," Ruth said to Tara, indicating a clear area in the wide band of symbols that made up the outer circle. She shifted her attention to Lydia. "For your part, you shall represent the mother and take your place here, in the part of the diagram representing summer and fruitfulness."

The watcher shifted slightly uncomfortably. "Wouldn't it be better to have the more powerful magic user as the mother? I know I'm older than Tara, but it just seems more appropriate and I would say that she has the more nurturing character."

Ruth gave another of the enigmatic smiles that Buffy was beginning to find irritating in the extreme. She reached out a hand and placed it over the watcher's flat stomach. "Then, I suggest that over the next few months you try to cultivate that area of your personality, my dear. The time is close at hand when those qualities will stand you in good stead. Our co-practitioner is also best qualified for her role due to her innocence in the ways of men."

"What? No! That's..." The watcher turned chalk white as she remembered a day of whisky induced vomiting and realised that her normal method of contraception might not have been fully effective under those circumstances. She had been far too busy to pay attention to the rhythm of her body, but the more she thought about it the more plausible the idea seemed.

Faith lifted an eyebrow and barely managed to contain her wide grin at the thought of Daddy Giles before it became a laugh.

Buffy took a few moments to try to work out what such a change might mean to the group, especially since Giles had only just been talked back into staying in California and now he was going to have a baby with his English girlfriend. After a few seconds she gave up, deciding that working out where everyone was going to live could wait until after they knew who was going to live. However, she mentally reassigned the blonde watcher in the vague battle plans that she had partially formed in her head, moving her from the second line of defence and giving her responsibility for the safety of the smallest children and the wounded. If she had thought that Giles would accept it, she would have moved him as well... and Dawn and Tara and Xander and Wes and... With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the guardian's explanation of the ritual that the three witches were about to cast.

It seemed hard to believe that the ancient had been here since the time of the last true demons, waiting for her and for Faith, for the axe to reappear in the world and for evil to rise up as it never had before.

"The scythe, as was always intended even when we first set it within the molten rock of the gate to hell, will be at the very centre of the circle as befits its use. It shall rest in the hands of both slayers that its power may pass through them to their sisters. It would be best if you were to be seated but the sigil must on no account be damaged."

Buffy leaned over and whispered to Wes. "How much of all this do we really need and how much is just icing on the cake? I mean twelve hours of chanting?"

"I think when you're asking for something this big, you want to make the cake as perfect as you can. There might be other ways. You could open up the seal and harness the power of the hellmouth if you really wanted, but I think burning some extra herbs, drawing some more complicated symbols and taking a few hours to pay obeissance to Isis is far the more polite way of doing things. This is asking nicely. The other would be like the petulant tantrums of a two year old demanding to have its way now. The end result may be the same, and it may save time but it lacks a certain style. When you're dealing with a goddess, it's best to be polite."

"The sun is almost at its zenith," the old woman announced. "We should get into position." With greater ease than the lines on her face would suggest, the guardian took her place in the outer circle and settled herself into a the lotus postion.

Tara and Lydia settled into similar positions so that the three of them sat at the vertices of an equilateral triangle. Faith and Buffy moved to the circle's centre, taking care not to scuff any of the lines as they moved. They, too, took up cross-legged positions, letting their forearms rest upon their knees, and then Faith uncurled her fingers from around the axe and they found the position where it was balanced equally on each of their fingertips.

The guardian began to chant, slowly and with great care so that each syllable was ennunciated clearly enough for Lydia and Tara to follow her lead.

Buffy fixed her attention on the axe, narowing her focus down and down until she felt she was aware of the smallest fleck in the grain of the wooden handle. She let the chanting wash over her without touching her, in the same way that she used to filter out the New Age tapes that Giles had occasionally played in their meditation sessions. It was going to be a long time until fullest dark, which apparently wouldn't actually be at midnight thanks to daylight savings time, or so Wes had said, though Buffy couldn't help but wonder why they still called it midnight if it wasn't. If she could pass into a trance state for the intervening hours, so much the better, otherwise she just knew that a couple of hours from now she would be wishing that she hadn't had that third cup of coffee.






Friday, July 19th, 2002
 

Wes spared another glance at his watch. Five to one. He was almost surprised that it was still ticking. The air of the chamber seemed laden with electricity, like the pregnant heaviness of the atmosphere before a long awaited summer storm... but only in the same way that the breath of a butterfly's passing felt like the violence of a tornado. His mouth tasted of metal, although he had had nothing to eat or drink since the doughnuts Spike had brought for breakfast this morning.

Soon... Whatever was going to happen, it had to be soon.

As if to answer his thoughts the axe that rested on the hands of both the slayers began to glow. At first it was little more than a nightlight, then a torch, soon it became as bright as looking straight into a car's headlight, though it somehow seemed more diffused. The light seemed to seep into each of the slayers so that first their fingertips and then their hands and then their whole arms seemed to glow with a pure welcoming light. It spread from their shoulders both up and down, and though from the angle where he was sitting, he couldn't see Faith's face, it seemed as if Buffy's irises were darker than he had ever seen them, contrasted against the translucent glow of the surrounding tissue. Strands of hair were whipped away from their faces, as if by a strong but playful breeze that somehow seemed to blow east for one and west for the other. From the roots on out, the light claimed the locks of their hair, making them look like magnificent and alien Valkyrie.

He lowered his gaze to see how far the transformation had moved down the slayers' bodies and found to his amazement that both girls now floated several inches above the floor. The complicated sigils that had been marked out on the hard-packed earth seemed to writhe with life, the light pulsating outward through them until it reached the women in the outer circle. It saturated the three in its glow, from the ground upward. Soon, they too seemed to be touched by the mysterious multidirectional wind that didn't so much as stir the air in the corner of the room where Wes was seated.

Time passed unnoticed and Wes found himself transfixed by the glory of the light, which filled the whole circle now, and all the women who were favoured with its touch. Even this close, it never fell upon any of the men who waited, banished as they were to the corners of the room while they stood guard over the participants. Its beauty, as befitted Isis, a goddess consecrated to the feminine, was equally alluring and alien. When, finally, its work was done the godess's power drained away. It flooded back into the earth, returning the slayers to their previous positions and leaving all the women unmarked by the experience, save for their gasping breaths and glowing smiles that indicated an almost post-coital euphoria.

It was, Wes noted, five past one.
 
Chapter 7.16
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.16
Thursday, July 18th, 2002


It was late evening when Spike joined Giles and Penny in the library.

"What's the news?" he asked the two watchers as he helped himself to a splash of the single malt that Giles kept on a tray to one side of the room before taking a seat on the end of Giles' desk with his feet on the chair intended for the occupant of the desk in front.

"I thought you would be the one to tell us," Giles responded dryly as he pushed back his chair to fetch a drink of his own, Penny also accepting his wordless offer.

The vampire shrugged. "Nothing coming through on vamp vision so far. Guess that means it wasn't some huge trap... but she hasn't rung neither, so seems like the mojo's taking a while. You get all the rest set up?"

Giles shrugged. "We eventually managed to convince Quentin, once he realised that his little apoplectic fit was getting him precisely nowhere, into letting us have enough people to pick up the minibuses... I wouldn't dare say anything about the whole potentials situation, especially not now that it's about to become more of a slayer situation, but it would make a refreshing change if a few more of them had valid driving licences. I'm fairly certain that Quentin thinks it's just a ploy to get transport for your wedding guests for nothing, though. I must admit to being tempted to volunteer to drive one of them myself."

"I'd do it... if I didn't have other things to do," Spike replied with a grin. "Should be a sight to see."

"Why's that?" Penny asked.

"Well, seein' as how you'll be on one of them buses, I guess you'll find out tomorrow, pet." The vamp tipped back his head and drained the last of the malt from his glass. "Right, then, figure it's time we hunted down the last of them bringers. They can't hide under the preacher man's petticoats no more an' we sure as hell don't want them interferin' in the morning."

"Shouldn't we wait for the change?"

"Well, that would depend on whether you want a bored vamp keepin' you company and drinking your single malt while he waits to find out if his future wife's gonna be alright."

"R-right," Giles rapidly acquiesced. "Penelope, if you would help out? Why don't we adjourn to the basement? I believe Anya made sure we had some reserves of the necessary components for the demon mapping spell."






 

When it appeared that the bringers had yet to abandon the vineyard, Spike rounded up a few volunteers who weren't due to be on duty at the seal overnight. Ha Nath and her friends went in by the front door. Spike led a mixed group of half a dozen watchers and potentials through Sunnydale's network of underground tunnels and made sure they were in position ready to block the bringers' escape route before the other demons moved in. The fight was messy, brutal and short. Spike seemed to snap any of the bringers who came into reach like so many bundles of dried twigs. He made sure, however, that no hint of it was allowed to reach Buffy and distract her from the ritual in which she was involved.

When the vineyard had been cleared out he called Giles and only when Spike was assured that there were no longer any harbingers within the limits of Sunnydale did he send the others home and make his way to the high school construction site. His group took the night time shifts as always. Tonight, the world was about to change for the girls in that group. They were tired, they were on edge, they were literally teetering on the brink of hell, they had to be worrying about what the night would bring and Tara's group would be missing their leader and the calming influence they were accustomed to her exerting. In short, they were vulnerable. He intended to be there for them, to talk them down if they needed it and to let them know that they weren't alone. The First wasn't going to play mind games with his people if he could help it.






 

Spike prowled from group to group, staying with each one for ten or fifteen minutes, taking the time to joke with them, to tease them that they had been chosen for the night time shift because Buffy's and Faith's groups were afraid of the dark. He laughed with them and cajoled them. He drew an occasional girl away from their fellows and told them how proud he was of them and how he would be right there with them when the battle began. He would tell them that he would do whatever he could to keep them safe, if the trouble started.

This time they didn't come in twos or threes. They didn't even come in dozens. It seemed like The First had saved up all its remaining human toys and was going to throw them at them all at once, so many that Spike could smell them on the night air long before he caught his first glimpse.

He pulled his people back from the site's perimeter and they obeyed instantly, though it was more from force of habit than because they understood the danger they were in. They took the partially built high school as their fortress, preparing to defend every hollow doorway and unglazed window, because Spike told them to. They fought down the heavy feelings in their guts that were only partially attributable to the anticipated fight.

"What're you even trying for, boy?" Angel asked him as the blond hit the speed dial button that would put him through to Penelope's cell. "Like you could run an army? No one will listen to you. You didn't earn their respect. You're just Buffy's wife."

Spike performed a spin-kick so graceful that, were it not for his habitual Doc Martens, it would have looked more like a ballet move than an attack. As he expected his foot passed straight through Angel's cranium without resistance. "An' you're sweet fuck all but smoke an' mirrors." Without even a pause he placed his cell against his ear and issued instructions. "Get Giles. Tell him to roust every bugger he can spare out of their pits, pass out the baseball bats an' get them down to the high school...pronto. They're going for the 'Hail Mary'." He snapped the phone shut so hard that something crunched and drew out a pick-axe handle from inside the folds of his duster.

They straggled out of alleyways or wandered across parkland in droves, shuffling toward something that ultimately would bring their own destruction.

A chorus of nervous whispers burbled in Spike's ears but didn't quite reach his brain, since the part of his brain that wasn't blocking his link with Buffy was busy checking out the tall, malnourished figure that moved directly toward him, cutting diagonally across the path of several of his companions to do so. His hair was a tangle of inch-long dreadlocks and his clothes were both filthy and in poor repair. His shirt was devoid of buttons and smeared with dark brown streaks, that could have been either dried blood or excrement. None of this separated him from the others within the crowd. It was the unadulterated hatred that made his eyes almost glow against his dark skin.

"So much for Xander sayin' that they evacuated all the hospital patients," the vampire muttered under his breath.
 
Chapter 7.17
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.17
Thursday, July 18th, 2002


Somewhere in the course of his travels, since he had escaped the care of Sunnydale's mental health professionals, Robin Wood had found a four foot length of scaffolding. He swung it wildly at Spike, showing no finesse or evidence of training. Whether he had always been unstable, whether The First had broken something inside the man or whether it was the result of being incarcerated with insane companions, it appeared that the last of his reason was now gone. Spike easily evaded the madman's flailing blows. He waited his time and had to remind himself over and over again that Buffy would almost inevitably come to hear of it if his attacker died at his hands. He knew that even if he convinced her that in the heat of the fight there had been no option, the death would cast a pall over their relationship and give her reason to wonder if she could really trust him. So he waited, watching for an opening... until he heard his name tortured into a girlish scream.

He swung at Wood's head with the pick axe handle, trying to pull the blow enough to prevent it doing any permanent damage, while not wishing it to be so glancing that Wood might take up his avenging son routine any time in the near future. Varnished wood impacted with hair and flesh and the other Wood staggered backward. Spike didn't wait to see if he fell, but turned in a swirl of battle-spoils leather and ran for the point where he had last seen Xuxa, the young Brazilian girl, who might have problems talking to the other girls because she didn't speak good English and who might be teased for being slightly overweight but who had a sharp mind and was always willing to discuss football with him in his less than fluent Portuguese. The cry was unmistakably hers and, Wood or no Wood, she needed his help.






 

Giles felt a moment of panic as the vehicle in which he had been travelling pulled up alongside those that had departed before him. If the venue had been a shopping mall rather than a half-completed high school, he might have thought that he was in a Romero movie. True, those assailing the building were still alive but they seemed to have as much regard for their own safety as the average zombie and they swarmed the structure in their hundreds. Giles wouldn't even have believed that so many people were still living in the town, though a closer look made him revise that to existing rather than living. He could only catch brief glimpses of the girls that had been on guard duty, frantically trying to hold back the human tide that threatened to overwhelm them. Even as he watched one of the girls seemed to stumble and the insurgents pushed forward in an unstoppable tide.

There was a flash of white-blond hair amidst the defenders, and Giles' assessment was proved to be incorrect. The tide seemed first to stall and then with aching slowness turn. Finally, some of those who had gained entrance stumbled backward from the fray and as though this gave the defenders room to manoeuvre, others began leaving head first and obviously not under their own power. Another girl joined those who had been dislodged from their position after their companion's fall, and Giles saw Spike scoop up a figure from the ground behind them, cradling it in his arms as he disappeared deeper into the building.

The watcher turned to issue commands to the girls and watchers he had brought with him, but it wasn't necessary. While he had been assessing the situation, they were already moving in on the mob. They worked efficiently in pairs within a defensive line, guarding each other's backs, as they worked their way forward, picking off those at one edge of the mob, knocking them unconscious or otherwise incapacitating them. It seemed that the slayers and Spike had trained their people well, and they worked with a blend of efficiency and mercy that erred heavily on the side of efficiency. However they might feel about harming other humans, they weren't about to allow any misplaced compassion to cloud the issue where they felt that they or those in the building were threatened.

Giles felt a pang of sadness, realising that some of the girls, whether intentionally or by misjudgement, would know before this battle was over how it felt to take a human life. He wished they could have remained innocent, aware it would exact a heavy price on the souls of girls so young... not so heavy as the guilt of standing by and allowing a comrade to be badly hurt and far preferable to being killed or badly injured. Just the same, when this was all over he was going to have to mention to Quentin about having professional counsellors available, for girls and watchers alike. That, however, was a consideration for a future time. He twisted his fingers on the grip of the aluminium baseball bat that he carried, gave it an experimental swing, and, as the next minibus load of watchers and potentials began to disembark, he moved forward with them to play his part in the fray.






 

The attic where the Scoobies slept wasn't the only vantage point in the building. Rather, having once been the servants quarters, it occupied only the top floor of that wing of the building where the kitchens were. Quentin made his way through the dustsheet-covered debris of former centuries to get to one of the attic windows set in the roof of the main building, night vision binoculars in one hand and a torch in the other. Some nonentity of a watcher followed behind him, waiting for the chance to prove his worth to the head watcher now that his previous favourite had blatantly thrown her lot in with the rebel faction, and Penelope followed him, partly because she knew that Quentin was right about the attics providing the best viewpoint and partly because she felt it best to keep an eye on what the sly old fox was up to.

It seemed that Quentin had finally found the window he had chosen from outside, but it was resisting all his best efforts to open it.

"Find me a crow bar or some sort of lever," Travers ordered his new gopher. "It looks like it's been painted shut."

Penny pointed her torch in the direction of the window and decided not to point out to Quentin, the slight dents in the coat of paint that probably meant that the windows had been nailed shut and whoever had done it, probably the concerned parent of an overly adventurous child, had been so determined that they remain so that they had used a punch to drive the heads of the nails down below the level of the surface wood. Once the window frame had been painted over a few times, all there was left to show was a row of slight dimples in the paint.

Penny watched Lydia's replacement run around the room peering under dust sheets looking for anything that his superior might be able to use as a pry bar. Finally, he located an old fireside set and as if he had found the crown jewels he hurried to present Quentin with the poker.

By the time the senior watcher had cracked the paint in several places and bent the poker so that it was no longer useable, she decided that she was bored with the cabaret. She removed one of the smallest dust sheets, and used it to make a clear patch in the coating of dust that obscured the glass of the window next to the one that Quentin was endeavouring to open. She held out her hand to Quentin's minion, knowing that if she seemed sufficiently expectant he would feel unable to refuse to give her the binoculars that he had been left holding while Quentin wrestled with the window.

She watched the last of the reinforcements arrive at the construction site and join the battle, but Quentin's patience didn't last long enough to let her see much more. He snatched the binoculars away from her and edged his way into her vantage spot.

"What the devil are they doing?" Quentin protested as he viewed the carnage at the site. "Don't they realise that they're fighting human beings, albeit ones who are under the influence of an evil... something?"

"They realise they're fighting , Quentin," Penny argued.

The council head ignored her and brought out his cell phone, dialling the number he had recently managed to get from Giles via Lydia. He knew that there was no point in dealing with any of those who might be regarded as mere foot soldiers. He had to get Giles to make them pull back. This number of human civilian deaths was unacceptable. Slayers and, by extension, potentials were expendable and when a man or woman became a watcher then they accepted those risks. Those who were being slaughtered down there were those that they had vowed to protect.

After three rings, a voice kicked in to say that the cell phone he was trying to reach was currently unavailable. "Doesn't that man know how to keep a phone charged and with him?" the watcher raved.

"Well, of course he knows how . He's not an idiot... He's just never had enough incentive to do it. Why did you think that Spike called me rather than Giles in the first place?"

Quentin gave Penny a rather dirty look before he turned on his heel. "Come on, Henderson. If Rupert is incapable of handling modern technology, then we shall just have to go down there and give him his instructions face to face."






 

As sometimes happens within a battle, the fate of those guarding the seal, which had seemed to be in so much doubt when the fray began, was secured with the arrival of the reinforcements. The quarter of an hour that it had taken for Penny to apprise Giles of the situation, for him to gather drivers for the minibuses and for her to rouse the potentials from their beds and the younger watchers from in front of the TV had been touch and go. At any time The First's people might have forced their way through one of the many openings, and somehow every time it had seemed as if they would, Spike had appeared with half a dozen of the girls he had chosen to accompany him and they had shored the gap. The guard had held on desperately, and when reinforcements had arrived the outcome had no longer been in doubt.

So it was that by the time Quentin arrived in his hired Bentley, Spike was carrying the first of the injured away from the building. The vampire spotted the luxury car and headed straight for it. As Henderson hurried around the car to open the door for his boss, Spike waited for the senior watcher to get out and when he did, Spike leaned over and slid the injured girl into the back.

"You," he pointed at Henderson. "You take her back to the school, you find someone who can put a splint on her leg and then you find the nearest working hospital between here and LA and you get her seen to properly... and you bloody drive like you have a pile of porcelain in the back. I hear you hurt her one bit more than she need be an' after all this is over tomorrow, I'll come an' find you."

"And what makes you think you can just commandeer my vehicle?" Quentin protested.

"'Cause they're gonna need most of the minibuses to dump that lot." Spike nodded toward the bodies that littered the ground. "...far enough away that by the time they get back it'll be too late for them to cause any problems, an' 'cause in my book the kid who ended up with a broken leg fighting to keep that seal safe warrants the chauffeur driven Bentley a damn sight more than some old git that only gets here when the fight's over an' done with."

The vampire seemed to pause as two girls stumbled over, one supporting the other. "Hoi, put her in the front seat here. Someone will strap it up when you get back to the school." He turned back to the watcher and grinned widely as he patted down his pockets. "Bad sprain... Can't have her walkin' back like that."

Quentin knew that the argument was already lost and decided that his best course of action was to ignore the disgusting creature and find Giles.

From the shadowy cover of a dumpster nearly sixty yards away Robin Wood watched the man who had been supposed to help him exact vengeance on his mother's killer handing over his car to the demon. When Travers moved on, Wood followed his betrayer.
 
Chapter 7.18
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.18
Friday, July 19th, 2002


The clean up seemed to take far longer than the battle. They saw to their injured and with a slightly lesser sense of urgency to the injured on the other side. Quentin tried to put his foot down, and though he managed to organise a couple of squads of watchers to carry away the unconscious citizens of Sunnydale to the minibuses and begin the task of dumping them far enough away that they could make their own way back but not so close that they might do it before the morning, no one who had already been given a task to do by either Giles or Spike seemed inclined to change what they were doing.

They found only seven dead amongst all the unconscious bodies. When Spike had finally dealt with those of his girls requiring emergency treatment, he traced his way back to where he had begun the battle, not sure how he would feel if he found Wood to be one of the dead, but when he got there and spoke to the watchers who had been clearing that area, he found that the man had disappeared in the chaos of the fight. This might have concerned the vampire, if he didn't have other far more weighty matters to consider. Buffy still hadn't called, The First might have plans for another attack and he needed to get the potentials back to base so that they could have a hope of getting some sleep before tomorrow's attack, which meant he needed to organise a guard from the watchers. In theory, assuming their plan actually worked, the potentials would be responsible for the bloodiest of the fighting the next day. The watchers, who would be taking supporting positions, didn't need to be quite so rested. The girls would probably lie awake anyway, but even that would leave them better prepared for the morning than more guard duty.

The vampire made his way toward the point where he had last seen Giles, the watcher taking charge of the bodies of the fallen, laying them out respectfully in the corridor that led to the basement entrance. It seemed callous, but when they opened up the seal tomorrow, the bodies would be going in. The general destruction would hopefully mean that any investigation into the deaths, if the bodies ever appeared on this plane, would be inconclusive. The last thing they needed was for events tonight to become part of a series of murder trials. He had just leapt through one of the vacant windows, taking a shortcut through the shell of the building, when he felt it. Magic began to tingle through his fingers, his hands... He closed his eyes and focused with all his might on Buffy and the tingling grew stronger, overwhelming his whole body. He sank to his knees, waiting for the sensation to pass. From there he toppled to one side and rolled until he was lying on his back on the bare concrete. He gasped for breath like a fish out of water until, finally, the sensation receded enough to allow him to laugh, laughter born of his mate's euphoria and the knowledge that their plan was falling into place. Half a dozen of his girls found him there, drawn by his familiar tone. Spike knew what it was like to be hugged by a slayer. This was the first time he'd been mobbed by six at once.






