A/N The snippet of speech by Quentin Travers is a SLIGHTLY modified speech delivered by Adolph Hitler in Salzburg, 7 or 8 August 1920. (NSDAP meeting)
 
Lyrics for "Sweet Transvestite" from "Rocky Horror Picture Show" written by Richard O'Brien
 
 
~*~
Chapter 28
~*~

 
Finn was itching to have some private time with Spike.  He'd watched, sickened, as Buffy and Spike drew closer to one another in confinement.  They were always huddled together, talking and touching.  'Hell, Buffy never doted on me like that!'  NO!  He, the real boyfriend, always had to beg for every minute of her time. Everybody, her friends, her so-called "calling", her mom, her pet vampires, all of them came before Riley and he still felt the sting.
 
The Old Man, the Englishman that seemed to be everywhere on the base calling the shots had ordered a hold on Riley's fun for a while.  Some crazy stuff about making recordings of the disgusting relationship between Slayer and vampire to back up some thesis of his to win over former Council members.  Riley was clueless as to why those pricks were needed.  That whole group was nothing but lots of little girls who didn't know their place, trying to be men, and old academics talking each other to death.  If something wasn't on some old scroll or carved in a rune somewhere they had no idea what to do!  Well Finn knew and couldn't wait for the okay to let loose. The vampire was looking altogether too healthy.
 
Riley nudged the prone Spike in the ribs, not hard enough to snap anything unfortunately.  "Get up, monster.  Need a hair sample for the labs.  We can do it the easy way or the hard way, and you know which way I'd prefer." 
 
"Best tell the lab boys to do their testin' quick-like.  Vampire, remember, hair might degrade a bit or even dust if they wait too long," Spike suggested then pulled out a sample himself to hand over.  He was tired of not being in charge of what was done to his body.  If they wanted a hair sample, well, he'd rather be the one doin' the pullin'.
 
Finn sneered at the offered hair sample, then took it and handed it off to his subordinate to take to the lab.  "You seem to forget just who I am in this place, Spike."
 
"Don't forget a thing.  You're the wanna-be hero that can't handle a woman stronger than you are. You're the git who hates and kills vampires while you’re gettin' suck jobs from one on a regular basis.  I used to call you Captain Cardboard, but cardboard has more goin' for it than you ever will."
 
It took all of Riley's restraint to not lay into the smartass and show him just who he was. "Actually, Spike, to you I'm sorta like a god.  I'm the one with the power of life and death over you and you'd best remember that."
 
Spike laughed with genuine glee.  "A god?  What kind of moron would have a nit like you as their god?  Power of life and death, is it?  Bloody lackwit! All animals, even the little ones--hell, even viruses--have that kind of power.  I've been the personal escort to more than you can imagine on that trip across the river Styx."  Spike curled his lip derisively.  "Goin' by victim count and your own weird logic, you should be on your knees to me!