 

The day had been a long one, the time since Buffy had last seen Spike a comparative eternity to the way they had been living in each other's pockets since they had all moved into the school. Her whole body still fizzed with the magic, like sherbet on her tongue but all over. She felt like she had the power to do anything and all she really wanted to do was to share it with him. There was no conscious thought. She didn't reason out where she might find him or use her phone to call and find out where he was. She was simply drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet and as soon as she ensured that Tara and Lydia would be escorted back to the school by Wes and the other watchers, she left the others to deal with the clean up.

When she reached the top of the steps leading from the pyramid, Faith was just snapping shut her phone.

"Heading over to the high school," the dark haired slayer announced. "You?"

Buffy oriented herself, checking her personal lodestone against the familiar terrain. "Guess so... Think you can keep up?" she asked as she broke into a run, vaulting or leaping the headstones that got in her way as she took the most direct line to the construction site.

Faith didn't let her make too much of her slight head start and soon the girls ran shoulder to shoulder, not really racing but running just because they could, for the sheer joy of the adrenaline high and burning muscles and because they could no more have stayed at a walking pace right then than they could have sat through one of Giles' explanations without fidgeting.

They cleared the high cemetery wall with an ease that would have made Hong Kong wire-artists jealous and began threading their way through the deserted streets and back alleys of the town, the flat terrain allowing Faith to push them both a gear higher. "So I guess that was kind of like condensed essence of slayer going through us?" she laughed as she stretched her stride a little further.

Buffy actually broke into a laugh before she replied. "So I'm not the only one with an appetite?"

"Hungry 'n' horny?" Faith risked a sideways glance at her companion, who seemed more at home in her own skin than she had ever seen her. "Hell yeah!" she howled into the night sky. "And if your guy has Scottie on guard duty when we get there then he'll just have to go AWOL."






 

The first figure they saw as they approached the school was the last one they wanted to see. "Votes for running right on by and skipping the lectures until tomorrow night? Or I suppose tonight... technically," Faith suggested as they emerged from an alleyway and spotted Quentin Travers between them and the half-complete structure of the new high school, accompanied by one of the watcher middle management.

Quentin pointed in the direction of Miss Chalmers' School for Gifted Girls and then indicated one of the alleyways which led down to a larger street, which in turn curved around to meet the road on which the school was situated. His companion, to judge by the pointing he was doing, appeared to favour a different route.

"If we get killed in the battle we might miss out on it altogether," Faith suggested cheerfully.

"Rehearsal dinner? I'm expecting you and mini-Giles to be there. No dying before then... But, yeah, I think we-. Damn!" Buffy began an all out sprint, giving up on the idea of avoiding Travers as his companion slumped to the ground, clutching his abdomen. The scarecrow figure behind him pulled his screwdriver-dagger free and moved toward Travers.






 

News had spread rapidly through the school. There had been several girls who had been sent back injured from the construction site, and others, younger, had woken from their beds as they felt the change. They had obviously done it right, though, and none of the youngest had been affected. There wouldn't be any five year old slayers beating up their parents because they wouldn't let them stay up late.

Bee still thought of the new slayers as girls, but they weren't. They couldn't be. She had asked about that when Buffy and Faith had laid out the situation and they had been clear about it. The spell had been designed to empower only women of the slayer line. Even if some were as young as nine or ten, their personalities were already mostly formed, and extra strength or not, those who had been judged too young to take part in the training were going to have to wait for the next apocalypse before they got to lend a hand.

Bee dangled a slender white gold chain from the tips of her fingers, a cubic cut diamond, perhaps a third of an inch on each side, swinging from it by one corner. She realised that the time was almost here. She lit several more candles before lying back on her mattress again and watching the multicoloured sparkles of light that refracted through the diamond's flawless centre and played over the walls of the attic room as she waited.

Tara almost stumbled through the door when she arrived back, her features still glowing metaphorically if not physically from the after-effects of the ritual. She seemed surprised to find her roommate still awake and she checked slightly before stooping to stroke Rupert, who uncurled from his spot at Bee's feet to brush in between Tara's legs. "You didn't have to wait up."

"I wanted to... I mean who could sleep, anyway... but I wanted to be awake when you got back." For once she seemed to stumble over her words.

"Is that..." Tara's eyes fixed on the pendant, though she seemed to feel it rather than simply see it.

Bee replied with a barely perceptible nod.

"I thought you would have given that to Giles by now so that he could pass it on to..."

Bee sighed, swung her feet out from below her blankets and sat up, allowing Tara a proper view of her black satin pyjamas. "There was never going to be any passing on. I arranged to have it made... on the condition that I would be the one to wear it when the time came."

"But you-."

"I have the best chance."

Tara's face seemed to lose all of its previous animation, her eyes sad. "I-."

"I have the best chance, but if... well, if anything happens, take care of Rupert. He likes you and he's not just your average cat." Her eyes welled up, but she sped on as she could see Tara opening her mouth to interrupt. "It's okay. I'm really okay with it... If it wasn't for the fact that I was going to play the big dumb hero tomorrow I'd have to wait years to do this." She let the pendant drop back onto her cot and rose to her feet with a stately elegance. As she stepped closer to the witch, her skin seemed somehow bathed in silvery light. She reached out with a patient hand toward Tara's face, but the Wiccan didn't recoil from her touch.

When the demi-angel cupped her chin, Tara allowed herself to be drawn farther into the room before Bee pressed scarlet lips to her quivering mouth. She tasted of bright winter mornings and smelled faintly of honeysuckle. She felt tiny in Tara's arms, smaller by far even than Willow had been, but there was a strength to her frame that somehow prevented Tara from feeling as if she might crush her or suffocate her despite the relative difference in their sizes. Her mouth opened against the bright lips, responding shyly to their unfamiliar taste and touch. Neither of them seemed to feel the need to deepen the caress and no other part of their bodies met except where Bee's hand now cradled her cheek. After long seconds a slight creaking noise prompted them to pull apart.

A dark brown tail curled around the still ajar door as Rupert left them alone in the room, but once it was gone they had eyes for no one but each other. This time Tara knew the move had to be hers. Without taking her gaze from the eyes of silver-flecked hazel that seemed to be staring straight into her soul, she backed away until she pressed against the door and it finally clicked shut. There was a shimmer of relief in Bee's eyes and she knew that this was the right thing. Whatever the morning might bring, they needed each other tonight. Tara's fingers unfastened the buttons of her blouse as she walked back toward Bee, letting it slide from her shoulders at the last second to reveal the white embroidered cotton of her bra and the full swell of her breasts.

"We don't-," Bee began but Tara's fingers reached up to still her lips.

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to," she told the older woman. She could have said that she still felt pain at Willow's loss but that she knew the witch belonged in her past. She could have said that she hoped she and Bee would both survive the upcoming battle and that they would have the chance to see where fate might take them. She could have said that she had been tempted when Bee had held her when she had cried in the night to turn around and initiate a less platonic embrace. She could have said a million things but none of them were necessary and instead she lowered her head and began another kiss, one that didn't for long remain as chaste as their previous one.
 
Chapter 7.19
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.19
Friday, July 19th, 2002


"Buffy?" Spike had his phone pressed to his ear about an instant after it rang, the ring tone no longer quite as crisp as it had once been.

"No, sorry, it's Lydia. Hasn't Buffy called?"

"Not yet. What's up? Aren't you meant to be with her?"

"Buffy and Faith left just after we finished the spell. I'm not sure where they headed. I was trying to track down Giles. I called the school and Penny said to try your number in case he was at the site with you."

"He's here. Want me to get him for you?"

"No, no, it's okay if he's busy. Just ask him... Just say if he gets a minute-."

Spike grimaced and pulled the phone from his ear. "Hoi, talk to your bint before she wears my ears out trying to work out what message she wants me to pass on." He passed the phone to Giles who stood no more than a foot or two away. "An' once you've done that might as well head back an' get what sleep you can. Once the minibuses get back and we start shippin' the non-combatants out I doubt anyone'll get much."

Spike turned and gave his attention to Oz and the group of watchers that the werewolf had rounded up, leading them away from where Giles and his girlfriend were talking. "Same drill as usual, just none of the wanna-." Spike gave a slight cough to cover his slip. "...slayers, so they get a break before we go for the final assault.

Stands to reason that that last attack was them trying to hit us with everything they had before the spell took. I doubt they held anything back... but you guys get to keep a watch just in case. I'll be staying here, too, but it's up to Oz to make the call if you see something that makes you think you need back up!"

The vampire took off at a run as he shouted the last few words.

Oz shrugged and turned to the others, beginning to allocate pairs of watchers to different spots on the site's perimeter.

"Don't you want to know why he took off like that?" one of the two female watchers asked.

Oz tilted his head on one side as if considering. "Nope, if he'd wanted help he would have asked," he replied after a second or two, and then continued with his task. When all the watchers had been assigned a post, Oz took it upon himself to check the basement and make sure no one had sneaked in during the confusion of the clean up.






 

Spike watched the scene unfold as if in slow motion from two different camera angles, Buffy's viewpoint superimposed lightly over his own, both of them too far away. There was no way for this to end well, and however it did end, the blame would have to fall on his shoulders. He had had the chance to stop Wood earlier, and instead he had chosen to leave without knowing what had happened to him.

Travers had at least been alerted to his attacker's presence by the other watcher's cry of pain. His first instinct had seemed to be to run but it hadn't taken him long to realise that even half-starved as his attacker was he would be easily able to outdistance a much older man whose recent pace of living had been rather more sedate. He turned to face his attacker, his eyes always seeming to be fixed on the man's face so that Spike wondered if he could even see the hand that held the screwdriver that was caked in blood and less pleasant substances that should have remained inside the other watcher's digestive tract. It was possible, depending how effective cutie's night vision was, that all that the watcher could see were the whites of his attacker's eyes and the occasional flash of once perfect, but now neglected, teeth when he smiled his maniacal grin.

"Now, Robin, what is this? You know we have no quarrel." Travers spoke calmly and evenly, but he didn't lower his arms which he held in the way of someone who had once long ago done a great deal of boxing.

"You were meant to help me kill it!" Wood threw down the accusation. "Now, you're in league with it. You gave it your car. You let it toy with all those girls. The poison you gave me didn't work. You told me that it would kill him. You said the only way that he could live was to kill her but they're both alive..."

"The poison should have worked, Robin. The plan was flawless. At the very least it should have removed the slayer and left you an emotionally broken opponent. For the moment, I admit, we have been forced into an alliance of convenience but Miss Summers has effectively rendered herself irrelevant once the current battle is over. She is now far from unique and amongst so many choices we can surely find several slayers who will be far more amenable to the council's plans. Once she is gone her paramour will be easy game."

"Really not doing much to convince me whose side I should be on, Quentin, but then it's not like anything you're saying is news." Spike could tell by her viewpoint where Buffy was crouching, catching her breath, checking on the wounded man and playing for time until he could get there, but even he could barely make out the shape of her black leather coat in the shadowed darkness of the alley, the only light that of a sliver of moon.

"And I'd guess the trade up policy goes for ex-con slayers as well?" Faith asked, walking down the centre of the street with a sultry sway to her hips as obvious as it was possible to be. "I mean that must have been a real embarrassment, having to go to the American government and ask for a pardon? Sure you'd rather I just disappeared, too, before I do anything else that might embarrass you. I mean, why'd you want us if you could have, say Kennedy, brand spanking new, fresh out the box and as gung ho as they make 'em?"

"Shut up!" the madman shouted. "This isn't about you. This is about him and the monster that murdered my mother."

There was a rasp of flint on steel just inches behind the lunatic's head, making him turn away from the watcher. Spike's features were illuminated in the darkness like a grinning effigy of the devil before he lit his cigarette and clicked the top of his Zippo closed, leaving all the humans with multi-coloured afterimages dancing before their eyes. In that moment of disorientation, Spike reached out and grabbed each of Wood's wrists, letting the red orange tip of the newly lit cigarette tumble to the ground as he pulled them wide with a cracking of bones. The screwdriver dropped from his opponent's hands and with his arms stretched to their widest extent, the grip pulling him into a less than upright position, Wood was defenceless against the head butt that broke his nose.

Spike loosened his hold and the man slumped to the ground, curling into a foetal position as he tried to simultaneously cradle two broken arms and a broken nose.

"What kept you?" Buffy's voice teased from near level with the alley floor. "We've got a wounded guy here."






 

Penny's handling of the DeSoto was slightly overcautious, being used to a smaller car with right-hand-drive and rather more visibility, but she still made decent time and turned up not too long after Spike had finished a second cigarette. Since the mini-buses were already occupied taking away civilians or ferrying those injured in the fight to hospital, they had been left with few options. Spike spread blankets over the cracked leather seats before Buffy helped the watcher in, the middle aged man nodding his thanks.

"You know where to catch up once..." Spike let his voice trail off. At one time the watcher's wound, having perforated the man's bowel, would have been a guaranteed ticket to infection and a slow agonizing death. Of course, medicine had moved on, and if the local hospital had still been operational it would have made all the difference but Spike still found it difficult to convince himself that the watcher wasn't another walking dead man.

Penny nodded. "If Wes hasn't left some sort of all clear message by the time I get out of hospital, I'll meet up with the other non-combatants. Otherwise, I'll see you at the reception hall."

"What about Wood?" Travers asked.

"Well, he's not bloody going anywhere in my car," Spike argued, almost blushing when Buffy gave him a look of disappointment. "You can't expect the guy he tried to kill to ride with him and Watchermum can't keep an eye on him and drive at the same time."

"He could ride in the trunk..." the slayer suggested. "If you sort of tied it shut so that he couldn't get out but so he could breathe."

"It all takes time, love, and that's something he hasn't got." Spike nodded to the watcher in the back seat. "Get him out of here," he told Penny. "An' don't worry about picking up any speeding tickets. If the cops stop you, you'll likely end up with an escort."

Buffy continued to argue her case after the car's taillights disappeared. "She could have taken him."

"It would have taken five or ten minutes to clear all the tools and weapons out of the boot and then God knows how long to work out some way to make sure he could breathe but not get out. He can go in the first minibus that gets back. Between a dozen of them, if we put him in with the youngest of the old guys, they should be able to keep an eye on him, what with him not being able to use his hands... or do much else other than breathe through his mouth."

"So what now?" Buffy asked, her eyes darting enviously to where she could just make out Faith and James in the distance, his arm around the slayer's waist as they headed back to watcher central.

Spike shrugged and gave a rueful smile. "Best if I stay here. That way I can be in place before the sun comes up. Figure you an' the others have a bunch of kids an' wrinklies to evacuate and a battle to organise."

Buffy rolled her eyes and looked as if she would have liked to argue, but instead she nodded to Quentin. "Figure you can make it back to the school on your own but make sure he gets handed over to the guys on guard and tied up first. Just remember it was you he wanted to kill." She slipped an arm through Spike's and began to walk toward the half-complete building. "I'll call the others in a minute, arrange a meeting for later. For now, I think we all need some time with our hunnies. Where d'you get the best view around here?" she asked.

Five minutes later the necessary calls were made and Buffy looked down at the sihouette of the darkened town from the highest scaffolding on the site. Spike stood at her back, his arms around her waist and his cheek against her hair and together she felt like they could face whatever was to come.






 

Giles choked and spat a mouthful of tea all over his notes. "You're what? B-but you said-."

"I know what I said. I was wrong," Lydia replied nervously, still unsure how Giles would react once he got over the initial surprise. "I guess it was all the being sick with the whisky."

"I see," Giles deliberately kept his tone dry and non-commital. "Have you decided whether you're going to go ahead with..."

"I-I thought you'd want me to keep it," Lydia sounded hopelessly lost and so unsure of herself that Giles couldn't do anything other than abandon his seat and his cold demeanour and take her into his arms.

"Of course I want you to keep it. I just didn't dare assume that with your career to consider that you would feel the same way. Quentin might forgive a minor rebellion but I doubt he'll be quite so agreeable once he finds out about this."

"So you're not angry?" Lydia half-hiccupped.

"I-," Giles gave a sigh and his voice softened considerably. "I might have been if you had chosen the other option. Intellectually, I support a woman's right to choose, but emotionally that doesn't make a whole lot of difference."

"I don't want to get married," Lydia added almost hesitantly. "Not yet, not just because of the pregnancy... but I think we've been doing okay on the living together front, so maybe we could sort of make that official?"

"You want me to move back to England?" Giles sounded more hesitant now.

"Or I could move out here..." Lydia rapidly suggested, as if she sensed his reluctance. "I could get a transfer and I don't have any family left... except for Quentin."

Giles choked and turned red again. Finally, regaining his breath he asked, "Quentin?"

"He was my grandmother's brother but we don't advertise the fact. It would be awkward. Of course, some people know, but..."

"Awkward? I can't imagine why, though it does explain his continued trust in you even after we began our relationship," Giles responded dryly before he gave the woman a reassuring smile. "But you would be willing to make a fresh start here?"

"I'd be willing to try . I might not be cut out to be a California girl, but I'd be willing to try. They do have some schools in the area that aren't built on top of a hellmouth, I suppose?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Some, I believe. As for being willing to try, I can't ask for anything more." The watcher honestly didn't believe he could. Jenny had said that if Olivia had truly loved him she would have been willing to move. In many ways Lydia and he were still finding their footing and the latest news meant that they could both expect a steep learning curve, but if she was willing to take a chance on him he'd do his best to ensure she never regretted it. He only hoped she didn't start to look like her great uncle as she got older...
 
Chapter 7.20
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.20
Friday, July 19th, 2002


Angel frowned as the phone rang, holding Cordelia just a little tighter as she stirred in her sleep as if his hold would delay the inevitable. She reached out anyway, not fully awake, but her response to the summons instinctive, pulling free of the vampire's arms as she picked up the receiver.

"Speak," she ordered, "and it better be good to wake me up at..." She wiped her eyes and peered at her alarm clock. "Half past four in the morning."

"Cordy, it's Fred. I think you and Angel had better get yourselves back to the hotel."

It wasn't so much the words Angel overheard, as the background noise. There was at least one child crying and another shouting. There were other voices as well, and such a variety of accents. He grabbed the phone from Cordy's hand.

"Manners much? It's still my apartment even if you think you live here... except when the rent's due." She pulled the phone back from his grasp. "Sounds like you've got a full house?" she asked the Texan.

"Not yet, but there are..." She paused as if waiting for information and Angel heard a cool female English voice supply the figure before Fred repeated it. "...twelve more minibuses coming."

"What the-?"

"They're from Sunnydale. Buffy's sent everyone who isn't fit to fight and some younger folk to keep an eye on all the kids. I don't know if we're going to have room for them all. Gunn's still on that stakeout at the Palisades. Connor's-. Well, he's got enough trouble trying to fend off all the hormone bombs. Most of them are kinda young for him, but there are a couple of injured ones near enough his age. Lorne's doin' what he can but some of the old guys are kinda hinky about the demon thing an'-."

"Enough already. We're on our way."






 

Cordy's first stop when she got to the hotel was the computer. To Angel and Fred's astonishment, she ignored the milling children and adults who were still waiting to be assigned rooms. She accessed their accounts package and went into the routine for issuing invoices.

"Cordy, don't you think maybe you should get them all settled before you start billing them for the rooms?" Angel asked, looking back and forward between the pair of young girls who were sliding down the hotel banisters and the old man who seemed to be giving Lorne a hard time as if he didn't know where to begin.

"I know that! I just figured that now would be the time to get them to pay up for all the damage their thugs did to the old offices when they were trying to assassinate Faith or abduct her or whatever it was they were doing that time. They ignored the first invoice I sent them with everything itemised, and our records got blown up with the old place, but three thousand should do it. Then , once we know how many we're doing room and board for and how long they're staying, I'll bill them for this time." With a flourish she pulled the sheet of paper from the printer almost as it finished printing. "Okay!" she called out loudly across the pandemonium of the hotel's reception area. "Which one of you watcher guys has a company Visa card?"

Lydia stepped forward, pulled a purse from her shoulder bag, and after extracting a rectangle of plastic, she tossed it onto the counter. "I can't guarantee the payment won't end up getting cancelled when Quentin finds out," she admitted, "but you're welcome as far as I'm concerned."

Angel abandoned his mission to protect the hotel's furnishings and turned sharply on his heel. "Quentin? As in Quentin Travers?" he asked, getting so close to the watcher in his unmistakable anger that the blonde had to tilt her head sharply back to meet his stare.

"Quentin as in Quentin Travers," she replied calmly, refusing to be intimidated. She had lived the greater part of her adult life in an organisation dominated by men who had often tried similar tactics of physical aggression. There were reasons other than her family connections that she had made it so far. "I assume that you must be Angel? Buffy sends her regards." She set her purse on the counter and removed an envelope from her bag.

Angel took the letter, pushing it into a coat pocket in an almost guilty manner. "You assume right." He picked up the card, reading it before Cordelia grabbed it from his hand and began processing the transaction. "Ms Lydia Chalmers. Are you telling me that Quentin Travers is here?"

"Not yet, but I imagine he would get here soon," she informed him, keeping her tone completely neutral. "His group had to make a stop at the hospital in Ventura but they were amongst the first to leave."

"Let me get this straight..." Angel glowered even more threateningly. "The man on whose authority my ex was poisoned and trapped in a building with a vampire who was a woman-hating multiple murderer before he was turned? The man who refused to even go so far as to provide us with information when I was dying? The one responsible for sending assassins after me and a woman under my protection and nearly destroying my apartment? The one who supplied more of that same poison so that it could be used on my grandchilde, not that there haven't been times when I'd have gladly staked Spike myself but that's my right... That Quentin Travers?"

The doors opened but neither Lydia nor Angel spared a glance for the new arrivals.

"I couldn't attest to all the incidents that you've brought up, but as the only other Quentin Travers I'm aware of is twelve years old, I would assume it's the same man."

"Lydia," Quentin's cool tones interrupted as the rest of the watchers he had travelled with seemed to disperse from around him. "I don't believe that your friend and I have met officially." He fixed the woman with a reproving glare. "I'm sure you and Rupert knew that if you had provided the name of our host or even the hotel name rather than just a number and street name that I would have foregone the pleasure, but since you declined to give me that opportunity I feel an introduction is the least I can expect."

Lydia showed she had as little intention of being bullied by Quentin as by the vampire who still towered over her. "We , and I believe you'll find there were rather more people than just Rupert and myself involved, decided it was for the best to avoid giving either of you advance warning. We thought the less time you both had available for pointless posturing, the better. Angel, meet Quentin Travers. It seems you already know him by reputation. Now, since the minibus should be on its way back to Sunnydale by now, and if you ," she said, turning her attention to Angel once more, "continue to make a fuss then Spike will win a rather large wager, I suggest the two of you declare a truce or Quentin calls himself a taxi. Of course, if he were to do that he might find himself rather out of the loop on what's happening."

Angel's lips pursed as he spent a couple of seconds considering her words, but as she turned her back on him to take the Visa slip from Cordelia and sign it, he obviously decided that discretion was not in this case the better part of valour. "As if I care whether Spike wins a bet," he pouted. "This guy did everything he could to ensure that I died-."

"I assure you, Angelus, had I done everything I could to ensure your death, then you would be so much dust."

"Yeah, right, 'cause you made such an efficient job of killing Spike?" the vamp retorted.

At the reception desk Cordelia rolled her eyes, passed Lydia her card and her copy of the visa slip and locked the others safely in the drawer beneath the counter until the banks opened. "So how much is Spike making out of some chump?"

"Well, I believe if Angel keeps arguing then Faith is going to owe him two hundred dollars." The blonde smiled as she felt the vampire's gaze return to her. "She said that if she could cope with having the guy who tried twice to have her 'bumped off' around, then so could Angel. Spike said he'd play the drama queen."

The vampire realised that his mouth was open. He closed it and headed for the stairs. "I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me."

Cordelia scowled, looking very much like she wanted to point out that they needed him right now, but she let him walk away nevertheless. She reached behind her, picked the key to a chamber well away from where Angel's own was situated, and handed it to Quentin. "I'm thinking you might want to stay in your room most of the time," she suggested.

She waited until Quentin had headed up the stairs before she turned back to Lydia. "Did Faith really bet Spike two hundred dollars that Angel wouldn't argue with Quentin?"

"Faith broke out of prison a few months ago and hasn't had paid employment since. What do you think?" Lydia asked.

"I think you're a very sneaky woman," the once-more-brunette answered, her voice holding a note of admiration.






 

Angel brushed past the dark-haired girl as he made his way to his room, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Already struggling to maintain his temper, it was all he could do not to growl. The girl stared at him as if she too had felt the instinct to attack. She looked old enough to be at the fight, but she smelled of old blood, some wound mostly healed but one that Buffy might have judged too likely to reopen in a fight.

Her companion turned back when she realised that she had stopped. "Shannon?"

"He's a vampire," the first girl whispered.

The second girl smiled placatingly at them both. "I guess that would make him Angel then. Someone said this was his hotel. I'm sorry." She tugged at her friend's sleeve, with her good arm, the other one being cradled in a sling against her chest. She kept talking but the words seemed to bypass Angel's brain. Like the distant background chatter in a pub or at a hockey game, he was aware of it as noise, but it had no meaning or significance. All that mattered was that there were, not one, but two slayers here, now, in this hotel.

The hand in his coat pocket crumpled the envelope from Buffy, the letter she must have written before she went out on whatever mission had claimed her life with less than two days to go before her wedding. And Faith, just yesterday or so it seemed, teasing him for wanting a hug, demanding a Big Mac and waltzing through reception in nothing but a towel on her way to ransack Cordelia's locker in the basement.

And now two slayers, both injured, both here rather than back in Sunnydale where the trouble was... Just Spike and the Scoobies, only this time no Willow, no big gun.

Things in Sunnydale must have gone to hell, possibly literally, and Spike, it seemed, was still there fighting. At least, Angel's demon hadn't felt the howling abyss that was the loss of family, true family, close family. Tonight when the sun set, he would head for Sunnydale to offer what help he could in Spike's search for vengeance. Today, he would mourn for his one-time love and for his friend.
 
Chapter 7.21
 

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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support. As always when I stray close to canon, I've stolen some of the best lines, in this case, from the inimitable JW himself...

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.21
Friday, July 19th, 2002


Buffy watched as the last minibus pulled into its slot at the front of the building. In her head she went over the plan, trying to make sure that they hadn't forgotten anything. All the other cars and motorcycles had already been moved to the secondary rendezvous, Marie, Rosa and Rogue reluctantly going with the convoy and waiting out the battle there. Rupert, with that sixth sense that cats seemed to have for when they're about to be made to go somewhere they don't want to, had disappeared completely until the minibus had brought all the drivers and bikers back to the school. Then , he had complained most vocally at finding canned salmon in his breakfast bowl instead of fresh. She had even, finally, convinced Reverend Hamilton to evacuate the manse for one day, though that had also involved convincing four of his flock, who had still been in town, to have a day out. Now, he and the local priest were insisting on at least helping with any casualties. She'd talked them out of wielding weapons... just. Who'd a thunk that the clergy would play chicken with the apocalypse?

The slayers and the younger watchers waited only for her to lead them.

"I guess this is it," she announced for the benefit of Faith, James and Giles, who all waited in the library with her.

"It would appear so," Giles replied and pulled open the library door.

"Let's go kick some undead butt!" Faith agreed, the gaudy magical axe once more in her hands.

Buffy and James picked up the swords they had chosen from the table by the door and the slayer passed the last one to Giles.

The library door swung closed behind them, and as they left Buffy wondered if she... or any of them, would see this place again.








The caves were far under Sunnydale, hidden deep to keep their occupants safe from prying human eyes, their very remoteness part of what made them special. The distance, however, was of a purely physical variety. These caves were part of Sunnydale, and their fate depended on the battle that would soon begin, just as much as the fate of the town above.

For once, the way into the demons' home was unmanned, only the magical barrier designed to stun and disorient strangers so that they could be turned around and set on a different path protected the colony. Today, any such intruders could be of only little consequence. The high priest had called all to the meeting place. Today, every adult, adolescent and spawn was called to prayer.








Xander was one of the first off the Scoobies' minibus. "Welcome to the once and possibly future Sunnydale High! There's no running in the halls, no yelling, no gum-chewing... Anybody who wants a bathroom, the only ones where the plumbing works are the first set on the left once you go through the main doors. If you don't have to go to the bathroom, picture what you're about to face. Better to go now."

Buffy rolled her eyes and made her way to the building's top step, stepping into the shade of the entryway and Spike's embrace for a lingering and yet all too brief moment. She trailed one arm behind her so that her fingers ran down Spike's arm, then over the back of his hand and their fingertips brushed together until the instant she stepped back into the morning sunlight so that, with Faith at her side, she could address those who had answered their call to arms.

There were potentials... No, she corrected herself, they were slayers now. There were watchers, some like James, who were friends, and more who had arrived here with the 'human good, demon bad' mindset so deeply ingrained that Buffy didn't know whether all their training sessions and patrols with Spike and Ha Nath and her friends would be enough to sway them after the current truce was over, but however misguided they might be they were here and, for today, they were on their side. There were those demons who had chosen to help, Ha Nath, her friends, Bee, whose hand had never left Tara's since the two came down to breakfast this morning, the museum's curator, Lily and even the shy, timid, almost completely inoffensive Clem. There were the black-garbed clergymen. There was her family: Spike, Dawn, Tara, Giles, Wes, Xander, Anya, Oz and even the Michaels men, she supposed, at least until Dawn moved onto her next crush... and one cat, who, it appeared, wasn't about to let its mistress get involved in an apocalypse without him.

She looked at the sea of faces in front of her and smiled. "Someone," she began, her quick glance into the shadows leaving no doubt as to whom, "told me last night that there's a saying that evil prevails when good people fail to act. It feels kinda strange to find out there are this many good people willing to stand here, shoulder to shoulder with us... strange but good. We've never faced anything this dangerous before and we'll take all the help we can get.

We are going to win this, today. You all know me and Spike have got plans for tonight and tomorrow that we're not putting off for The First or a million Two Rock Hans or Lukes or Chewies, but even if this was a hopeless cause you guys would be here anyway and that makes me proud to have each and every one of you here with us.

You all have a part to play, and you all know what that is and where to go, so I guess I should quit the speechifying and let you all get on with it."

"Amen!" Faith added fervently from her position by Buffy's side. The brunette slayer was pulled to one side as everyone began to move, James bestowing one last good luck kiss.

Buffy didn't bother to ask whether her sister slayer was agreeing with the speech as a whole or just the part about Buffy shutting up. She simply tucked her shoulder under Spike's arm, wrapped her own arm around his waist and began the walk to the basement.

The Scoobies paused as they reached the point where they had to separate, letting the others move on ahead. The museum curator and the seven or eight watchers who were to help Giles and Clem with stretcher detail as well as the two dozen or so designated to act as reinforcements should any of their fellows' positions seem likely to be overwhelmed, made sure to mill slightly self-consciously at the opposite side of the entrance hall. Lily and the God squad had been forbidden to even enter the building. As non-combatants, they had been instructed to wait for the wounded to be brought out to the minibuses, where they and the watchers with most medical experience could perform triage, interim first aid or the last rites. Buffy, personally, found the idea of that last service less than comforting, but she knew that a number of the slayers had asked the priest for a blessing this morning. He had taken confession for what seemed like hours. Buffy would rather believe that they would all miraculously live, but if people were going to die, then at least some of them could die according to their beliefs.

Spike spared Clem, James, Wes and Giles a nod each before he turned to Xander and the Michaels. "One scratch on Bitlet or Demon Bint an' I'm holdin' the three of you responsible," he warned them.

Xander almost smiled. "We'll defend them to the death."

"Yes," Anya responded quickly, though she'd proven to be a more than able swordswoman, her deftness and agility equally as effective as her husband's greater strength. She ignored the fact that when they had faced Glory, she had been the one hit by falling rubble as she pushed the carpenter clear and all the others for levity's sake pretended that they had forgotten. "They'll defend us with their very lives."

"Remember, Bitlet," the vampire admonished, "short-sleeved dress tomorrow. No visible marks. Don't be afraid to use that boyfriend of yours as a human shield if you need to."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Check, Spike, I'll get right on that... just as soon as I spot you hiding behind Buffy."

"Dawn..." Buffy seemed to hesitate over what she should say.

"No," Dawn interrupted before her sister could think of the words. "Anything you say is going to sound like goodbye." Her gaze met Buffy's squarely, her determination equal of the slayer's own, as was the sisterly love that, for once, neither of them bothered to hide.

"So..." Buffy looked round at all her friends in turn. "Rehearsal dinner, six tonight, see you all there?"

"Ten thousand vampires couldn't stop us," Xander answered glibly.

"I may be a little tardy, if it turns out that I have to pick Lydia up," Giles said apologetically, "but I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Wes answered, while Oz gave the slightest of nods and Faith answered with a smile on her and James' behalf.

"We'll be there," Bee affirmed, her hand still holding Tara's and the feline Rupert weaving back and forth between the two.

"Sure thing," Clem added.

Buffy smiled and tried to convince herself that all their promises would be kept. There was little more to be said and with a nod she pulled Spike toward the basement stairwell.

"Good," she called over her shoulder. "And we're holding you all to that 'cause we're not starting looking for new attendants at this stage and we've paid for all the dinners."

Xander began to question Buffy over the menu as they headed off, checking that they weren't dining on blood sausage, or any other funky English supposed-to-be-food.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Spike moaned.

Giles watched them go their various ways with an indulgent smile. "The earth is definitely doomed," he said to himself.

Xander's construction plans had shown three ways out of the basement, other than the staircase that led straight to the seal. Wes had taken the corridor to the left. Oz and James had headed to the right. Xander, Anya, Dawn, Brandon and his father had followed a third corridor that led straight ahead, as had the slayers, Spike, Tara and Bee, though they had veered off almost immediately taking the stairs down to the basement.

Clem and Giles each positioned themselves where they could see a signal from at least two of the corridors and began the nail-biting wait.








"Okay," Buffy called, looking at the glowing seal with suspicion. About a third of the new slayers stood just outside its light, standing front to back so that they could fit. "If you've got them, cut them."

Spike grimaced as the last bagged blood in Sunnydale, animal or human, splattered onto the white metal, thinking that Angel had better bring a decent supply from LA or he was going to be very hungry by tomorrow night. The blood seemed to pool within the grooves of the casting in ways proscribed by gravity before being absorbed by the metal, leaving the surface completely clean in the glare of the light coming from it. Like watching a slow-motion film of a flower opening in reverse, the five points of the star folded upwards. They formed a tall five sided pyramid which then dropped into the star-shaped hole, turning as it descended, the evil version of the end titles of Camberwick Green, only this was no plasticine figure cheerily waving goodbye as it disappeared into a music box. This was a gateway to at least one hell, but where Buffy walked, he would follow.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he sensed several crossbows pointed at his back, Faith's command and the reserves all ready to do what they had to do if the seal possessed any of those who had activated it.

Buffy was the first to begin the descent, and Spike flung out an arm to prevent Kennedy from being second, taking his rightful place as next in line. Kennedy followed on as did the rest of the first group and then Bee, Rupert and Tara. Only when none of them showed any sign of being possessed by the seal's evil, did Faith and the remainder of the slayers follow them down.








Buffy gestured to the girls of her group, including Ha Nath and her friends, to form a circle around the crude staircase they had descended. Bee found a position with her back against one side of the staircase and sat down cross-legged to begin the meditation that would speed the crystal's activation. Rupert climbed into her lap and Tara kept watch over her, ready to use her magic to defend her new lover if the slayers' defences should fail.

Faith's group formed an inner circle. With the exception of the slayer herself, who still carried the magical axe, they had ranged weapons at the ready. Amanda led the third group, who formed a knot at the circle's centre, encompassing both the stairwell and the area where Tara and Bee were.

Faith, Buffy and Spike moved away from the group and, with a stealth born of practice, they stole to the edge of the plateau where they had found themselves. They looked down the steep cliff face, seeing for the first time the true extent of the enemy's army.

Buffy gulped, took a deep breath and waved the other two back away from the edge.

"I think we have enough to defend this whole... flat bit," she whispered.

"Makes sense," Spike agreed. "We might end up a bit more spaced out, and Faith's crew won't be able to fire past the others. We'll have to alternate them in between your lot instead, but the climb the bastards'll have to make should more than make up for that. Better'n them coming at us on the flat."

Faith shrugged her silent assent and soon, instead of three circles, there were two lines of slayers spaced out along the cliff top.

The shallowest slopes were at either end of the cliff and Spike and Buffy took the right end of the line, while Faith stood on the left. The former potentials shifted nervously as they watched the enemy multitudes mill around below.

"I'm not worried," Buffy told them, her tone of voice screaming her concern to the vampire at her side and probably several of the younger slayers.

"Really?" asked Rona sceptically as she looked down at the throng. "'Cause I'm flashing back to Xander's whole bathroom speech.

"Buffy..." the pink-haired slayer sounded petrified, her gaze locked on a single ubervamp, who was staring right back at her.

"I'm not worried as long as Bee can get that thing started doing whatever it is that it does before they-." Buffy froze as the ripple of awareness spread out through the multitude below.

Just for a second the Turok Han all seemed to gaze upward and then, with a howl of anticipation, the vampires began to push and shove each other out of the way in their eagerness to scale the cliff face, their speed and agility so astounding that even Spike took an involuntary step backward as the tide approached, though he quickly righted that as soon as he realised what he had done.

"See us," the slayer finished in little more than a whisper.
 
Chapter 7.22
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.22
Friday, July 19th, 2002


Faith let the Turok Han swarm half way up the cliff face before she bellowed out the command, "Fire at will!"

Those of her group who had been carrying crossbows or longbows had, for the most part, already switched over to their hand-to-hand weapons. The heart shots necessary with those weapons were judged to be near impossible from the girls' positions at the top of the cliff that their opponents were climbing. The missile weapons had mostly been passed on to Amanda's group, giving the reserves a few extra shots before they were forced to reload in the case of the crossbow or a higher rate of fire from the longbows.

However, not all of Faith's group had been armed with such archaic weaponry. The specially adapted ammunition that the council's gunsmith had made had already been proven and nearly thirty of the girls had been armed with an assortment of pump-action shotguns and large calibre handguns. The caverns echoed with the sound of shot after shot, many of which shredded vampire skulls and the brains inside them, causing the affected party to detonate in a cloud of dust. Others, more or less fortunate, depending on your viewpoint, suffered injured limbs and fell from the rock wall, to be trampled or ripped apart by the blood-craving creatures below.

Dust billowed around the cliff face, obscuring the vampires that were making the climb... until another head would appear through the cloud and be used for target practice, causing the cloud to reach even higher. Nevertheless, all the firearms could do was delay the horde, buying less than a minute, but in that minute over two hundred of the Turok Han perished. A few of the handguns jammed. Mostly, the girls kept firing over and over, with so many targets to choose from that they soon expended their loads. There was no time to step back, get some space, reload. Just time to pull a sword or an axe before the first of the Turok Han reached the topmost heights and the battle proper began.

The slayers fought as they had never fought before. Power they had never unleashed flowed through their bodies. Every kick, every sword slash was imbued with supernatural strength. It didn't matter if their opponents were killed. All that mattered was that they were kept from gaining a sure footing at the top of the cliff. A punt as a vampire head and shoulders appeared over the edge. An axe crashing down on a barely visible skull. A sharpened stave driven deep into a chest as a vamp swung his leg over the lip. Fingers stamped to pulp as they search for the last handhold at the top of the climb.

Ha Nath and her friends proved nearly as effective, using experience to compensate where they might not match the slayers for strength or speed.

Time and again, vampires turned to dust or plummeted to an almost equally certain death in the maelstrom below.

Sometimes they turned the tables.

Molly's foot slipped in the loose dust as she tried for a spin kick. Her target ducked under the blow. She sprawled flat on the ground, her lower legs dangling over the abyss. As the vampire, which she had tried to stop, scrambled onto the cliff top, the one at its side tugged, hand over hand, at her jeans, pulling her further and further over the edge as her hands scrambled unsuccessfully to get a grip on something... anything. She fell screaming into the mass below and her cry was cut short.

The vampires attacked the girls on either side, who were already distracted by their own opponents, and both girls picked up scratches and scrapes before four of Amanda's group fell on the ubervamps.

Over and over, the line was overwhelmed simply by force of numbers, perhaps fluke, perhaps careful planning on the part of some of the Turok Han, waiting just short of the cliff top until all the defenders were engaged to scramble over the top in groups of three or four or five. At first, the reserves shot them down, or intercepted them, but the vampires kept coming and more girls fell.






 

As always when she was in a fight, Spike was aware of Buffy's every action. He knew her every sword stroke, kick or punch in the instant before she made them, knew how her body would twist, where her moves might leave an opening for the opposition and he moved with her to bar those opportunities. To an outsider, it made their small part of the fight look like a choreographed routine, so perfectly timed and so precise that it could never have been achieved without hours of repetition.

The vampire fought as if he were possessed by Mars himself. Vicious punches and kicks seemed to glance off the leather of his duster with as little effect as summer rain. Every blow he landed seemed either to result in a fresh cloud of dust or send another ubervamp tumbling into the void below. Buffy matched him vamp for vamp... and then the line collapsed.

One second they were in control, the next the Turok Han had broken through. The reserves had done the best they could, and it was thanks to them that the vampires hadn't been able to simply force their way left and right, obliterating either end of the line or turning the battle into a free for all. They had guarded their comrades' flanks, but the vampires had gained too strong a foothold to be driven back easily, and all Amanda and her girls had been able to do was funnel the Turok Han toward the exit.

Spike felt Buffy's moment of indecision, the fraction of the second while she tried to decide which of them should stay and which should go to Amanda's aid, before he answered her mental push and left her side. They couldn't do anything about the ones who had already escaped. That was up to the watchers and the others, but they had to stop the flow before there were so many that the mere humans who formed the second line would be overwhelmed.

Spike sprinted across the floor, his trajectory taking him straight toward the Brazilian football top that he recognised with ease. He called out in Portuguese as he ran.

Xuxa dropped into a low leg sweep and Spike threw himself over her head, using his body like a spear to drive her opponent to the ground.

Before the Turok Han could recover Spike had driven the sharpened end of his axe handle through its rib cage and into its heart. The blond bounced eagerly to his feet in the centre of the two lines of slayers. With one three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn he beheaded a vamp left and right, freeing two more of the slayers. He stepped forward, the axe swinging almost casually in a figure eight, which took up most of the width between the two lines.

Xuxa, Vi and a young Mexican slayer stepped up behind him. Suddenly, instead of a clear run to freedom, the vampires who had made it over the edge found themselves facing three stone-faced slayers and a bleached and leather clad nightmare, whose eyes promised no mercy other than a quick death and who seemed immune to their blows.

Spike moved forward, his axe swinging into another beheading circle as he began his dance of death.

The crowds at their back gave the ubervamps no room to retreat, and Spike gave them nowhere to go but into the path of his axe blade at the front. He spun and struck, again and again, sometimes high, separating head from body, and sometimes low, a crippling blow before he would deflect the Turok Han in the direction of the girls at his back, but always he moved forward toward the cliff's edge.

As the invading crowd thinned, more slayers managed to finish off their opponents and found that no one stepped up to take their places. The girls joined those with Spike. When the blond dropped his axe to pick up the last ubervamp, one hand at its neck, the other at its crotch and threw him over the cliff so hard that he knocked at least two others, who had been in the process of climbing, from their perches, almost half the girls stepped up and strengthened the line.

Spike grabbed his axe and stepped back to let the girls in.

The others began the job of checking the wounded. The ubervamps died and left no more than fallen dust, but the extent of the skirmish was marked by fallen bodies as clearly as seaweed marks the high tide mark on a beach.

Silently, Spike turned over the nearest body, already knowing that there was no heartbeat. The slender neck was ripped open, one eye socket a bloody mess, the other eye the same beautiful brown it had always been, Kennedy's prideful stare softened in death.

Panic suddenly gripped the vampire and his gaze was drawn to the staircase.

As if she felt his eyes on her, Tara smiled and lifted a hand, seeming almost to press it against the air as a mother might press her hand against the window, watching a young child head off for school. The air seemed to shimmer with a purple light and Spike understood. Tara had raised a barrier around herself and Bee, similar to the one they had used at the garage when the knights had attacked. She had been safe all along.

He didn't dare leave the chamber in case the Turok Han broke through again, but he quickly found the injured, picking out the heartbeats from amidst the carnage, and he made sure that Amanda and what remained of the reserves carried them upstairs and out to where Giles and his team would take over.

All the time, he listened to the sound of the battle, attuned to its cacophony, alert for any change that might mean he was needed, but these girls were his responsibility, and he wouldn't take the chance that any of them might die for the want of medical attention, or because they were unconscious when the time came to evacuate. His eyes darted often to the line. He checked for any signs that the girls were losing ground, any point where he might need to step up and steady the line, but his girls were doing him proud.

Faith wielded the axe at one end of the line as if it were an extension of her own body, staking, slashing and beheading in the smoothest of katas. Buffy moved with equal grace at the other end and if the girls in between didn't quite have the same flair or panache as the experienced slayers, they made up for it with determination and courage. They were his girls and he was proud of every one.

He gathered the last of the living wounded into his arms, a small dark-haired French girl, who he called Yvette though he had no idea what her real name actually was, and passed her to one of the other slayers to take out. Amanda came back downstairs as he did so, her eyes scanning the bodies that still lay scattered on the ground. He gave a slow shake of his head and she nodded her wistful understanding. They would see to their dead. They would not be left to lie in this hell hole, but they could wait. Now that the injured were out, most of the dwindling reserves would wait, again, in case they were needed. They spaced themselves out behind the main line, ready to step in if anyone was hurt. Only two or three could be spared to care for the fallen.

Spike turned, preparing to rejoin the fray, but he was still near the roughly hewn staircase when the diamond pendant that Bee wore began to emanate a faint but unearthly glow.






 

"Mr Giles!" The young watcher sounded panicked and he was staring fixedly ahead of him. Giles rushed forward, pulling open the basement door far enough to allow him to see why the watcher should be so flustered. He only just managed to push it closed and lock it with the keys Xander had provided before the arrival of the first Turok Han was intimated by a loud crash.

"You six," Giles shouted. "Yes, you lot with the polearms, get yourself up here and when something breaks through that door make it regret it..."

"B-But..." the watcher who had been on watch stuttered.

"But what, Frobisher? It's a single-width door, one which for obvious reasons that I feel the contractor would be loathe to admit is one of the very few finished doorways in this entire structure. I'm sure between six of them they should be perfectly able to deal with anything that breaks its way through."

"But what about the girls? They're locked in now, too."

"I'm sure the girls are rather busy just now, but if they get around to killing all the Turok Han in that basement and clearing the path to the door, then I believe they'll be vocal enough to attract our attention.

Now, pull it together, man. With this exit blocked some of them are going to find the other ways out. Hopefully, it'll take some time and they'll still get caught up when Bee sets off that amulet, but if not the others are going to need our help."






 

Anya nervously shifted her grip on her sword and cast a sideways glance at her husband. The triumphant cries of the Turok Han spilling into the basement below was audible as a dull roar.

"So why are we here, again?" she asked, looking round at the point they had chosen to defend. They were in a large open area at the junction of two corridors, all bare breeze-block and concrete.

"There's a staircase leading to the basement there," Xander answered, nodding in the direction of the corridor ahead. "And if they get into the ducting, which, thank goodness, we'd only just started, they could come out anywhere in that wing." He used his sword to point off to the right. "The dry riser is back down there. That's where we were going to hook into the-"

"I know what a dry riser is. It's the tunnels you guys build to give vamps free access to all the important buildings."

"It's a maintenance area where we channel all the electrics and other stuff from floor to floor," he argued defiantly before his expression changed to a more sheepish one. "...And where we hook up to the main grid via underground tunnels."

"So if we're just trying to stop them going that way..." Dawn interrupted. "...wouldn't we be better blocking off that corridor than standing around the big open area?"

Xander didn't get time to answer as they heard a door bang open further down the hall.

Anya shifted her weight from foot to foot and twisted her sword again in a two-handed grip. "God, Xander, I'm terrified. I didn't think-. I mean, I just figured that you'd be terrified and make jokes that are even less amusing than usual and I would be sarcastic about it."

"You can do this, honey," Xander tried to reassure her. "Just imagine they're from the IRS and they want to audit you... or they're..."

Anya looked no less nervous than before.

"Bunnies!" Dawn called as a group of five or six vampires seemed to spot them and head their way. "Big bunnies with bad teeth."

Anya's back stiffened and she raised her head to look her attackers full on. She lifted her sword into a ready position and when she spoke under her breath her tone was cool and collected. "Bunnies... Floppy... hoppy... bunnies."

Xander stood on her left, Dawn at her right and there were enough watchers around that, if she had wanted, she could have hung back until the vampires chose other opponents and then gone for a cheap shot, but she didn't. All the evenings of practice, everything she'd ever learned in her demon days, it all seemed to crystallize in her head and she met the first vampire head on with complete focus.






 

In another grey corridor Wes waited calmly. Many of those who stood with him were familiar from his years at Watcher Academy. He knew they expected him to panic when the attack came. They thought he would run, that he traded on his acquaintance with Buffy and the others to gain an undeserved influence. They waited, expecting him to falter, planning to report one more failure to his father, to Quentin and to the rest of the board that he might be ignominiously dismissed for a second time.

They thought that they knew him.

The Turok Han came and Wes proved to his fellow watchers that they were wrong.






 

The Turok Han swept toward the last vampire-friendly exit in a torrent. As they came out the stairwell and made the turn to the right a small blonde figure stood at their back and waved them on.

"Have fun, guys!" it urged in Buffy's most chipper California girl tones.

Just for a second as the vampires crashed into the line held by many watchers and one werewolf, James looked up searching foolishly for the source of the familiar voice.

Sensing his distraction, one of the Turok Han made a grab for the sword that the watcher held two-handed. Drawn back to his more current danger, James held on grimly, trying to pull free of the grip that crushed his fingers into the leather-wrapped metal of the sword's hilt, but it took a two-handed grip to balance the creatures greater strength and, before he could free himself, the vampire's free hand swiped out, ripping slashes in the watcher's shirt and the flesh underneath.

Pain and surprise almost made the Scotsman lose his grip, but he held on, and twisted the sword just enough to clear the area in front of his face before he brought his forehead smashing into the bridge of the vampire's nose. Blood trickled from his own nose now as well as his side, but the vampire gave up on its attempt to take the sword, and James kicked it backward, trying to gain enough room to swing the weapon properly.

Oz could feel the wolf stirring inside him as the scent of blood began to fill the air, some of it old and fetid, most of it bright and human. As a whole the watchers were putting up a good fight, but they were human and fragile. Their opponents were not. He quelled the beast within him. Resisting the urge to allow it its freedom, he chanted under his breath and forced himself to stick to the moves they had practiced over and over.

The vampires were so numerous that they almost hampered each other but there were dozens of them and, with The First urging them on, they wouldn't quit.

Then there was a pounding of more feet along the corridor toward them.
 
Chapter 7.23
 

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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.23
Friday, July 19th, 2002


This particular Turok Han made several pertinent mistakes. Ultimately, there was nothing it could have done that might have saved its life. That was true, but maybe, if it hadn't fought its way free of the cave, it might have survived at least until the roof began to collapse inward. It's possible that if it had tried to dodge its way through the second line of opponents rather than taking them on, it might even have made it as far as the access tunnels and then, who knows? Perhaps, if it had gone straight for the kill, it might have at least injured its feeble and puny-looking opponent. Unfortunately for it, all its instincts told it that leaping in front of a human and issuing a war cry, should result in the human panicking and giving ground.

Not this human. Anya swung her blade with deadly accuracy, severing its head from its body. "Floppy, hoppy, vampire bunnies," she muttered under her breath, as another sprang out in front of her.

Just feet away, Dawn and Brandon stood side by side. Dawn, struggling to parry the vampires' attacks, had little time to spare to watch what was happening to anyone else. Somehow, she always seemed to get her sharpened stave into position to block the attacks against her just a little late, which left her struggling to block the subsequent blow and so it went on and on. It would have been easy to quit, but the Summers girls weren't the quitting type. She might not be taking out any of the creatures, but at least she was keeping one of them from getting through until Anya could take it from one side or Brandon would get it from the other.

For Brandon, the vampires almost seemed to act in slow motion. He carried a wickedly sharp katana instead of the heavy wooden sword he normally used when he was practising. Kendo was all about balance, speed and accuracy and Brandon didn't think he had ever been so focused. Parry, strike lightning fast and with no more force than necessary, pull the blow back and before the vampire realises that its head has been split in two from crown to jaw, it's so much dust. Sometimes he skipped the parry and got in before the vampire could make a move. Always he was aware of what was happening in the fights on either side and, whenever he could, he would try to give Dawn a few seconds respite by turning on her opponent. Those opportunities didn't come as often as he might like but whenever he got a gap between adversaries, he did as much as he could to help her.

Andrew Michaels' movements matched his son's for style, but the time when he might match the youngster's speed had passed and as a result he had to spend more time beating down his opponents before he could get a killing blow. The watcher with whom he was paired swung a double-headed battle axe with more enthusiasm than finesse. More than once Andrew found himself dodging out of its way, but the group soon outnumbered their attackers and though it might have seemed to take longer, it was probably less than two minutes before the last of the vampires turned to dust.

Xander dabbed at a superficial cut over his right eye, using the sleeve of his plaid shirt. "Hey, was that it?" he asked. "Those guys weren't so tough! We could so do that all over-. Ow! What? Ow!" The carpenter bent almost double, using his arms to shield his head as Anya and Dawn took it in turns to pummel him for jinxing them.






 

There was one pump-action shotgun that the new slayers had yet to lay their hands on and that was Wes's. The watcher took position a full three or four feet ahead of the other watchers. He fired from a crouching position so that any missed shots would go upward into the ceiling rather than down the corridor toward the group containing Oz and James. It was unlikely that the shot would carry that distance and still do damage, but he wasn't taking any chances. He calmly blew apart three of the vampires before they even got close to the defenders, and then he turned the rifle round and used it as a club. Wherever the fighting was at its thickest, he was there. At close quarters the shotgun wasn't an ideal weapon for finishing off the feral vampires, but a good solid hit with the stock was enough to disorientate them and allow someone else to administer the coup de grace.

As the last cloud of dust began to settle to the concrete floor, Wesley looked from one to another, singling out those he knew to be his fiercest critics and one by one he stared them down. However, they quickly realised that while their battle was over, those at the opposite end of the long corridor were far less fortunate.

Wes watched the struggle, torn between the duty to hold his post and his desire to aid his friends and colleagues. Giles must have already sent reinforcements, for the vampires were hemmed in at both front and rear. They were slowly being whittled down, but there seemed to be far too many men being pulled out or crawling from the fray.

"What the hell are we waiting for?" one of the other watchers asked.

"We're waiting for the next attack," Wes answered, keeping his voice far cooler than he really felt, daring anyone to defy him and break ranks. "Giles has sent at least three quarters of his reinforcements in there already. They're three deep in that corridor. We would only get in their way. It's our responsibility to hold this area until we get the order to evacuate. However, if any of you can summon up a sunlight spell or something similar now that we're not under direct attack, I'm sure our colleagues down there would appreciate it."

Wes bit into his cheek as he saw Clem and a watcher he didn't know try to pull someone out of the back of the fight and onto a stretcher. His heart stopped beating in his chest as one of the many Turok Han seemed to notice the demon, and Wes wondered how he would ever be able to tell Marie that he had watched her child's uncle die and done nothing to prevent it.

Tentacles seemed to explode from Clem's head in a Medusa-like halo, there one second and gone again the next. The ubervamp jumped back even farther than the watcher who had been helping Clem, finding itself face to face with another opponent, and Clem straightened the body on the stretcher, waited for his colleague to recover sufficiently to grab the other end and began to head for the school's main doors.

Giles crossed Wes's line of sight, carrying a blood-splattered slayer in his arms, and soon he was followed by others. Slayer after slayer was carried out to the waiting minibuses, and still the fighting continued at the other end of the corridor and still nothing happened to indicate that the amulet had begun to do its work.






 

Oz chanted almost constantly beneath his breath as he fought. "It's not her. It looks like her and smells like her but it's not her. It's not her. It looks like her and it smells like her but it's not her."

"Poor puppy. All confused," the First sing-songed. "I bet I could lick it all better. I'm kinda out of practice what with the whole gay thing and all, but I think I remember the basics..."

"It's not her. It's not her. It's not her." Stifling the growl that was his instinctive response, Oz repeated the mantra over and over, faster now, as if the more often he could repeat it, the more effective it would be, but he could feel his control slipping. Hairs began to sprout on the backs of his hands. "It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. It's not her." The hairs grew longer. Almost invisible stubble began to itch and sprout until he knew that if he reached up he would have the whiskers of an Edwardian gentleman. "It's not Willow. Willow's dead. Willow's dead. Willow's dead." Too late... Oz knew that The First was playing with him. He knew that this was just one last sick joke on its part, but he couldn't keep his beast in check, not when it could see his mate and smell her scent. Blood on the floor, copper tang of blood saturating the air and still he could smell Willow, his Willow, precious Willow.

The muscles in his back cramped, trying to send him to his knees and Oz knew he didn't have a choice. He had to get away from all the humans before the transformation was complete, before he became a danger to his own side. He broke free of the line and threw himself as far and as deep into the seething mass of Turok Han as he could get. While Oz was helpless in the throes of the transformation from man to wolf, one of the vampires pulled him up by his hair as his back twitched and contorted. Filthy, gnarled hands clamped one on either ear, jerking his head to the side so abruptly that his neck snapped, and then teeth buried themselves in his neck. His blood joined that of the others on the floor.






 

The light was gentle at first, silvery pure, like a solitary moonbeam breaking through a bank of cloud. For the first time ever, Spike watched as Bee transformed from a facsimile of her father's people to the likeness of her mother's. Her eyes were first to metamorphose, as if she had a burst blood vessel inside each of her eyes but instead of leaking blood it oozed liquid mercury. Her skin began to glow, as it had in the caverns of the Nezzla demons, its tint exactly the same silvery shade as that of the diamond, though the gem's intensity now matched that of the searchlights Spike remembered from the second world war, where their beams would pierce the perfect darkness of the blackout.

He watched from off to one side as the spear of light seemed to intensify further, stretching out in the direction Bee was facing. Every Turok Han that crossed its path turned to ash as if burned up by the rays of the sun. Spike forced himself to take a steadying breath. He tried to focus on the vision he and Buffy had shared so long before, willing himself to believe that this was not where it all ended. He had plans. He wasn't going to turn to dust. He couldn't do that to her.

Two tiny red horns began to poke their way through the considerably darker roots of Bee's platinum and gold-streaked tresses. Her blouse seemed to half dissolve, half fall away and, male that he was, Spike couldn't quell the thought that Tara had definitely traded up. It was only when the half-angel cleared her throat rather loudly, that he realised that not only had he been caught looking, but he'd completely missed the whole process where Bee had grown iridescent gossamer wings.

The angel beckoned and Tara stepped into her arms. Gradually the pair rose together from the ground, slowly spinning as they ascended until they were just feet from the cavern roof. Bee's skin glowed brighter and brighter until Tara, too, seemed to be lit up from within, glowing the sort of pink that your hand turns when you press it over the top of a bright flashlight.

The light from the pendant seemed to splinter as if it had hit a mirror ball, brilliant lances tumbling in every direction until Spike couldn't bear to look any longer, but it didn't matter. The battlefield had been swept clean. The vampire army waited in the lower cavern; the seal was still intact but all the Turok Han who had made it to the top of the cliff were gone.

The ground below him began to shake and the ceiling began to crumble. Spike scooped Rupert up under one arm, despite the feline's wriggling and vocal protests, and yelled the command to evacuate. "Everybody out!"
 
Chapter 7.24
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting





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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.24
Friday, July 19th, 2002


Up until a couple of months ago, Cordelia might have skipped the peace offering and gone straight for the butt-kicking.

Now that they were actually dating, she cut him just a little more slack, not much because if she gave him an inch, then he'd brood for a mile, but enough to let him know that there was always a little bit of concern under her often brusque manner. Having witnessed Angel's courtship of the younger Buffy, Cordelia had made it clear from the start that 'dating' meant she expected Angel to take her out for meals, to bars, clubs, the movies or the theatre and most of the time she expected him to pick up the tab for the privilege, not meet her inside and let her buy her own drinks. A romantic moonlight walk on the beach might constitute a date. A stroll around the local cemeteries did not . She was, after all, Cordelia Chase. Yes, they spent whole evenings together sometimes, armed to the teeth, loitering in the sewers, waiting for some icky demon to show it's face. That was their job she had told him. That was not dating. It in no way constituted any form of courtship... not that she expected everything to be on her terms. She'd even once gone with him to a hockey match. It had been okay, but it wasn't the same when you weren't down on the touchline or whatever the hockey equivalent might be, cheering on the local cuties. Angel had said if she watched more matches then she'd get to know the players, but for now she put up with letting him watch the games on her TV.

She shook her head, banishing thoughts of evenings on the town, popped the door on the microwave almost before it had given its final ding and forcefully stirred the mug to ensure its contents were an even temperature throughout. She felt almost impatient with herself for offering this crumb when she'd had such a hectic, crappy morning while Angel brooded in his room, but she knew it wouldn't be fair to leave Fred on her own for too long and now that the sun was well and truly up, she was going to have to take Lydia shopping. So, mollifying... or mollycoddling had to be done if Angel was going to be persuaded to deal with this lot.

She pushed open the door from the kitchen and was almost immediately hit by another onslaught of questions and complaints.

Two young girls. "We don't have any toilet paper in our room."

"Neither does anyone else. We only normally keep a couple of the rooms set up for visitors. Live with it. You can try the 7-Eleven down the road to the right and then first left or you can wait until I get back from the wholesaler's, which I can't even go to until people stop asking me questions."

"Excuse me, dear. You're Cordelia, I assume. We were wondering if you had a room available that we might be able to use to hold a meeting. Perhaps thirty or so people. Somewhere with tables and chairs would be ideal but as long as we have privacy and space for everyone, anywhere should suffice."

Cordelia had the strangest feeling that she had seen the stranger somewhere before. She eyed the woman's ash blonde bob, and her practical but expensive linen trousers and silk blouse, both of which were smeared with blood. Her shoes were Italian, probably hand made, her watch gold and the row of five diamonds on her engagement ring were large enough to make it clear that it hadn't been bought at your average jeweller, while not so large as to be vulgar. Recognising the air of someone who, however politely she might ask, expected her wishes to be complied with immediately, she decided to save her energy for the upcoming butt kicking and called across to Fred. "Fred, can you get the keys for the pool?" Besides, the woman had asked nicely.

"The pool? W-." The woman hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to convince Cordelia that she didn't say what she had originally intended. "We weren't aware the hotel had a pool."

"Neither were we until recently. It's sort of like the one in 'It's a Wonderful Life'. Flick the switch and you have a ballroom. There should be enough space there for your meeting and there are some tables and chairs in there, though you might want to move them around some. Just try to avoid the hole Groo hacked in the floor to find the demon prawn things. Anything else, Mrs...?"

"Mrs Wyndam Pryce..."

Cordelia suddenly remembered where she had seen the woman, or at least her likeness. One night at Wes's apartment, Chinese take-out, all the guys playing video games... laughing... and Wes had let her look through his photo album. A night that seemed a million years ago.

"And no, I don't think we'll require anything else for now. It was nice to meet you, Miss Chase. Wesley used to speak very highly of you."

The slight emphasis on the word was so faint that Cordelia tried to convince herself that she had imagined it and the implied censure. She wanted to demand to know what Wesley said now, but at the same time she really didn't want to know. When it came down to it she wasn't exactly proud of how they had all acted. "In that case, Fred will give you the keys and tell you where the room is. I better take this up to Angel before it cools."






 

She hesitated outside the door for a fraction of a second, realised that he'd have to be even more preoccupied with his melancholy than normal to not hear her footfalls and her breathing and intuit exactly what she was doing and so she threw it open like a hurricane. She walked around the bed, where he was reclining, taking in at a glance the way he was propped up by both sets of pillows, a professional portrait of him with Buffy at her prom in his hands where they rested in his lap. She placed the mug on the bedside cabinet with enough force that some of the liquid slopped over the edges, nudging the half full whiskey tumbler off the coaster to make room for it. Normally, Angel would have been grabbing at the mug to stop the drips before they could form a ring. At the very least he'd probably have given her a pained look at her disrespectful treatment of the old junk that he insisted was period furniture. He'd tried saying it was antique once, but she'd caught him on the hundred year rule.

"Okay, so, what's the big deal here, Angel? Any normal guy would at least try to hide the fact he's staring at pictures of his 'forever love' ex when his current and damn-well-better-really-be-forever girlfriend comes in the room. I guess at least your fly is done up, but, hey-eyyy, small mercy!"

He didn't raise his voice at all. He didn't need to in order to convey his absolute censure and distaste. "Cordy..."

The former cheerleader kept going in the verbal equivalent of running him over like a steam train. "Cordy, what? Cordy, run 'round and look after all these people Buffy sent us to look after while I lie in morbid solitude and mope over her picture? No way! I've done that already. It's old! Way old! You've got as long as it takes you to drink that mug of blood and then your butt had better be down in reception with Fred's, dealing with that invasion your beloved Buffy sent you."

"They didn't tell you, did they?" Angel looked at her with incredulity.

Cordy raised her eyes heavenward. "What part of 'drink that before it's a congealed mess and then get your butt the heck downstairs or I start opening all the drapes' did you miss, Fang Boy? I'm pretty certain that in the three and a half hours you've been marinating in Old Bushmills I've found out more about what's going on than you've read in that letter from The Chosen One of Many." She picked up the bottle that was alongside the whiskey glass, observing that he had probably drunk about a quarter of it and delicately removing its cap from the otherwise empty waste paper bin as she continued with her tongue lashing. "Since you didn't finish your Champion-sized post-tantrum brood in time to take the watcher babe - who, if you'd been in reception you'd know is like dating Giles, as in hot youngish babe getting it on with the librarian, and how weird is that? - shopping at the local Red Cross before sun up, I need to take her now, and then we'll be going to the wholesalers, pick up some food and other vital supplies for the actual breathing types..." She trailed off as she replaced the now resealed bottle back in the sideboard that was its normal home and looked up to realise that Angel was watching her, his jaw just a bit slacker than normal.

"Say that again," he requested, sounding half incredulous and half hopeful.

"What? Giles is getting some from a thirty year old natural blonde?"

"What did you call Buffy?"

"Lots of things." The flippant answer came out before she began to put together the photograph, the even worse than anticipated mood and the last epithet she had used for the slayer.

"There are two new slayers in the hotel," Angel babbled.

"Well, uh, no. Actually there are ten. Two that were too badly injured to fight, and eight that didn't meet the thirteen or over age limit for slayer boot camp... as you'd probably have known if you'd read your instructions."

"So Faith and Buffy...?"

"Who the hell do you think sent all the refugees?"

He pulled the crumpled envelope from the leather jacket he was still wearing. "Instructions?"

"What did you think it was? Some lovesick deathbed epistle of how, even though she'd been about to marry Spike, it was really you that she loved? Were you savouring it until you hit the right stage of maudlin?"

"Th- that would be..." Angel couldn't blush, but Cordy was familiar enough to know when he was embarrassed.

"Pathetic?" she suggested helpfully. "But it does kinda explain why you didn't show to introduce Giles's honey to Larry the Red Cross guy... I thought you were just being petty about being asked to help get the blood for their honeymoon... which would also have been pretty pathetic by the way." There was no need to clarify whose honeymoon she was talking about.

Angel just grinned back at her, bounding from the bed and raising the mug to his lips before he double checked. "So Faith and Buffy are alive?" His eyes watched Cordy over the mug's rim as he began to chug down the blood.

"They were alive and well and about to lead an assault on the gates of hell... Well, not literal gates but kinda. Let's put it this way - we're all supposed to show for the rehearsal dinner tonight."

The vamp suddenly fidgeted with a nervous energy that would have looked more at home on his grandchilde, twirling the now empty mug from one finger. "Okay, I can do the whole gracious host thing... You, go do the shopping thing..." He held open the room door for her to leave ahead of him, his mood almost euphoric.

"Oh, by the way..." She spoke in as casual a tone as she could manage as she strolled past him, hoping that the almost tangible relief that was radiating from the vampire would buoy him through the next bit of news. "I know you do that freaky smell thing. Don't spaz out again if you run into Wes's mom... or his dad or any of his other relatives that might be here," she added as a sudden afterthought. "You're kinda meant to be this Champion guy... I mean no more visions, not since the whole exorcism deal, so I guess they were like part of the whole con, so not Champion to the Powers as such, but you're still meant to be fighting the good fight and the drama queen deal really doesn't cut it."

Angel gritted his teeth. "I'm not a drama queen. Spike's the drama queen," he hissed under his breath.

"So prove it!" Cordelia replied with a satisfied smile, knowing that she had the vampire right where she wanted him. "I might even make it worth your while."






 

Quentin scanned the faces in the slightly foxed ballroom with suspicion. Penelope Wyndam Pryce and a brace of younger watchers, both of whom he seemed to remember from the minibus journey south, sat at a round table off to one side. Apart from these three, everyone else in the room was a member of the council's executive committee. Though they sat at several round tables, the way the tables had been arranged in a line, with everyone facing the solitary empty chair that seemed almost marooned on the other side of the line, had a courtroom air about it.

"What's this all about, Henderson?" he demanded of the watcher in the centremost seat, the place that should have been his. "Surely we can wait until we are restored to the privacy and security of our own buildings again before we return to the day to day business of the council, especially as these walls may very well have vampire ears."

"We are not dealing with the day to day business of the council. We have matters to discuss that cannot wait. Mrs Wyndam Pryce was kind enough to deliver a taped message from my nephew. You might remember him? He was the young man who was stabbed and badly injured while you were trying to make bargains with a madman the other night.

Having heard my nephew's testimony, and having received corroboration in part from the testimony of these witnesses, the committee in an emergency meeting has recorded a unanimous vote of no confidence in you as Senior Executive Officer. Due to the nature of the charges we must ask you to vacate the apartment within headquarters that is linked to that position immediately upon resumption of operations at the London base. Your company car, should you continue in our employment, will obviously also be downgraded."

"That is preposterous... That rule hasn't been used in over a century."

"And yet it is not unprecedented and, even if it were, our current situation is so far removed from that to which we have become accustomed that in light of the charges against you we would have no other option. We stand at the brink of a new era. We need a leader who can adapt to that. Sit down, Quentin. As Junior Executive Officer I am now in over all charge of the council until such time as the next Senior Executive is elected.

You no longer have any special privileges to fall back on and, in light of the evidence that we have received, you are hereby charged with malfeasance. You stand accused of using your position to pursue several personal vendettas and of endangering the council by acting on its behalf in a manner contrary to the law and with premeditation without obtaining the consent of a majority of the committee. It is an accepted fact that the council must sometimes act in a manner that is less than legal. It is also a fact that field operatives often have to make on the spot decisions about such matters. However, on an executive level such decisions are never the prerogative of any one individual."

"I do not have to stand for this," Travers protested.

"No, you do not. That is why we provided you with a chair. You may also elect to stand trial in absentia, but may I remind you that should you be found guilty you forfeit all benefits, including accrued retirement benefits and health insurance."

"I have a feeling, that whether I stay or go, the verdict will remain the same," Travers answered, turning for the door.

"The evidence is rather damning." Any further remarks on the part of the interim council head were muffled as the ballroom door swung closed, leaving Quentin Travers on the outside in more than just the physical sense.






 

"Hey!" Angel had at least had the tact to wait until Cordy had left on her shopping spree before he called through to Faith's cell.

The vampire could hear the squeal of abused tyres and the background mutterings of several people.

"Angel?"

"I-em-well, I just wanted to check that you're okay."

"How about I give you a call when we're done playing dodge the sinkhole? I'm okay, Buffy's okay and for some reason best known to himself, Spike's even okay despite every other vamp in the place going kaboom, but they're on a different bus and until we get to the rendezvous point I can't tell you about anybody else you know."

"Dodge the sinkhole?"

"Yeah, you know the mall? It looks like it relocated to the bottom of a quarry and the quarry's spreading outward. Now would you get off the line so I can try calling my b-... someone?"

Angel didn't even bother to reply, he just smiled to himself and hit the button to end the call. 'Faith with a boyfriend...' That was something he'd have to see.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by even more slayers, a group of three girls, younger even than Buffy when she was called. "Our toilet's busted. Shanice flushed a tampon down it and now it's all backing up. It's nearly up to the top of the bowl. One more flush and it's going to get nasty."

Angel sighed. Give him demons to fight any day.
 
Chapter 7.25
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting






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

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.25
Friday, July 19th, 2002


"Everybody out!"

Though their mutual awareness was still such that there was no actual need, Spike's eyes met Buffy's across the cavern's width, blue imploring hazel green to get the hell out. There was just a moment to make the plea before he fell to hustling the new slayers out and he knew before he made it that Buffy would be the last... or second to last to leave, but he had to try anyway.

He pulled Amanda and a couple of others to one side as they made to pass. "'Manda, pet, you make sure that Dawn an' Anya an' them know we're leavin'." He nodded to Vi. "You tell the ones down the right hand corridor as we came in an' you take the one on the left," he said motioning to the cerise-haired slayer. "They'll probably get the hint when they see the mass exodus, but if it turns out anyone got left behind I'm blamin' you three, right?"

He stepped up to the crude spiral stairway, cat still squirming and writhing ineffectually under his arm, to break the flow of girls for long enough to let his designated messengers through. He lifted the flailing cat up to eye height as he stood back. "Will you bloody give over? Unless you can damn well sprout wings an' fly you're not goin' anywhere with The Good Fairy an' Glinda.

If I thought you wouldn't shred the poor buggers I'd give you to one of the bints to take out, but since I'm the only one here who's been loaned some neat little balls that mean all the scratching you're trying to do is totally pointless an' it'd be more than my life's worth to let you get yourself killed in this mess, you're damn well staying with me. Get used to the idea."

Rupert let himself go limp in Spike's hands and the vampire stared at him suspiciously before he muttered, "Alright, then." He tucked the cat back under one arm and made his way to the edge of the cavern where he manhandled Kennedy's body until he managed to get it into a fireman's lift over his opposite shoulder. Buffy joined him as the room cleared, retrieving another of the fallen, but when Faith made to join them Spike shook his head. "Get topside. Make sure they're filling up the minibuses in order like they're meant to be an' that the first ones have started leavin'. We'll have a right balls up if they all end up tryin' to leave at the same time."

Faith nodded, knowing that the vampire was right. The potentials and others had been told that once they had at least one driver per bus, to make for the furthest bus first. As soon as it was full it was meant to leave and they would begin filling the next one. It should be fast and efficient, but human nature would make them want to hold on just a little longer, to wait for a friend or try to make sure everyone was out before they got on a bus. If those first buses weren't already filled and gone and it wasn't going smoothly, instead of a convoy they would end up with gridlock.

Soon the stream of bodies slowed to a trickle. Ha Nath and her friends scooped up the last few slayer corpses from the ground and when the last demon disappeared up the stairs, Buffy and then Spike followed after.






 

The first face that Faith saw when she left the building was Dawn's. In a sea of motion the teen and her boyfriend hovered at the pavement's edge, the girl bouncing up and down on her tiptoes in what Faith assumed was an effort to spot her sister. The slayer ignored the girl and headed straight for Brandon. "I thought you were bright enough to know that if you didn't get her on the first bus out of here that Spike would remove your spleen with his bare hands."

"He wouldn't," the boy argued.

"No, he wouldn't," Dawn interjected, "but he'd probably make you wish he had."

Faith raised her eyes to the sky. "They're fine. They're just making sure everyone gets out from down below, and I'm meant to be making sure everyone gets on a bus and gets gone."

"They're both okay?" Dawn had to double check before she could be convinced.

"They're peachy damn keen. Now get on that bus before I'm the one Bleach Boy is doing exploratory surgery on."

After that Faith didn't bother wasting any conversation on any of the stragglers. Where there were wounded, she helped them to the nearest transport. Where there were dawdlers, she just grabbed whatever body part or piece of clothing was convenient and gave them a push or a pull in the direction of the next bus. Dawn and Brandon were long gone by the time she saw Ha Nath and her friends emerge from the building, closely followed by Buffy and Spike. With a last nod for Xander, who waited at the wheel of the final vehicle with Anya in the seat immediately behind, she climbed into the penultimate bus, pulled the door closed and swayed her way to a seat as it sped off. She twisted to watch behind as the others clustered around the door of the last bus, holding her breath as she watched the metal framework that towered over the incomplete building warp and then, farthest sections first, begin to tumble.

"Floor it!" she shouted, with an urgency that left no room for even the watcher at the wheel to argue.






 

Spike tossed the Siamese onto the floor of the minibus, leaving him to find a home between people's legs or on a vacant seat, and then climbed the first two steps before turning to pull the door closed.

"Damn!" Xander swore as he flung the bus into gear, but there was no vehemence behind it. "All those vamps going poof and we're still left with Billy Idol?"

"Only as long as you stay ahead off that..." Spike answered, looking out the back window as he made his way toward the rear of the bus, trying to find an empty seat where he could deposit Kennedy's body before he joined Buffy.

Xander shifted frantically in his seat to make out what the vampire was talking about, but his rear view mirror was blocked by the number of people who were by some sort of unspoken agreement trying to place the corpses they carried at the back of the bus and then make their way forward to find seats for themselves. After a couple of seconds he gave up and checked the side-view mirror. There was nothing behind him but a cloud of dust, no school... worse he suddenly realised, no road. Forgetting about making for the right exit out of town to get to the rendezvous - slowing down for corners suddenly seemed like a very bad idea - Xander just put his foot to the floor and told himself that that bump was just a pothole in the road that he'd somehow missed with the front tyres but caught with the rear wheels. It, no way, no how, was the road dropping away from under the back wheels. Not at all.






 

The merest crook of Bee's finger and Tara found herself walking into her new lover's arms, the only sliver of doubt because she had no doubts. That was enough to make her wonder for a moment if perhaps, like vampires, angels had their own version of thrall... though she thought with a wry smile that if that were the case she was a willing victim. Gripping with her elbows to press their bodies together, letting her forearms rest parallel with Bee's spine and curling her fingers over the angel's shoulders, she relaxed instinctively into the embrace.

Bee's dragonfly wings looked too fragile to support even one and if mere mechanics had been involved, then Tara knew she would have been forced to cling far more tightly to stay with her lover as they rose in a slow gyre toward the cave's apex.

Tara found herself wondering at the beauty of the creature in her arms. The light that was both part of the angel and the product of the diamond burned coolly against her skin but it did nothing to mar the aura of complete contentment and well-being in which she found herself cocooned.

Bee stretched out her right arm, to point at the ceiling some thirty feet behind the witch and Tara joined her will with her lover's as they sought to influence the energy of the precious stone, focussing so that the rock immediately overhead held firm despite the tremors that shook the entire cave, and aiming as much as possible of the pendant's devastating power in the direction that Bee pointed.

Tara's eyes had long since drifted closed but in her mind she could envisage dust and then rubble beginning to fall, followed by great slabs of sandstone, capable of crushing the demons below. Sunlight lanced through the resulting opening and gouts of sooty flame issued upward for each ubervamp that was caught in its rays. Together, the two women strove to contain the power in order to allow them to move into the sunlight without being hit by falling debris. They hovered, slowly spinning between worlds, a hell dimension at their feet, the California sun above them. Knowing that it would take time for their companions in the battle to reach safety, they tried to delay the coming destruction.

Nevertheless, in slow but steady increments the opening between dimensions grew larger.

Like cockroaches, the Turok Han scuttled away from the light, trying to find sanctuary in the crenellations of the cave's walls.

Then, like a tidal wave breaking through a flood barrier, the amulet's energy overwhelmed the meagre containment that Bee and Tara had been able to muster. Destruction radiated outward, but even this failed to taint Tara's feelings of serenity. It was as if she were right where she was meant to be, doing what she was meant to do, with the person she had always been meant to be with. All her will was focussed on how they needed to channel the stone's power, but that was completely divorced from her emotions. Within the light fear could not exist, nor anxiety, nor frustration, nor anger. There was only love, contentment and warmth.

The ceiling of the cave crumbled and then the walls of the cave itself, earth tumbling down into a deep abyss. Any Turok Han that might have escaped the sun and the purging glow that issued from both the angel and the necklace she wore would surely be crushed by the sheer weight of falling earth, stone and other debris.

The initial breakthrough, it seemed, had occurred to the rear of the half-completed building and the first non-vampire casualties were pieces of plant and heavy equipment that had been left at the site, plummeting downward as if they wouldn't stop until they reached the centre of the earth. The partially constructed school was claimed next. Girders twisted, walls bent and then broke before they, too, cartwheeled end over end into the deepening maw of the hellmouth.

Flames began to rise up, silvery green from wherever Bee's body touched Tara's, but they left her skin unharmed, their touch a caress.

As the school tumbled through the ground, the last of the minibuses was pulling away.

Instinctively, Tara and Bee joined their wills against the force that had been unleashed, trying somehow to shield the vehicle, to hold back the devastation that threatened to swallow it up. As The Magic Box, the cinema and the mall all slid into oblivion it seemed as if they could make no difference. Nevertheless, when Bee carried them both higher still above the crater, it was plain that there was now a significant dent at the edge of what had once been a perfect circle of annihilation.

At first, all they were able to do was to slow its path outward. They strained to stop it from swallowing the bus station, tried to divert its energy around the chain link and tarmac, but all they bought was a token delay. The crater devoured it and then the apartment block that had once been home to Lily, Maria, Rosa, Clem and Bee herself.

However, even magical energy sometimes has to obey the laws of physics. As the ruined area grew wider, the women found that they could tweak things around the edges. While the downtown apartment block was a lost cause, Revello Drive was four times that distance from the epicentre. That meant that it only took one sixteenth of the energy to shield it from the destruction.

Perhaps by accident and perhaps by design, Miss Chalmers School for Gifted Girls teetered on the very brink of the abyss. One whole wing plunged into the depths, whilst that end of the building which contained the library and the rooms the Scoobies had been using sat seemingly untouched.

Tara couldn't help but indulge in a smile. She suspected that whether consciously or subconsciously Bee was unwilling to have scores of watchers based in her home town and therefore wanted the building to be condemned. She also suspected that the blonde would have been distraught had her own personal library, that of the museum curator and the council's entire catalogue all been lost forever.

The cave-in seemed ridiculously easy to divert around the hallowed ground of Reverend Hamilton's churchyard, though they had to concentrate a little harder to ensure that the roads leading to it remained intact.

The light of the crystal was waning as they strained to keep it from claiming the hospital's empty shell. For now the building lay dormant, but when people returned to the town it would be needed.

And then, the light from the necklace fizzled out, like a faulty fluorescent bulb, its energy spent.

Much of the town had been lost. Most of its businesses were gone, but they could be rebuilt. However, many of the outlying residential areas were untouched. Most importantly of all, as Tara opened up the mystical senses she used to read someone's aura, there was a freshness and lightness to the town. It felt like the first sun after a cleansing storm, as if some invisible but pervasive miasma of evil had been washed away.

The hellmouth was no longer active.

Bee's lips met hers, the kiss joyous and triumphant. For long seconds they luxuriated in the knowledge of what they had all achieved before exhaustion claimed them both and they twirled downward, like a sycamore seed on an autumn breeze.
 
Chapter 8.01
 

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Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting







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

SECTION 8 - IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT (AND I FEEL FINE)

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

(REM, Album - Document)




Chapter 8.01
Friday, July 19th, 2002


Faith skipped through the menus on her phone until she found the number for James' cell. It would have smacked too much of permanence if she'd put his number on speed dial. This thing was what it was, but soon James would be heading back to Britain. Even with her nice shiny new pardon, she doubted that a convicted murderer would be granted more than a visitor's visa. So she swore at the vehicle's movement, the miniscule buttons and their stiffness as she tried to find the 'U's.

Until Angel's voice had reminded her that she had the option to communicate, all she had been worried about was getting out. Now it seemed imperative that she should contact him , that he should be waiting for her, room key in hand, the second she stepped off this bus. Post slayage hunger ate at her on a scale she'd never before encountered and she realised that her craving wasn't just for sex... but for him. It was his arms she wanted to wrap herself in, his lips she wanted to plunder, his hips she wanted to wrap her legs around... him and only him she wanted to be with until the demon inside was finally assuaged and she could be a woman again.

As the revelation shook her to the core, a synthesised voice told her that the cell phone she was trying to contact was currently unavailable.






 

Buffy's eyes were searching the parking lot for the reception hall as soon as the minibus pulled in. They had been the last to leave but the number of minibuses looked to be four short. Marie waited, clipboard in hand and Rosa at her side, ticking off the names of the people from Faith's minibus. Before she opened the door Buffy shouted a reminder to everyone to make sure they saw Marie before they headed off anywhere.

Almost as soon as they began to get out Faith was there, but it wasn't Buffy she wanted. "Spike, I need your motorcycle."

The vampire recognised the pain and uncertainty in the slayer's eyes and didn't waste time with questions. He simply took the right key from his keyring and passed it to her. "Bring it back when you can."






 

Buffy took the double vodka and fresh orange Spike placed on the table in front of her and chugged a couple of mouthfuls as he passed out drinks to the other Scoobies and their extended family. She looked down at the list again. Once they had received calls from representatives in each of the four missing minibuses, confirming that they had headed straight for the hospital at Ventura and letting them know who was on board and who was healthy and who was injured, Marie had been able to complete her list. In addition to Bee and Tara, there were five slayers unaccounted for. They had brought out the bodies of ten more. Four watchers had been killed in the corridor alongside Oz, and some twenty-seven wounded had been taken to the hospital in Ventura. It was uncertain how many would make it. She knew them all... their names and their faces and their strengths and weaknesses, if not their favourite films or how they took their coffee. She knew she should feel their loss but there was just a massive sense of relief that so many of those closest to her had come through mostly unscathed.

"You alright, love?" Spike whispered as he settled onto the seat beside hers, drawing it close so that he could wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Know you all go way back."

Buffy smiled weakly, but her eyes were bright with tears, her voice low, so that only Spike and maybe a few of the other demons could hear. "Oz? Yeah... It's weird. Sorta like for months, without really being aware of it, I've been carrying around this weight because of Willow... and it's not that I won't miss him because I will... but it's as if I know now that they have each other. Wherever they are, they're not alone... and that weight isn't there any more." She gave a wry twist of her lips. "I just keep looking at everyone that's still here and thinking how lucky we've been... Does that make me Miss Self-Absorbed?"

"No, pet, it makes you human."

"You're sure?" the slayer asked again. "I mean, we've sent people off to take the rest of the slayers and watchers down to LA and to return the minibuses... and we've got people out looking for Tara and Bee, but we're sitting in a bar."

"Tara'll be fine," the vampire insisted. "There's no way The Littlest Angel would let anything happen to her."

"Then why haven't they called?"

"They're probably holding a private celebration." Spike raised a knowing eyebrow, the tip of his tongue pressing against his upper teeth for an second. "Rupes? How about you back me up here?" Spike requested.

"I'm sure everything that needs to be done is being done, Buffy. You don't have to do everything yourself any more. Besides, by the time you have a drink and some food, it'll be almost time to leave if you want to pick up your aunt from the airport."

"Oh my god! Aunt Arlene... What's she going to say when she sees that the town's gone?"

"She'll probably shrug her shoulders and say it's what happens when you live in South California," Spike assured her.

"Giles?" Wes spoke with a slightly raised voice to make himself heard from the other side of the table. "My mother would like to speak to you."

"Is something wrong with Lydia?" the watcher asked immediately, not waiting for the phone to be passed around the table to him.

"Lydia is fine, Giles. Mother said to tell you that she'll drive her back to Sunnydale in Spike's car."

"Penelope?" Giles asked anxiously as soon as he took the phone, convinced there could be no good reason that Wes's mother could wish to speak to him. When he passed the cell back toward Wesley several minutes later he still couldn't make up his mind whether he'd been right.

"Okay, Giles," Dawn demanded, "what's with the freaked face? I never knew you could have an entire conversation where all one person says is 'yes', 'no' or 'I see'."

Giles cleared his throat. "It appears that Quentin didn't let the executive committee in on his more nefarious plans. Now they've found out about some of them, he's been dismissed."

"Would it be bad taste to say 'Hip hip hooray'?" Buffy asked. "Really not seeing the problem... so long as the replacement isn't even worse."

"That, I suppose, would tend to depend on whether I accept their offer or not," Giles replied, still looking slightly shell-shocked.






 

"There is one thing that has me rather puzzled..." Giles hinted, looking at Spike.

"How I come to be so good looking and athletic?" Spike countered between mouthfuls of spicy onion rings.

"You could put it like that... I was going to ask why you aren't a large charcoal briquette."

"Yeah, Daywalker, what's up with this picture?" Xander chimed in.

Spike tossed the last onion ring up into the air and caught it in his mouth before he reached under his coat and unfastened his belt, slipping the end back through several belt loops before he produced a familiar looking pouch. He double checked he wasn't in the path of any direct sunlight before he put it down on the table.

"Aren't those The Orbs of the Nezzla Khan? Didn't we give them back?" Wes asked, looking puzzled.

"They are," Spike replied, "an' we did, but the old demon guy promised I could borrow them for the honeymoon... Paid him a visit yesterday afternoon, in between all those other jobs I had to do. That whole Nile cruise, Pyramids, Red Sea diving experience would be a lot less appealing without them."

"Why didn't you tell anyone? And how did you know that they'd be enough to protect you?" Giles asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Figured the fewer people knew, the better. The way The First gets inside people's heads I might have had a target painted on my back if it was common knowledge, so we did our best to make everything look normal, right up to the end. And in answer to your second question, we didn't. Just had to trust that that vision of the wedding that we had back when Buffy first claimed me was the truth. Had to trust in it and keep our fingers crossed... an' if all else failed I'd stashed a blanket in the basement."

Spike's cell picked that moment to ring, its version of 'London Calling' still sounding rather ill. "Yeah?" he grunted. For almost a minute he seemed to listen to whoever was calling before he spoke again. "Good work, love. I'll leave money behind the bar for you all to have a drink an' some food when you get back."

Everyone stared at him expectantly as he returned the phone to his pocket.

"Spike!" Buffy's voice came out in almost a growl. "Care to share?"

"It's nothing much," he said stony faced. "Just Amanda ringin' to say they've found Tara an' Bee an' they're both alright." He couldn't hold his joy in any longer and he broke into a grin, scooped Buffy from her chair and spun her around several times before he stood her back on her slightly unsteady feet. "Reckons they'd passed out, but they came to alright when they got the smelling salts out. She also says that the house is still there, so's the church and most everything outside the town centre. Looks like you get to have your happy day, just like you planned."






 

Faith had to work hard to resist the urge to simply let the motorcycle fall over on its side as she jumped off. Only the thought of the potential arguments with Spike, who had after all given her his keys 'no questions asked', made her take the extra seconds to set the cycle on its stand. She dashed to the reception desk, only to end up nearly climbing the walls as she waited for the nurse there to finish dealing with the person in front.

"James Roderick Urquhart," she threw the name at the second nurse who made her way behind the desk before she could even set down her coffee cup and clipboard. "Brought in from Sunnydale this morning. Animal attack."

Faith shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot as the nurse coaxed her PC out of hibernation and asked how exactly you spelled that surname. She watched as the nurse put on her best professional manner.

"I'm sorry, miss. Mr Urquhart is still in surgery. Are you his next of kin?"

"I'm his girlfriend. His family are in Scotland. Should I be trying to get in touch with them?" Faith waited, dreading a reply in the affirmative.

"I really couldn't say," the nurse answered, using the meaningless doublespeak that hospital staff always seemed to favour, always so conscious of the possibility of lawsuits that they would never give a straight, 'yes' or 'no'. "If you want to go up to the third floor and speak to the receptionist there, then maybe one of the doctors will be able to spare a few minutes to speak to you. It has been a very busy morning, though..."

Faith didn't bother to wait for an elevator.






 

By the time she made it to the second receptionist, she'd slipped a ring over from her right hand to her left and upgraded to fiancée. Girlfriend sounded too flimsy, too easily dismissed. The receptionist took her details, made notes of the extra information that she was able to provide for them, even surprising herself by coming up with a date and place of birth.

None of it made the news come any quicker. She was forced to pace the cramped waiting room, with only attitude to keep the clergymen, who had accompanied some of the wounded, at bay. She didn't want their comfort, their kind words. She didn't need them. She just needed to stay cold, keep it frosty. She couldn't afford to let anyone in now or the whole house of cards might come tumbling down. Another hour and a half crawled round by the glacier-slow waiting room clock before anyone deigned to approach.

"Miss Lehane?" The doctor was dressed in scrubs and he was still removing his mask as he made his way toward the slayer.

"That's me."

"We're moving your fiancé to one of our recovery rooms now. The surgery went well. He's lost a lot of blood and the incisions were rather deep but he's young and fit. Barring any complications he should recover just fine. It'll be at least an hour or two before he comes out of the anaesthetic."

"Can I see him?"

"There really wouldn't be a lot of point right now. Maybe you should take a break, get something to eat, maybe a shower and a change of clothes and then when you get back..."

"No offence, Doc, but my clothes were back in Sunnydale. I don't even know if where we were living is still in one piece and I'm not going anywhere until he tells me to."

"At least get something to eat," the doctor offered by way of compromise. "The hospital canteen does a passable lasagne."

"I'll grab something from one of the vending machines on my way past." Faith made her final offer. "Room number?"

The doctor raised his eyes heavenward. "I'll make sure the nurse lets you know as soon as they finish getting him settled in."






 

Faith pulled the back-breaking plastic chair as close to the bed's side as she could, listening to the comfortingly regular beeps of the monitors that were attached to the unconscious watcher.

She took his left hand between both of hers. "Don't you know you're meant to keep your guard up?" she asked in little more than a whisper, her thumb rubbing back and forth over his knuckles. "You guys are meant to be the brains. We're the cannon-fodder... You do something this damn stupid again and you're out on your ear... You hear me?"
 
Chapter 8.02
 

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

SECTION 8 - IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT (AND I FEEL FINE)

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

(REM, Album - Document)




Chapter 8.02
Friday, July 19th, 2002


"Giles?" Lydia answered her mobile phone with alacrity, desperate as she was for news.

"I'm sorry," the watcher apologised to her. "I know I said I would call you back before now. Things have just been rather hectic. Every time I pick up a phone someone interrupts."

"The others?" she asked.

"We got the final figures," Giles replied in a sombre tone. "We lost Oz, fifteen of the slayers and four watchers..." He hesitated, knowing that these were probably people she knew intimately, far more so than the young girls that she'd only known a matter of months. "Prentiss, Walker, young Owen Mathers and Geoffrey Sandeman. Another twenty-odd were hurt badly enough to need hospital treatment, but we probably fared better than we had any right to expect. I faxed a copy of the list to The Hyperion. Most of the slayers are on their way to Los Angeles until we can book them flights home. I'm sure they'll bring you up to speed on the details."

Lydia could hear a disgruntled female voice in the background, telling Giles to get on with it.

Lydia gave a sigh. She knew that they had business to deal with, but she had hoped that they would get some time to just reconnect. However, something made her think that this wasn't a social call. "What's the problem, Giles?"

"Well... em. There was a slight accident with the Sunnydale mall... and with Bee and Marie's apartments. Bee has, ehm, convinced me that the least the council can do is to provide wedding outfits from Rodeo Drive for the remaining ladies."

Lydia gave a weary sigh. "Rodeo Drive? At this time on a Friday afternoon? How many are we talking about, Giles?"

"Rodeo Drive?" Cordelia echoed, but she sounded far more pleased at the idea.

"J-just a few," Giles stuttered slightly, sounding less than credible. "Bee, Marie and Lily, of course... and then there's Amanda... a-and Ha Nath and her friends. The wedding party's outfits were all at the reception hall already. I have a note of their measurements if you have a notepad and pen."

"I have a PDA," Lydia answered, in that tone of voice that let Giles know that sooner or later he was going to be dragged into the twenty-first century.

She could almost imagine Giles' face twisting into an expression of puzzlement as there was nothing but dead air for a second or so. "Isn't that what Dawn keeps moaning about Spike and Buffy doing all the time?"

Lydia's next sigh intimated more in the way of exasperation. "Just give me the sizes, Giles."

"Well, there's Faith as well. She's in Ventura. She took off to check on James at the hospital as soon as the battle ended, so we haven't got her measurements but I'm sure you could make a better guess than I."

"We'll work something out. Better start giving me names and numbers."

Cordy looked over Lydia's shoulder as she made notes on her handheld computer. "Better add our names to that list, Blondie," she commanded. "Cordelia Chase doesn't do that much shopping for other people without getting a little something for herself." She tilted her head slightly to one side as if considering something. "My careers test said I should be a personal shopper."






 

Faith teetered on the brink of wakefulness, the gentle hand stroking her hair soothing her back toward sleep, but the contorted angle of her back in the hospital chair was too much for even a slayer to sleep through. She reluctantly opened bleary eyes to find herself looking into half-open eyes of palest blue.

Against her better judgement she found her lips curving into a smile at the sight. "Hey, you."

"Hey, you, too..." The watcher looked as if it were taking all his effort to keep his eyes from drifting closed, but his gaze was disconcertingly focused, as if even watching her try to rub the waffle pattern of the blanket from her cheek was fascinating. "Sorry I couldn't be more scintillating company."

"That's what happens when you get yourself injured bad enough to need surgery. They have this thing these days about using anaesthetic and painkillers. The whole out for the count thing does sort of put a damper on the boyish charm."

The watcher gave a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. "Can't be doin' too bad. I've got a gorgeous woman waiting for me to come to... or I'm hallucinating... In which case they can keep doping me with this stuff for the rest of my life."

"You're hallucinating," Faith assured him. "I don't hang around hospitals waiting for any guy."

Larger fingers squeezed briefly at her own where somehow they had become intertwined. "Until now," James whispered to her as his eyes drifted closed again.






 

Darkness had fallen outside the hotel where the rehearsal dinner was currently being held and where the wedding reception would take place the following evening. Lydia, looking slightly worn from her extended shopping spree, along with Penny had made it back from LA about an hour before. Angel and the rest of his team had delayed leaving until after dark, but they were due to arrive shortly and the small reception room was already filled with a mixture of Buffy and Spike's family and friends, both human and demon.

Giles gave up trying to attract the barman's attention, settling for simply waiting until he reached them. He followed the gaze of the vampire at his side. For once it centred not on Buffy but on the woman who sat between her and Dawn and it didn't take much to work out why. There were definite differences. Her hair was short and greyer but also darker, as if her original colouring had been nearer Dawn's than Joyce's. There were a few more lines at the corners of her eyes and her mouth than Giles remembered Joyce having the last time he'd seen her, but the eyes and the smile were so reminiscent of Buffy's mother that Giles had found himself doing a double take on more than one occasion over the course of the rehearsal dinner.

For the watcher, it was a minor distraction. The vampire's look of near-reverence seemed to indicate that he was finding it more comforting.

"There's a remarkable likeness, isn't there?" Giles commented.

"You could say that," Spike answered with a wry smile. "Part of me always knew that Joyce would be lookin' on in spirit tomorrow, regardless. I mean, if nothing else, just having Bit an' Buffy there, you can see Joyce in both of them... But if there's any sort of justice, Joyce is up in heaven lookin' down an' keepin' an eye on her girls, only that doesn't mean that Buffy wouldn't feel like there was a great big Joyce-shaped hole in things. Or she would have done... I know it's not the same, but I guess maybe, it's the next best thing. Seems like they all used to be pretty close until..." The blond turned to face the bar and, with the faintest lift of an eyebrow, seemed to bring a barmaid scurrying to take his order. "Four orange juices, a double vodka, a bottle of your finest beer ...and whatever the old guy and his lady are having," the vampire tacked on.

Giles was left to wonder, as the vampire headed back to the table where the Summers women and Brandon were waiting, whether the drinks were Spike's version of a friendly gesture or simply his way of changing the subject. The vampire wasn't to know that Giles already knew about Buffy's cousin and childhood companion Celia and her early death. Somehow, there was a symmetry to the aunt who would never see her own daughter's wedding, and the niece whose mother couldn't be there for hers. Yes, her aunt had a couple of sons, neither of whom had been able to make the trip, but there had to be something special woman to woman, across the generations. As Spike said, there wasn't anyone who could take Joyce's place, but Buffy's aunt was almost certainly the next best thing.






 

"Spi-i-ike," Buffy protested half-heartedly as she realised that the vampire was slow-dancing her toward the patio doors that opened into the hall's grounds. "We can't... It's our party and-."

"An' we'll leave if we want to," Spike finished with no little determination. "Besides, I've only got another half an hour before I get banished back to the apartment like Cinderella."

"It's tradition," Buffy answered in her best Bridezilla pout. "The groom isn't meant to see the bride on the day of the wedding, argot you have to leave before midnight."

Spike let the mistake go, knowing to choose his battles. "And have I complained?" he asked as he ushered her through the double doors, closing them tight behind them both.

Buffy drew breath to answer, but before she could start the vampire quickly added the word, "much."

"Not much , no," the slayer conceded. "But that doesn't mean that I'm up for a quickie against some tree in the middle of the grounds."

Spike's eyes widened, his brows raised and he pressed his palm against his unbeating heart in a overblown gesture of shocked surprise. "As if I would take advantage of my bride to be in such a way... I simply thought that it might be better to give you your wedding present tonight, rather than tomorrow." He pulled a black silk scarf from his coat pocket, dangling it teasingly between them.

"Spi-i-ike... If I put that blindfold on and this present turns out to involve blowing anything that isn't made of wax..." she mock-threatened, remembering Spike's idea of a birthday present.

Spike raised an eyebrow, as if her suggestion were ridiculous, though at the same time his lips curved into a near leer. "This hot little body will stay all wrapped up unless you're the one doing the unwrapping." He pressed his thumb over his pinkie, and raised his right hand. "Scout's honour."

Buffy made a quiet snort of disbelief, but, nevertheless, she turned her back and waited patiently while Spike tied the scarf over her eyes.

Spike took both her hands, leading her along a narrow path bordered by shrubs, trees and flowers until they reached the side of the building. The night air was filled with the mixture of their scents, almost but not quite drowning the light spicy scent of Spike's aftershave.

"There's a kerb here, pet. Just step down three or four inches," the vampire spoke gently, knowing it would be more than his life was worth if the slayer were to sprain her ankle at this point in the proceedings.

Buffy could have sworn that she heard a muffled giggle from off to one side as she used her toe to feel the edge of the kerb down into the parking lot. Whatever the surprise, it seemed as if Dawn was in on the act. If she strained she could hear other voices making hushed whispers.

She couldn't help being just a little disappointed that she wasn't about to be mercilessly ravished. After all, half past eight tomorrow night was a long way off, and that was just until she could see him again. It would be far later before they could actually get some time alone.

A few feet later, Spike's hands stopped pulling her forward, she caught the light crunch of feet on gravel as he walked around her and then with a hand on either shoulder he turned her through ninety degrees.

She could feel his body brushing lightly against her back as he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

"Ready, love?"

Not knowing who else was there, she resisted the urge to lean back into his touch and simply nodded. Agile fingers loosened the silk and it fell away with a sensuous stroke against her face.

Buffy stared at the thing in front of her, clearly illuminated by one of the many security lights that were interspersed around the hall's parking area. There was a huge white and silver bow on top, but this just couldn't be right... She blinked her eyes several times to see if it would disappear and when it didn't she shook her head as if to clear it.

Spike's hand pressed something small and hard into her right palm, and as she brought it towards her face and stared at the metal and plastic object, she finally began to believe...

She pressed the key fob and the headlights and indicators on the brand new silver Beetle cabriolet in front of her blinked a couple of times as the car made a couple of electronic beeps before falling silent again.

"You bought me a car?" she gasped incredulously. "A brand new car?"

She could hear the laughter in the vampire's voice as he answered, again leaning forward so he could breathe his reply against her ear. "Well, you didn't think I was going to let you take my baby back and forward to college every day when you start again, did you? There was a point to making you take all those lessons, you know."

Buffy turned in his arms. "But you bought me a car , a Herbie ," she replied, wrapping her arms around Spike's neck, still obviously slightly stunned. "And it isn't even black."

"Well, no, I was buying you a car, not me... though since there was a chance I might end up in it now and again, I skipped the bright yellow and-."

Spike's words were cut off as Buffy claimed his lips with her own, no longer caring who else was watching them.

When they finally drew apart, Buffy's lip formed a slight pout. "I can't drive it yet. I've been drinking."

"No, but you could check out the interior and the stereo, if you wanted."

Buffy shook her head and stood on tiptoe, pulling him into a tight hug so that only he could hear her whispered reply. "I have a better idea. Why don't we check out those woods at the other end of the lawn. I think I've got about twenty minutes to say thank you properly before you need to go."
 
Chapter 9.01
 

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

SECTION 9 - TRUE COLORS

I see your true colours shining through
True colours and that's why I love you
So don't be afraid, to let them show
Your true colours (true colours) are beautiful, like a rainbow.

(Cyndi Lauper, Album - 12 Deadly Sins and Then Some)




Chapter 9.01
Saturday, July 20th, 2002


Buffy was not-swimming. Why was it, she wondered, as she pushed off from the pool's edge and glided to the other side without so much as a single stroke, that an apocalypse could come and go and she would be able to sleep like the dead, but come the eve of the day she least wanted to look completely slagged, insomnia comes to call.

At the not-so-far end she twisted in the water and pushed off again. Whoever had taken the brochure photograph of the tiny pool, had obviously been lying down at its very corner and using some very specialised lenses. If she'd had running shoes she could have used the hotel gym, but she didn't think they'd let her use the treadmill in heels as high as those she'd worn for the battle, let alone the silk stilettos she had to go with her dress for tomorrow. She and Spike had gone back to both Revello and the council's school yesterday afternoon and managed to pack a few things for the honeymoon, hers in a neat, white suitcase, Spike's in an army surplus kitbag. Hence, she had had the bikini she was currently wearing, but she hadn't thought she would need running shoes, just some flip-flops for by the pool or at the beach and a selection of high-heeled sandals that would show off her ankles to best effect.

Perhaps if the pool had been a little bigger, she could have burned off enough energy to eventually fall into an exhausted slumber, but the all-too-brief interlude in the woods with Spike had simply left her wanting more. After she had retired for the evening she'd brought herself to the point of physical release over and over, hoping that this time it would be enough, but it was like being offered a tiny square of chocolate when what you wanted was the whole bar.

The bed had been too big, too warm; the sheets too stiff and then too rumpled, their clean, freshly-laundered scent just not right ; the pillows had been too high and yet too soft.

She looked at the clock, set against its background of blue and turquoise mosaic tiles. Four in the morning and she knew that if she could look into the blue of his eyes rather than the random tiles, if his cool firm chest could be her pillow, then she would be asleep in minutes... or enjoying herself too much to care. Tradition really wasn't all it was cracked up to be.






 

Dawn was taking her role as bridesmaid very seriously. It was her responsibility to make sure that Buffy was ready, calm and that everything that could be done to make her day perfect had been done. The teen absentmindedly spooned cereal into her mouth as she looked over her notepad. With her fluffy topped pencil, she added wax strips to her shopping list and adjusted the schedule she'd drawn up for the day, moving Buffy's bath forward half an hour to allow for the extra treatment.

If she could find someone to take her over to Ventura shopping for the necessary supplies... and someone to pay for everything... then they had until around two before they had to begin operations. Normally, she would call Spike but he wasn't allowed... Maybe she could meet him by the gates.

"What are you up to?" a voice asked just behind her as her aunt pulled out the nearest chair.

"Making a shopping list? But I don't know how I'm going to get everything. I mean this place is pretty cool... Just the whole hot water thing makes it ten times better than the house, at least until the utilities companies get their acts together, but it's so middle of nowhere it makes Sunnydale look like New York."

"May I?" Arlene asked, holding her hand out for the pad. Her eyes looked the list up and down. "You might want to get some confetti... What about the rhyme? Old, new, borrowed and blue."

Dawn had a sudden look of panic. "Her rings are old, and the dress and everything are new. I guess she can borrow my earrings and necklace... She talked about it when the two of them gave them to me. I don't know about the blue."

"Then, I guess we better pick up the traditional garter just in case. I'll call us a taxi."






 

Buffy pulled the pillows over her head and cursed whoever was on the other side of the door. So what if it was nearly two in the afternoon? She had hours and hours to get ready. What she needed was sleep, and she'd only just... finally dropped off when the hammering on the door had started. It wasn't fair.

"Buffy!" her sister's voice bellowed. "If you don't open up right now I'm going to go down to reception and tell them you were drunk as a skunk last night and that no one has seen you since and that I think you've choked on your own vomit."

The slayer let out a groan loud enough to be heard on the far side of the door and fumbled for her robe. She spared a glance in the mirror as she went past, thanking her lucky stars and her slayer powers that she didn't look like she felt.

She opened the door a scant six inches, intending to give her excuses and tell her sister to go away, though most likely not in those precise words. She stalled and her jaw dropped open when she found that it wasn't just Dawn who was waiting outside. Bee and Tara were both there, as was her Aunt Arlene. Her aunt carried a tray with several tall glasses, a bottle of either champagne or fizzy wine and a pitcher of what looked like freshly squeezed orange juice. Buffy's stomach rumbled and she remembered that she had let breakfast come and go as she tossed and turned in her sleepless bed. Right now orange juice seemed like a very good thing. Working out why everyone was wearing robes, carrying their wedding outfits and had wet hair and the heat-flushed, freshly-scrubbed glow of people who had recently left a shower could wait.






 

Buffy lay back in the rich bubbles and sipped at her orange juice. Dawn had a point. Maybe this was better than her fruitless attempts at sleep... though it would probably have been more relaxing if it wasn't for the sound of stereo hairdryers coming from the next room. Dawn, it seemed, viewed the wedding preparations as a feminine bonding ritual, something all the women should do together. Buffy's skin was just beginning to prune when there was more hammering on the door.

"I would have been here sooner but Xander decided he wanted to share my bubble bath and then we did the orgasm thing and then I needed to get washed again." Anya's voice carried clearly through into the bathroom as Buffy reluctantly pulled herself from the water.

"Alright for some," the slayer thought wryly.






 

"You need to eat something," Arlene insisted, pushing the plate of sandwiches back in front of where Buffy sat at the dressing table while Bee and Tara pinned rollers almost the size of soup cans in her hair.

"I'll have a bulge when I put on my dress," Buffy protested.

"Rubbish!" Her aunt raked her eyes up and down Buffy's figure underneath the scarlet satin robe that she wore. "You probably wouldn't even have a bulge if you were eight months pregnant."

"I'm too nervous to-." The bride-to-be's protests were cut off as her stomach gave a particularly loud growl.






 

"Owwww!" Dawn practically howled as Anya yanked off the wax strip with a savage glee.

"You bought them," Buffy pointed out from her seat next to her sister, almost completely disguising her own flinch as Bee performed a similar service for her.

"Well, it seemed more sort of 'grown up' than shaving. No one said that it was like being tortured by the Spanish Inquisition."

Tara gave a gentle laugh from the corner of the room, where she and Buffy's aunt had a pair of ironing boards set up. All the outfits had been hanging up, but they were giving them a quick going over with the iron just to make sure that they were crease-free. Tara had claimed that she had shaved last night and didn't need to join in the depilatory fun and games and Arlene had insisted that no one would be looking at her legs anyway. Buffy suspected that they both just had far more sense than to let someone yank all their body hair out by the roots.






 

"Delivery," declared the voice at the door.

When Dawn pulled it open she practically shrieked in delight. Kate, Spike's favourite florist, carried a wide shallow lidless box, in which rested a selection of bouquets and boutonnieres. The colours matched the outfits that were hanging from the room's stout wooden curtain pole perfectly, mostly long stemmed carnations, but with a few more exotic blooms in their midst, all except Rosa's diminutive posy, that was a simple sprig of wildflowers with jagged-edged petals wrapped with ribbons and lace.

"The church-," Buffy began.

"Is done," Kate replied, cutting her off before she could begin to get stressed. "The customary arrangements at either side and on the main altar inside the church and the planters you wanted all along the entryway, inside and out. All that's left to do is to drop off the boutonnieres for Spike and his best man. Any messages you want me to pass on?"

"Yeah," Buffy replied eagerly before her expression turned to one of slight embarrassment. "Tell him I miss him."






 

Buffy looked at the huge old-fashioned doctors' style case that Bee had produced with some trepidation. "I was sort of thinking of something a bit more subtle than bright red lipstick and black eyeliner... not that it doesn't work for you," she amended hastily, "but I've got these totally different skin tones..."

"What did I do for a living before I started working with Wesley?" Bee asked patiently.

"Well, I know you were an artist, but didn't you say that it was sort of touch and go whether you made a living?" Buffy stalled a bit more.

"That's beside the point. Who do you think made up my models? I can make you look anyway you want, from the exotic to the so-natural-you-almost-look-like-you-aren't-wearing-any-make-up-at-all. Trust me."

Buffy glanced up into the half-angel's face, momentarily taking her eyes off the almost overflowing, completely disorganised valise. To her surprise, her eyes locked with Bee's and at the sincerity she found there she couldn't do anything but nod her assent.






 

When Buffy was finally allowed to look in the mirror again, she wasn't sure that she recognised herself as the girl who had crawled out of bed at Dawn's knock. Her fingers and toes were painted with a translucent pale pink varnish, that lent them a soft sheen. Her eyes had been subtly highlighted with just a touch of metallic gold and tawny shades that blended so well with her natural skin tone as to be near invisible. Her lashes had been curled and slightly lengthened with brown mascara. The shading made her hazel-green eyes seem almost emerald in hue. All traces of her sleepless night seemed to have been magicked away so completely that Buffy wondered whether Tara had covertly lent a helping hand, and her lips had a neutral pink sheen that was only just too dark to qualify as pastel.

Her hair at the front was drawn back and held in place with a few unobtrusive grips at her crown, but, at the back it spilled loose, just as Spike liked it, flowing in soft waves down to just past her shoulders. At her neck and in her ears she wore the diamonds that Spike had bought Dawn for her prom, and if all the other primping and preening hadn't made her feel like a pampered princess, they would have done the job on their own.

Almost all that was left to do was to put her dress on and Buffy could feel her nerves coming back with full force until her aunt pressed a champagne cocktail into her hand and told her to drink it.






 

Buffy paced nervously as she waited for Tara to fetch Marie, Rosa, Giles and Xander, too worried about creasing the skirt of her dress to sit down. She wished that she had thought to do this last night while Spike would have been here to back her up but knew it was too late now for such regrets.

The cars were due to pick them up in twenty minutes and they had only time for finishing touches now. She pulled a large gift bag from the bottom of the wardrobe and began to remove black leather box after black leather box, laying them out unopened on the dresser.

Tara swept back into the room with a swirl of her Edwardian style black silk skirt. Bee passed her the richly coloured waistcoat that went over her ivory high-necked blouse as Giles followed her into the room, dressed in black trousers and frock coat, ivory waistcoat and cravat, with just a handkerchief and his buttonhole in the same vivid shade as Tara's waistcoat. Marie ushered in Rosa, in her ivory dress, gathered at the waist and then falling to reach her calves, its skirt embroidered in a similar fashion to Buffy's own, its sash the same shade as Dawn's bridesmaid dress. Xander brought up the rear in a simple black tux, giving his colourful cummerbund and bow-tie dubious glances as if he was unconvinced regarding their manliness.

Buffy cleared her throat and balled her fists to resist the temptation to wipe her slightly sweaty hands on her dress. The bright sheen in Giles' eyes when she caught his gaze did nothing to still her nerves, but at the same time gave her the will to continue.

"Spike should probably be here for this, but it was only when we were getting ready that I realised that we hadn't done it yet, and we sort of picked gifts that would go with the outfits, so you should probably have them before we leave for the church."

Buffy opened the first of the boxes, checking its contents before she passed it on, a cameo brooch, cream on black in the form of a dove and a ladies onyx watch with a glossy black leather strap. "That one's for Tara." Anya's gift was the same, except her cameo took the form of a puma and the watch was finished in yellow gold rather than white. Rosa received a gold locket with a five petaled rose engraved on the front. Inside it there were already two pictures, one of Marie with Wesley and one of Lily with Clem and Rosa's father. It came with a slender gold expanding bracelet with similar flowers engraved into it as if they sprouted on either side of a meandering vine. Xander and Giles each received the gents' counterpart of the watches Anya and Tara had been given along with monogrammed onyx cufflinks. The next box Buffy opened and then, blinking away a couple of tears before they could fall, she closed it again and set it to one side. In the last box was Dawn's gift, another pendant, this one in white gold, a cross, whose arms were all of equal length, each slightly flared at the end, with a square cut garnet at its centre and smaller diamonds set above, below, and to left and right of the central stone at forty-five degree angles so that one corner of each diamond touched the centre of each side of the garnet. On the back of each watch and each pendant were engraved the words 'With Love' and the date.






 

Giles waited in the hotel foyer until the other attendants had all left and only the cream-coloured open-topped Rolls-Royce that Spike had managed to scare up from who knew where - it wasn't even beyond the bounds of possibility that the vampire had had elegant vehicle in storage somewhere - remained waiting outside, before he told Buffy what he had been thinking ever since he had walked into her suite.

"I've always been proud of you. I've become used to the fact that every time I think it would be impossible to feel any more so, you find a way to prove me wrong, just like yesterday... I was quite sure, however, that you would never look more beautiful than you did at your Senior Prom. Today you've proven me wrong in that respect as well. I couldn't possibly feel more keenly the honour you-."

The chauffeur sounded the car's horn impatiently and Buffy cut her watcher off with a swift peck on his cheek. "I love you, too, Giles," she told him, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet before she took the arm he held out towards her and they left the hotel.
 
Chapter 9.02
 

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

SECTION 9 - TRUE COLORS

I see your true colours shining through
True colours and that's why I love you
So don't be afraid, to let them show
Your true colours (true colours) are beautiful, like a rainbow.

(Cyndi Lauper, Album - 12 Deadly Sins and Then Some)




Chapter 9.02
Saturday, July 20th, 2002


"Rummy," Spike pronounced, grinning broadly around the cigarette that seemed to be held in place by some invisible force, and spread his cards out on the candlelit coffee table for Clem and Ha Nath to see before he swept the multicoloured assortment of M&Ms that made up the pot to his corner of the table. It was the first hand he'd won in about an hour, which wasn't really all that surprising as he was fairly certain that Clem and his girlfriend were curled together too tightly to not be able to see each other's cards. It didn't really matter though as Clem tended to keep all three piles fairly even by snacking on both his own and Ha Nath's winnings, the latter occasionally earning him a playful slap on the wrist. As far as Spike was concerned Clem had earned every last bit of peanut-y chocolate goodness just by leaving the reception hall with its amenities to come back with the vampire to his apartment, where the only way they could even keep a beer remotely cool was to keep them in the sink and to keep refilling it with fresh cold water every so often.

Spike got up and fetched another three bottles from the kitchen, but Ha Nath demurred, reluctantly disentangling her limbs from Clem's and getting to her feet.

"I'm gonna head back to my place now. I don't know about you two, but I need my beauty sleep..."

Clem gave her a bashful smile and scratched at his ear, watching her through his near invisible eyelashes as he murmured that no she didn't.

"You can stay if you want," Spike found himself offering. "You an' Clem can have the bed. I'll take the sofa."

Ha Nath gave a silent snort that might have been her equivalent of a laugh. "I'll pass. I plan to have a nice long lie-in until mid-afternoon. Clem can baby-sit the tweaking vampire on his own."

"I'm not tweaking. Never touch the stuff."

"Maybe not, but I'll bet by noon you're doing a damn good impression of it," Ha Nath answered. She pulled Clem to his feet and, once she had shrugged her jacket back on, she led him to the apartment door and out onto the communal landing, out of sight if not out of earshot.

Spike reached for the ashtray, but his cigarette had burned down to nothing while he'd been getting the beers and he just stubbed it out. He hadn't contradicted Ha Nath, but the way he looked at it, he had nothing to worry about. The wedding was Buffy's big day. All he had to do was show up... and maybe ring Kate at her sister's in the morning to make sure she wasn't getting the flowers delivered to her florist's shop that wasn't there any more... and make sure the photographer knew it was more than his life was worth to skip out on them, check that the musicians were going to be at the church. Nothing major...

Their claim bound them together forever in ways deeper and more binding than any ceremony or certificate. The wedding was... well, maybe it was just a little for his mother, wherever she was... but mostly it was for Buffy, her 'Happy Day', and a way of demonstrating to her and to the human world what he had known for the longest time... He was never going to leave her.

He tipped another cigarette from his pack and wandered to the window as he lit it, trying not to hear the brush of flesh on flesh as the couple outside made their farewells. He pulled aside the curtains and noted that the indigo of midnight was already lightening to a clearer blue. His decision made, he picked up his car keys, wishing that Faith had brought his bike back, that they could have been on the East Coast rather than the West and just maybe that he had company other than Clem. All the same, he wasn't going to waste one of the very few sunrises he had left, not when he and Clem could breakfast on tacos and save the Mexican restaurant the trouble of sending out a delivery guy with the chocolate and chilli cheesecake at the same time. There was time enough to sleep later.






 

Clem tugged at the switch for the light in the windowless bathroom as he left the lightless room from sheer force of habit. He had slept for a few hours and would probably doze away a few more, but, unlike Spike, he wasn't nocturnal by nature and his stomach was more than convinced that it was lunchtime.

He checked the vampire's kitchen cupboards, happy to find a multipack of Jaffa Cakes and a tube of cream cheese and chive Pringles. He placed his booty on the coffee table and tiptoed to the bedroom door, peeking in to check on the groom-to-be before he began his makeshift lunch.

The vampire was spread across the bed on his stomach like a star fish, but his head was turned to the side, and his face bore a look of complete contentment, a gentle smile on his sleeping lips.

Clem crept into the room as silently as he could manage and when he reached the larger of the two suits, identical to the one Giles would wear, whose hangers were hooked over the top of the wardrobe, he lifted the plastic covering and checked one more time that both rings were still securely nestled inside the handkerchief that was tucked into the frock coat's top pocket.

He looked at them against the crimson silk, one hundreds of years old and reddish gold, its edges rubbed smooth by constant wear, the match for the diamond band that the slayer already wore. The other was newly crafted in white gold, narrower at one side than at the other where the gleaming metal seemed to twist under and over itself to form a complex knot. Clem had seen the vampire toying with it the previous night. Like a puzzle, it could be broken apart to give two separate twisted metal loops, but it was when the two pieces were linked together that it became a thing of symmetry and beauty.

Clem shook off his reverie and brought up the edges of the fabric square before tucking both rings and handkerchief back into the pocket from which he had taken them.






 

"Fucking bloody hell!" Spike bellowed, loud enough for his neighbours on the ground floor to hear, if, of course, he hadn't been the only occupant stupid enough to still be there, despite the lack of basic amenities like electricity or hot water. He washed, shampooed and shaved as quickly as he could manage under the frigid spray and used the last of the clean towels to dry his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He squeezed some gel into his hands and worked it into the wet strands and then combed them into their usual style and felt for stray curls.

Padding barefoot back into the living room, he told Clem, "Shower's all yours if you want it," but the wrinkly demon shook his head with a grin.

"I brought wipes. I thought the water would be a bit cold," he announced, indicating the empty packet of facial cleansing wipes for sensitive skin that now rested in Spike's waste paper bin.

The vampire rolled his eyes in a look that clearly said Clem could have got him some as well and rescued a blood bag from the midst of the beer bottles in the sink. "Don't know what The Watcher left in the cupboards but if you want anything that's there, help yourself, as long as you leave space for dinner later." He briefly changed visage and punctured the bag with his fangs before he tipped the liquid into a pint mug, sipping at it as he collected his cigarettes, lighter and an ashtray. Placing them all within easy reach, he pushed himself effortlessly up onto the counter that separated the kitchen and living room, and adopted his usual loose-limbed posture, making no allowance for his skimpy attire.

"I'm good... unless maybe you could get the guy to stop off at the drive-thru," Clem answered, averting his eyes and making a mental note not to have the chicken. "I guess if we want to get there early I better get changed."

Spike nodded and lit up a cigarette, his hands completely steady. "Well, can't see Glinda and the ex-demon getting there too much before Buffy. Suppose someone had better be there to tell people where they're meant to go. I'll just finish these. Give it a few minutes to make sure I'm not going to be dripping on the suit an' check my wrinklies haven't shrivelled up and dropped off, an' I'll be with you."






 

Spike smirked as the classic Rolls drew to a stop behind the big black convertible, which for once had its hood raised, imagining Angel curled in the back seat under a blanket, waiting for the verger to open up the church, while he basked in the evening sunshine.

It made sense that Angel and his pets had arrived early, as running into the church with smoke coming from your head was generally best accomplished with the smallest possible audience, but it looked as if not everyone appreciated getting here an hour before the ceremony was due to start. The cheerleader stood on the pavement, chatting with Connor, Faith and the rest of the hired help. While Cordelia seemed relaxed enough and Connor's distraction seemed mostly to take the form of constantly checking for new arrivals, the brains and the brawn of the LA operation looked as if they wanted to be talking to anyone but each other and if he was picking up on the vibes, they seemed to be making Lorne positively jumpy. The Dark Slayer, delicious as she looked in the Monroe-esque, figure-hugging, dark green calf-length dress and matching sandals that she wore, was pacing like a caged tiger, or as near an impression as she could manage without making the split at the back of the dress bigger, and she was drawing on her cigarette as if it were a life-line.

"They'll have to move that or there won't be room for the other cars when we pick up everybody else," the chauffeur pointed out. "Want me to have a word with them?"

"Nah," Spike replied, knowing the car had been positioned so that Angel had the shortest possible dash to the walkway. "I know them. I'll make sure they move it before then." He and Clem climbed out of the car and wandered over to the others as the driver turned the car around to go to the hotel and wait until it was time to fetch Buffy and Giles.

"Hi, gorgeous! How's The Boy Watcher doing?" he asked Faith as he greeted both Connor and Lorne with a warm handshake and a pat on the shoulder that somehow in combination came close to being a hug without impugning anyone's manly sensibilities.

Clem loosened his double-handed grip on his half-eaten Big Mac for long enough to give everyone a wave.

"No permanent damage other than his abs looking like Freddy Kruger's leftovers," Faith managed with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes, "but they're keeping him in a bit longer to make sure there's no sign of infection. Said he's sorry he couldn't make it, but I'm calling it a lucky escape."

"Huh?" It was Clem who asked the question but Spike's raised eyebrow was equally eloquent.

"I don't care what he says about traditional dress. I told him I draw the line at men in skirts."

Spike gave her an appreciative grin before he turned his attention to the car. Knocking loudly on the back window, he asked, "Having fun in there?", his amusement evident in his tone.

Angel's only response was a stream of muttered swear words, but Cordelia intervened. "I wouldn't laugh too hard at anyone else, William, until you've had a good look at the planters over there." She nodded in the direction of the covered walkway, and Spike's heart sank momentarily, but his embarrassment was soon replaced by amusement as he took in the riot of pink, white and red blooms that sprouted from dozens of planters. Now that it had been brought to his attention, it seemed that everywhere he looked the approach to the church had been decorated with Sweet William. Buffy, it seemed, was taking her revenge for his refusal a few months earlier to tell her the meaning of 'dianthus barbatus'.






 

Spike pretended a nonchalance he was far from feeling as he informed Angel that they were only using the front eight rows, a number they had decided would be enough to prevent people feeling cramped but few enough that there wouldn't be people scattered all over the church in twos and threes, making it look empty. "Bride's guests are on the right, groom's on the left. Seats by the aisle in the first couple of rows are for the wedding party. Help yourself." He gestured with either hand and then began to walk to the front of the church where the minister was checking the PA system. "Just going to check with his holiness an' find out how the mini-slayers in the hospital are getting on..." He didn't doubt for a second that Angel would sit on Buffy's side of the church, but that didn't mean that he was going to let his grandsire gloat over any disappointment that might show on his all too expressive features. Besides, he did want to find out how his girls were getting on.

He was pleasantly surprised when, having received updates and passed on messages for the slayers, he turned at the sound of further arrivals, only to discover that the LA contingent had actually spread itself over both sides of the aisle on the fourth row. Connor was the furthest from the centre, so it looked as if he had been the first to declare his allegiance, but Cordy sat between him and Angel and Lorne took the last seat on his side with Faith, Fred and Gunn on Buffy's side.

He tried not to grin as he made his way to the back of the church to greet Wes, Marie and Ha Nath and show them to their seats in the front row, where they would later be joined by Rosa and Clem.

Gradually, the church's front few rows filled up and when Amanda slipped into the pew at Connor's side, the teenager finally stopped twisting around in his seat.

Hank and his secretary made it with only minutes to spare, and Clem showed them to a seat near the back of the rows that were being used. Even from the front of the church Spike could hear them bickering over the fact that Marlene had told Hank to book a taxi from the airport and how it was his fault that they'd had to wait for hours and that they hadn't been able to get through to the house on Revello to get someone to come and pick them up. When Marlene began to harp on as to why they couldn't have had the wedding at the country club and Hank was pointing out that with the leper or whatever it was that William had chosen as best man, it was just as well that none of their friends were there to see, Spike was just about to go and convince the father of the bride to shut his mouth before Ha Nath decided to shut it for him, but with a growl, a glint of gold and a flash of fangs Angel beat him to it.

Anya and Tara bustled into the church, both now wearing short black silk jackets over their crimson waistcoats. Like the hems of their skirts, the outer edges and lapels of the jackets were embroidered with flowers, each bloom white at the center and the outer edge but with a band of red, just a few shades too dark to be raspberry, in between. Sweet William, it seemed was going to be a recurring theme. Anya headed straight for Clem, getting the rings from him, but Tara seemed to be headed in Spike's direction.

"How're you?" she asked, smoothing down the shoulders of Spike's coat, even though it was tailored so perfectly that it was unnecessary and checking him over from top to toe for any adjustments that might be desirable. "You look pretty calm."

"Thought you could read the old aura," the vampire teased softly, "or are you losing your touch?"

"It's not automatic. It takes a shift in perception. Figured it would be easier just to ask."

"Then I'm good." Spike treated her to a winning grin.

"The photographer wants to get a couple of shots with me, Anya and you guys before Buffy and the bridesmaids arrive," Tara hinted, looking back at Clem and taking a step toward the doors. "We better hurry. I don't think they'll be too far behind."

Spike caught up with her in a couple of strides and held out his arm for her to take as they walked down the remainder of the aisle. "Anything to give her her perfect day, pigeon. You know that."






 

As it turned out, when the photographer said he wanted a couple of shots, he really did only mean half a dozen, or at least if he wanted more his time was cut short, Spike and Clem having to be ushered back inside as the car with Rosa, Xander and Dawn was approaching... all to make sure that Spike's first glimpse of the bride would be as she walked down the aisle.

As he waited inside, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The calm that had buoyed him through the day seemed to ebb away from him. His head was telling him that if there were half a dozen pictures of him, Clem and the ushers, then surely they would want at least twenty of Buffy, Dawn and Giles... and for politeness sake, the photographer would probably have to have a few with Harris in as well. His heart kept insisting that it was taking too long. Anya should have given the rings to her dolt of a husband by now, but she hadn't come back inside. Surely they should be signalling for the string quartet to change over to the piece they had chosen for the processional.

Buffy couldn't be getting cold feet at the last minute, could she? She loved him. He knew she loved him, but she'd been working so hard to make everything perfect, concentrating on the wedding and all the attendant ceremony so much that maybe she'd lost sight of the fact that today's events were only about making things official. His fingers rubbed absently at the join between his neck and shoulder, unconsciously seeking the reassurance of Buffy's claim.

Tara gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she stepped to the side, taking her position on Clem's other side and leaving a gap for Anya who was now escorting Buffy's aunt toward the front of the church, followed by the photographer who quickly set up his tripod so that he could get a shot of the bride's arrival.

Instinctively Spike turned toward the rear of the building and saw Dawn's head peeking around the door. The bridesmaid gave Spike an encouraging smile as she waited for Anya to reach her designated spot before catching the eye of the leader of the mini orchestra.

"One minute," the teen mouthed before she closed the door again and was rewarded by the music coming to a stop as the musicians all shuffled their sheet music to find the designated processional. They had decided to forego the usual wedding march in favour of the more sedate Pachelbel's canon and at the first note Xander opened wide the doors and stepped back to give the church its first view of the bride.

Spike was transfixed. He was aware of Giles in only the most peripheral of ways and even less aware of the attendants who followed in their wake, his attention almost entirely fixed on his bride as she made her way toward him. Her fine veil couldn't hide the sheen of her hair as it bounced slightly with each perfectly measured step, nor her smile, at first slightly nervous but seeming to blossom under his gaze. The dress was an elegant sleeveless ivory sheath with a heart shaped neckline, its skirt again embroidered with blooms of white and red, and as Buffy drew closer he caught an occasional glimpse of a short train in the same bright hue. With every step an ivory silk toe peeked from under the hem and then disappeared again.

Flash after flash went off, but Buffy barely seemed to notice as she traversed the distance between them. On cue, as the music faded into silence, she drew level with the spot where Spike waited.

He forced himself to resist the urge to take her hand in his, as she stood at his side, so beautiful and radiant, knowing that that should come later when Giles formally passed her into his keeping.

The minister never had got the PA system to work, but his voice rang out clearly for all to hear. "Let us pray."
 
Chapter 9.03
 

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

Note, the second - I have tried to follow the service as given in The Book of Common Prayer (as per www.foreverwed2.com) but I have deviated from this at the point where the rings are exchanged, due to the original providing only for the exchange of one ring rather than two... Unfortunately, I haven't managed to find a single easy to follow source for that version of the service. Apologies for any inaccuracies or errors. Just count yourself lucky that Buffy isn't declaring herself Spike's Sex Poodle...


SECTION 9 - TRUE COLORS

I see your true colours shining through
True colours and that's why I love you
So don't be afraid, to let them show
Your true colours (true colours) are beautiful, like a rainbow.

(Cyndi Lauper, Album - 12 Deadly Sins and Then Some)




Chapter 9.03
Saturday, July 20th, 2002


"If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace," the minister intoned before making a brief pause.

Buffy's heart momentarily stilled in her chest, almost expecting to hear Quentin Travers' voice come echoing through the church, but there was no interruption and the minister continued with the ceremony. As far as Buffy could tell he was going a very long way around to ask Spike and her the same question that he had just put to the congregation at large, after which he moved onto the actual wedding vows.

"William," he asked, the name sounding strangely formal to Buffy's ears. "Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?"

Buffy turned her head slightly, unable to resist the temptation to watch Spike out of the corner of her eye rather than focusing on Reverend Hamilton or his words.

"Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Spike's jaw had been tight, his high cheekbones more than normally prominent as he waited for the cue, but his response was both clear and without hesitation when he replied, "I will."

Buffy turned back to the clergyman, preparing to make her own declaration, endeavouring to imprint every word onto her brain for posterity, but their meaning seemed to flow over her like water gurgling over the rocks in a stream, there and then gone.

"...So long as ye both shall live?"

"I will." Her throat was dry and her voice seemed small and husky but in the church's total stillness, she could have answered in a whisper and, even so, her words would have reverberated off the thick stone walls to be heard by the entire congregation.

Reverend Hamilton turned slightly, facing Giles now. "Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?"

"I do," her watcher answered, his rich vocal tones conveying a wealth of pride and love. Buffy knew without doubt that she had made the right choice when she had passed over her biological father for the role.

She stepped forward on Giles' arm and loosely held the minister's hand in her own as the Englishman retreated to take up the seat next to her Aunt Arlene.

The clergyman led her to Spike, pressing her right hand into the groom's so that they faced each other for this final part of the ceremony. The impact was like a double hammer blow. First the overwhelming rush of surety, the all-encompassing feeling that nothing she had ever done before had been more right or more perfect than what she did now... As right? Definitely, there had been a few select moments that they had shared which were as right, but none more so. Then, as her eyes met his, even the veil couldn't shield her from the heartstoppingly beautiful cornflower intensity of his gaze.

Somewhere in the back of her head she was aware of his lips moving. Some peripheral part of her was conscious of his voice, interspersed between that of the clergyman, caressing her ears, but it was the enchantment of those eyes and the second-hand emotion that combined to suffuse every part of her, so that if not for Spike's steadying hand she might have swayed on her feet.

With a care that was undoubtedly due to the fact that he couldn't help but be aware of just how overwhelmed she was feeling, Spike freed his fingers from her own, as ceremony dictated. To her surprise, she didn't stumble when his hand released hers, though the curtailment of their empathic union was nearly as jarring as the instant when his heightened emotions had first swamped her senses.

Entranced by the vampire's gaze, she started, realising that the minister, perhaps not for the first time, was telling her in a hushed tone to take Spike's hand in hers. Nevertheless, this time she was ready for the emotional onslaught of his touch when it came. With an imperceptible weight shift, she steadied herself and forced herself to focus on the vows she needed to speak.

"Repeat after me," the minister instructed her. "I, Buffy..."

"I, Buffy," she began, her voice still slightly hoarse.

"...Take thee William..."

"...Take thee William..." she responded, every word getting just a little clearer.

"...To be my wedded husband..."

"...To be my wedded husband..." Spike, her husband . Even the thought of it awed her. So, so far in just a few short months.

"...To have and to hold from this day forward..."

"...To have and to hold from this day forward," And God did she want to hold him, be held by him.

"...In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish..."

She felt exceptionally cosseted as she made her own promises of devotion and, via the claim, felt them more than amply returned, though that was hardly even necessary when she could simply watch the emotion play across Spike's face.

"...Till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance..."

"...Till death do us part, according to God's holy..." Buffy paused and gave a slight frown before she repeated the word ordinance, her voice rising slightly as if to turn the word into a question. Wasn't that something to do with ammunition?

"...And thereto I give thee my troth," the clergyman prompted with a finality that said they were one step closer to the ceremony's conclusion.

Buffy gave a relieved smile and repeated the last few words, relinquishing Spike's hand with some reluctance when she finished.

The minister gave a slight nod in Xander's direction, motioning the ring bearer forward so that he could take position just to one side of both Buffy and the minister, holding the ivory velvet cushion, on which both rings rested, just above waist height. The minister then returned his attention to Spike.

"What pledge do you give of the sincerity of your vows?" he asked the vampire.

"A ring."

The preacher lifted the smaller of the two rings from the cushion and addressed Buffy. "Do you accept this ring as a pledge of the sincerity of William's vows?"

Buffy gave a small nod. Then, realising that the congregation was probably awaiting a more verbal response she added, "I do."

The clergyman passed the ring to Spike, who placed his left hand under Buffy's, supporting it as he spoke the words from long-buried memory rather than waiting for the minister's prompts.

"With this ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of The Father..." He let the ring hover over the end of her index finger, encircling but not quite touching one perfectly lacquered nail. "And of The Son..." He continued moving the circlet to her middle finger. "And of The Holy Spirit," he concluded, finally sliding the ring down her wedding finger until it rested against her engagement ring. "Amen."

Before he gave his blessing, Reverend Hamilton took a moment to smile at the vampire's word-perfect recitation and the contrast between it and Buffy's panicked glance, which clearly intimated that were she asked to speak her own part from memory, it would be far less polished. "And may this circlet of pure gold which has no end, be henceforth the chaste and changeless symbol of your evermore pure and changeless affection."

Again he turned to Buffy, this time to question what form her pledge would take.

She answered as Spike had done, waiting nervously until Spike had voiced his acceptance of the ring and the minister spoke the magic words, "Repeat after me..."

Line by line, she followed his lead. "This ring I give you... In token and pledge... of my constant faithfulness and abiding love."

Outwardly, as she slid the white gold band down onto his finger, there was no more than the slightest flicker of gold in Spike's eyes, too fleeting for anyone other than her to see. Inside, she could almost hear his demon give a possessive growl, accepting and reciprocating her latest claim on him, just as he accepted the ring that bound them together with yet another tie; friends, lovers, mates and now spouses... It was a primitive sentiment, but one that she found surprisingly endearing. She wasn't exactly in a hurry to share, either.

Even as Buffy was getting used to this idea, the minister continued. "And may this ring given, be the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual bond which unites your two hearts in love that has no end." He bowed his head, requesting that the congregation join him in The Lord's Prayer.

The slayer wasn't entirely sure if she managed to say the words along with the few voices in the congregation who seemed to know it by rote, Giles' voice distinct amongst them, especially when she caught his hesitation before the word "trespasses", as if he were unsure whether the minister would follow the more traditional version or opt for "debts". She did know that she found it impossible, even with her head downturned, to prevent herself from stealing glances at the vampire opposite.

At the first amen Buffy raised her head, thinking that surely now they must have reached the point where she got to claim her kiss, but the clergyman didn't even lift his eyes, continuing on from that prayer straight into another... and then on to what Buffy decided was a far too wordy and altogether superfluous blessing. She doubted that the minister would appreciate it, though, if she were to do a Prince Humperdink and insist that he skip to the part with 'man and wife'. And, after all she'd gone through to get here, she wanted to make sure that this was binding... legally, spiritually and in every other sense possible... even if she did really want to get to that kiss.

Finally, the preacher took her right hand and placed it in Spike's, once more hitting one of those high points that she remembered from all those daytime TV movies. "Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder." Ever hopeful, she sought out the minister's eyes, but smoochies, it seemed, were still some way off.

The clergyman's attention turned to the congregation, seeming to make eye contact with friends and family, human and demon alike as he brought the ceremony to a close. "Forasmuch as William and Buffy have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving each one ring, and by joining hands; by the authority committed unto me as a minister of the Church of Jesus Christ, I pronounce that they are Man and Wife... In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." In a whisper he reminded the couple that this was where they were meant to kneel, and Dawn stepped up from her seat by the aisle to help arrange Buffy's dress as the bride took her position.

"The Lord Bless Thee and Keep Thee," Reverend Hamilton announced, and the string quartet broke into a slow but haunting tune, accompanied, or so it seemed, by the same handful of voices that had joined in The Lord's Prayer.

"The Lord bless thee, and keep thee.
The Lord make his face to shine upon thee,
And be gracious unto thee.
The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee,
And give thee peace."

The words had a beauty of their own. Knowing how much of Spike's rough and ready facade was exactly that, Buffy wasn't surprised at the vicarious awe she felt when the vampire took her hand to help her back to her feet. He could shout from the rooftops that he was Evil with a capital E but, having for so long believed himself to be damned, it obviously touched him profoundly to be the recipient of such a blessing. If she had ever had any misgivings about how she had coerced the vampire into a church wedding, in that instant they were gone.

She looked again at the minister, waiting for the cue that with a smile and a slight shake of his head he declined to give. Puzzled, she turned to Spike.

The vampire echoed the minister's smile with a teasing grin as he reached out to lift her veil almost reverently, so that, for the first time, he could fully see her face. "I sorta bent the truth a touch, Mrs Giles. That bit about kissing the bride isn't actually part of the standard service, but I reckon, since we put in so much practice, it'd be a shame if we didn't give it a go," he whispered, loud enough for only her to hear.

A second later his lips met hers in a slow, aching, yearning and yet chaste caress that even the blindest soul in the congregation could see had love as its foundation. She leaned in towards him, savouring the feel of his hand on the bare flesh at her back, unable to tell whether the euphoria she felt originated with her or with him. His skin smelled of spices, soothingly familiar to her senses. His breath carried the scent of mints, for once with no underlying taint of tobacco, and as they finally broke apart, Buffy promised herself that she would get herself a taste as soon as they got a moment to themselves.






 

Faith grabbed her opportunity while the photographer was lining people up for the photographs of Buffy's family, manoeuvring into position next to Spike.

"Congratulations, Blondie," she said with a knowing smirk. "How's it feel to be a married man?"

"Pretty much the same as it felt before," Spike replied. "Apart from being all poncied up in a suit... not that I don't carry it off better than the rest of them."

Faith gave a silent laugh before she turned more serious. "Look, it's not that I don't want to be here..."

"But your fella's stuck in a hospital bed?" Spike suggested, offering her a cigarette from his packet and lighting it for her before he lit one of his own.

"Yeah, not that we... I mean, not that he's... I've got a taxi due in ten minutes."

"'Nough said. I'll have a word with David Bailey over there and get him to do the shots with the entire group next. Figure if I ask nice he might do one of you on your own so your watcher can have a keepsake. Legs like that there ought to be a permanent record."

Faith wanted to come up with a sarcastic reply, but the words wouldn't come, so she settled for a simple, "Thanks," instead.






 

There were photographs at the church. Then, when they got to the reception hall, it started all over again. By the end of it, Spike was feeling like a Ken doll in the hands of a particularly sadistic seven-year-old. He'd stood, he'd sat, he'd gone down on one knee, he'd posed with the attendants, with all the Scoobies, with Buffy, Dawn, Hank and The Evil Step Mom, with the sisters and their aunt, with all the guests in pretty much every combination possible. He wasn't exactly complaining about the ones where he'd been instructed to kiss the bride, but he'd have preferred to do it without an audience. By the time he was actually free to make his way to the bar, he was desperate for a pint. No sooner did it seem that he had taken his first sip than he had to abandon the drink and take his place in the reception line.

Dinner was mostly a blur. There were speeches. Clem surprised them all with his eloquence, referring to sacrifices made and making a toast to absent friends, but he left no doubt in anyone's mind that days like today were the reason why these battles needed to be fought and that those people who were missing wouldn't want the day to be tainted with sadness. Today was a celebration of love, of family and of friendship and those who were no longer here would be proud in the part that they had played in making it possible. There were bouquets and thank yous and congratulations, but Spike had a feeling that, other than Clem's speech, the image that he would hold in his memory however many years down the line would be the look on Buffy's face as she ate her chocolate cheesecake... and half of his.

Finally, the plates were cleared away and the DJ announced that for the next hour, until it was time for the live band, he would be taking care of the music.

"If the bride and groom would care to take the dance floor..."

Buffy's lips twisted into the most delightful little moue of discontent and she rubbed at her stomach as if she had eaten a five course meal, which perhaps wasn't all that far from the truth.

"Come on, love," Spike coaxed, rising from his seat and extending his hand. "One slow dance and then we can let the rest of them take over." Buffy's fingers wrapped around his and he led her to the centre of the floor. Soft drumbeats sounded from the PA system before the other instruments, and finally Cyndi Lauper's rough-edged voice joined in. Buffy's hands snaked around his neck, nimble fingers playing absently with the short curls at his nape as he pulled her close, their bodies swaying gently together. It was everything that their first joint vision had promised, everything and more...

After all, a vision was just a vision. It didn't convey how soft and pliant his new wife felt in his arms. It couldn't hope to impart how contented and how beloved her presence could make him feel, or how watching her eyes brim with happy tears would make him want to cry with her, not that he gave in to the impulse. The brief glimpse that they had been given had failed to show the way they would soon find themselves surrounded by other people. Some of them, like Wes, had been virtual strangers when they had begun to plan for this day and yet they all wished them well. They all were part of what they had come to regard as their family. Spike realised that he hadn't only found love. Over the past few months he had found a home.
 
Chapter 9.04
 

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

SECTION 9 - TRUE COLORS

I see your true colours shining through
True colours and that's why I love you
So don't be afraid, to let them show
Your true colours (true colours) are beautiful, like a rainbow.

(Cyndi Lauper, Album - 12 Deadly Sins and Then Some)




Chapter 9.04
Saturday, July 20th, 2002


Giles watched Buffy on the dance floor with Hank for several seconds before he took a sip of his beer.

"Have you and Buffy given any thought to where you go from here?" His hand moved reflexively toward his face, but since he'd opted for contacts that morning he had no glasses to fumble with to cover his discomfort. "Now that Sunnydale is no longer a hellmouth, I mean."

"We-ell, not in any great detail... Buffy's got a couple more years before she finishes off her degree and Dawn'll be finishing high school about the same time. So far, I think the general idea is to get them out of the way and then worry about it."

"You don't think you'd be a little bored?"

Spike shrugged. "Buffy's been lurching from one crisis to the next since she was called. I don't think a break'll do her too much harm. Glinda's here an' the house is their last tie to Joyce. 'Sides, even if there are hundreds of them now, when all's said and done she's still the slayer. Even without the hellmouth, figure that alone'll bring enough troublemakers around to keep us entertained."

"Well, you know that there's still the other hellmouth in Cleveland... I'm going to try to convince the council that they should make it their main base of operations. If things around here get too quiet for your tastes, you would both be welcome."

Spike gave a wry grin. Right now, his girls' educations needed to take precedence but the quiet life might wear a little thin in time and there were bound to be schools and colleges in Cleveland. "We'll bear it in mind."






 

Spike placed a tray full of drinks on the table and before he had even sat down Rosa began to pass the drinks around until they reached their rightful owners.

"Don't get too busy there, rosebud." Spike's eyes met Buffy's before he turned to Rosa and gave her a smile that with an older woman might have been flirtatious. "The DJ is going to play something for the kiddies next an' since that's more or less down to you, gorgeous, an' I haven't had a dance with your gran yet, you might want to go ask Wes there if he'll dance with you."

"What's he going to play?" the young girl asked excitedly.

"That'd be telling, sweetie. Let's just say you liked the books when I read them for you so I thought I'd have a look on the internet an' see if I could download anything." The vampire grinned in Wes's direction and it seemed as if the colour retreated from the watcher's face in a downward wave leaving him ashen white and then washed back up to colour him beetroot red.

"Spike!" he rounded on the vampire.

Right then the music changed to a bright cheerful tune.

"I never said a word," Spike protested gleefully.

"When the sun doesn't shine
And it's cloudy and grey..."

"Hey," Penny exclaimed in surprise from the far side of the table, a nostalgic smile coming to her lips. "Remember You're A Womble. You know that was the very first record that Wesley ever bought. He must have been about eight."

"E-vil!" Spike reminded his fellow countryman, his grin broadening even more. "An' I didn't say a word. I just knew I wouldn't have to." He brushed his lips to Buffy's cheek, whispering just for her to hear. "Be right back when the song is over, gorgeous." He extended a hand toward Lily as Rosa tugged on Wes's arm, reminding him that he was wanted on the dance floor. Giles was coaxed from his seat thanks to Lydia's enthusiasm, though he seemed to be protesting to her that this was not what he'd meant when he had said he liked 70's rock. Even Penny seemed to be swaying in her seat in time to the catchy tune.

Dawn and Buffy looked from Wes's mother to the suddenly busy dance floor, most of whose occupants were British, before they gave synchronised eye rolls. "England's not just a different country," Buffy announced. "It's a different planet."

"Filled with insane people," Dawn agreed, taking a deep swig of Spike's beer while everyone was too busy looking elsewhere.

"Remember 'member 'member
What a womble womble womble you are."

Buffy shook her head as Lily twirled under Spike's arm. "And I was worried about him getting the guy to play his punk stuff."






 

Xander studiously avoided Angel's glares as he approached his ex-girlfriend, not that he was doing anything he needed to be guilty about. That would have been tantamount to... well, maybe not suicide, but with Anya watching, it would be an extreme case of masochism.

Giving a nod in the direction of Devon's new band, who were currently playing one of The Dingoes old numbers, he tried to sound as nonchalant as he could. "How about a dance for old times' sake?"

If Cordy was surprised she didn't let it show. "I guess we could do that," she answered, shoving her champagne glass in Angel's general direction. "It's not like Broody here is going to volunteer." She grabbed her ex's arm and strode off toward the dance floor before the vampire could protest.

Xander found it awkward, and yet familiar, to be dancing with the brunette. Just for a second or two, he decided to lose himself in the music and the woman with him and pretend that they were back in The Bronze in simpler times and that Oz was up there on the stage.

"So?" the former cheerleader's voice broke into his reminiscences. "What's the what? I know you didn't get me up here just to prove you still have two left feet."

"Heyyy! Not so much with the insults. We're not dating any more, you know."

"So spill, then," Cordy insisted with typical forthrightness.

"Well, see, it's kinda like this. Before this thing with The First hit the fan, Buffy asked me to do some work on their basement. Convert it into sort of an apartment for her and the cellar dweller..."

"And?"

"And I was thinking that maybe with some help we might be able to get it finished while they're on honeymoon."

"We-e-ll it's not like we wouldn't want to help-."

"I know. The streets of Los Angeles wouldn't be safe if you and The Dark Avenger weren't around... but you do have a hotel full of super-strong potential helpers, some of whom might be persuaded to put off their R 'n' R for a week or two. Dawn and Tara reckon they're okay to have, say, up to a dozen bunking out at Revello and that's probably about the most we could have working there before we'd be tripping over each other anyway."

"So you just want me to ask for volunteers? That's it? I got footprints on my Jimmy Choos, and not so much as a 'nice dress', for that?" Cordy asked, her eyebrow raised.

"Well, yeah... And you look a million bucks. You pretty much always do."

Cordy lifted her eyes heavenward, as if to say 'It's not much but it'll have to do' before she asked, "So when do they leave?"

"Staying in LA overnight," said Xander. "Plane out tomorrow morning."

"'Kay. We'll have a dozen slayers on the first bus tomorrow... On one condition," she added with a teasing smile.

"Huh?"

"We sit down before I need crutches."






 

The reception seemed to have passed far too quickly. It had been after ten o'clock by the time they had even escaped from the photographer, and the meal and the speeches had probably swallowed up another hour. It seemed like minutes since Spike had swept her onto the dance floor. They had barely managed to make the rounds of all the different tables and it was already approaching one in the morning.

Buffy sighed, and retouched her lipstick, checking in the mirror to see that everything looked as perfect as possible for her grand exit. Part of her wished she could stay that extra hour before the bar was due to close and everyone else would retire to their rooms or their homes. If she asked, she knew that Spike would bend to the whim, but it had been a long day, she was tired and they had a two hour drive ahead of them before they reached their honeymoon suite. Strangely, Buffy really didn't want to be falling asleep by the time they got there.

As she re-entered the reception hall, she watched the vampire talking to Bee at the bar. He leaned forward to kiss the tiny woman on the forehead and Buffy almost laughed. He was so predictable. He'd almost certainly interrogated the poor woman on her intentions regarding Tara, warned her of the dire consequences that awaited her if she dared to play fast and loose with the Wiccan's heart and, now, she'd lay bets he was welcoming her to the family.

"You ready?" Buffy asked with a grin, "Or do I have to wait for you to smooch every woman in the room?"

"I'll just go warn the driver and get the DJ to make the announcement," Spike replied, his hand finding hers for a moment before he turned away, letting her feel the warmth of his emotions. "Unless you want me to snog him as well..."

"Forget it, buster! You're a married man, you know," Buffy teased, tightening her fingers around his in the instant before they broke contact and pulling him back for a hug, and cursing the newly-applied make-up that precluded a proper kiss.






 

Buffy could hear the babble of voices at her back. Spike looked over her shoulder and gave her a nod to let her know that everyone was in place. Trying not to put her slayer strength to use she threw the bouquet up and backward, watching the red and white ribbons that trailed from it arc past her eyes. Once it was airborne she swivelled on her toes, Spike's arm wrapping around her waist as they both watched the flowers almost brush the ceiling of the room before they began to fall.

Buffy winced as she watched them tumble toward Marlene. There was one wedding she was in no hurry to see happen. She closed her eyes. She couldn't watch, couldn't bear to see the smug look that her dad's girlfriend would be wearing... and then there came a round of cheers and laughter... and some of that laughter was from Spike, his body trembling against her back.

She unscrewed first one eye and then another, ready to smack the vampire if he was laughing at the idea of her dad marrying Marlene, but the wicked step-mom wasn't holding the bouquet. She was rubbing at her ribs, as if perhaps she'd been elbowed out of the way, and eyeing the nearest woman with undisguised venom. The flowers rested securely in Cordelia's hands. No wonder Spike was laughing.

She barely had time to enjoy the expression of complete and utter panic on Angel's face before Spike swept her into his arms and began to carry her to their waiting car, but a glimpse was enough.

The driver pulled open the back door of the Rolls as they approached and Spike stepped into the car before he settled her on the back seat and sat down beside her. People were spilling out of the hotel in their wake and by the time the driver closed the door behind them and got in himself, the car was surrounded by well-wishers, who cheered and clapped as the vintage car pulled away.






 

At this time of night, the open-topped car was actually fairly chilly and Buffy was glad of the shawl that Spike had placed ready in the back of the car, but it would have taken a downpour to make her ask the driver to put up the hood. It was a perfect end to her perfect day. She swung her legs over Spike's and leaned in to wrap her arms around his neck. An instant later she found herself sitting, not on the car's seat, but in her husband's lap, a far nicer position. His arms coiled around her and her head found a home against his shoulder. Her mind whirred with all the things she wanted to tell him, all the stuff that he had missed, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to break the silence. When she could share his contentment, who needed words?

They were nearing Oxnard when Spike heard her first tiny, oh-so-cute snore.






 

"Mmmmm," Buffy sighed her approval of the kiss that awakened her.

"We're here, Buffy," Spike whispered against her lips, so close that each word was a caress.

She was already cradled in his arms, but when the driver opened the car's door for them Spike lifted her as if she were made of porcelain. He waited at the door until the driver deposited the cases and rang the bell. It wasn't very slayer-like being carried round as if she were too feeble to walk on her own two feet. Any other night she would probably have hammered on Spike's shoulders, telling him to put her down. Tonight, she didn't care what a slayer would do. Tonight she was a girl, a bride, and she could take a feminine enjoyment in the strength of the arms that held her. She could snuggle in against his neck and breathe in his scent.

From what she saw of the reception, it looked no different from many of the plush hotels she had visited with her father when she was younger. In keeping with the age of the building, the elevator was one of those cage affairs where the porter slid the gilt door across manually, but it stopped and started so smoothly that Buffy suspected that the mechanism was far newer.

Buffy was surprised at the length of the corridor down which the porter led them, passing many doors before he stopped at one that looked little different from the others and setting down her suitcase and Spike's kitbag.

With a flourish, he threw the door open. "The Room of Enduring Pleasure." He stepped back to allow Spike to carry her into the room first and as they crossed the threshold Buffy felt her heart slow in her breast and her breathing coming in prolonged sighs.

Spike's mouth dissolved into a mischievous grin and she dropped like a feather drifting slowly down from the shelter of his arms to the springy softness of the mattress and then rising a stately six inches before she began to gently fall again in a snowdrift of fragrant rose petals.

The porter set their bags down in the corner of the room nearest the door and waited just long enough for Spike to press a bill into his hand before he closed the door, leaving them truly on their own for the first time that day.

Buffy pushed herself into a kneeling position as that idea sank home, beckoning him toward her with one tiny finger. Alone. Together. Buffy could feel the way the flush of heat began at the apex of her legs and spread up through the pit of her stomach as he prowled across the room, the enchantment only enhancing his predatory grace.

"Happy, love?" Spike asked.

Buffy had imagined him sounding like an English James Earl Jones, even his speech slowed like a tape played too slowly, but, though his words seemed elongated, their tone was unaltered. "Happy? This is the day I always dreamed about, the happy ending that I never thought I'd get. Rose petals, champagne, strawberries... and you..."

"There's no such thing, love. Not in real life. Endings are never happy. Endings are always about loss." He crawled over the bed and over her, until Buffy used first her hands and then her elbows to support her torso as her body bowed under his. With almost infinite slowness, one cool fingertip skated along her collarbone until it met the neckline of her gown. It let the line of the strap guide it up over her shoulder, over the angle of her shoulder blade and then it turned inward until it reached her spine. Moving down again, it tugged ever so slightly on each intersection of the inch-wide bands of crimson gathered silk that criss-crossed the central panel of the dress as if lacing her in, before they ended under a decorative bow. Only when his hand found the curve of her behind did his grip become more firm, pressing her body more tightly against his... Then , when Buffy felt as if she would die if he'd waited a moment longer, his lips met hers, their caress achingly sweet, making her quiver with need by the time Spike lifted his head again.

"But I intend to make damn sure you get a beautiful beginning..." the vampire promised.

The End

This is the very very last chapter of the SWBD series, so it's the ideal opportunity to comment even if you don't normally. You can't do it 'next chapter' because there won't be one, so do it now.

And for those of you who haven't heard of The Wombles before, here's the address of their official web site. http://www.wombles.easyweb-solutions.co.uk/pages/fmain.htm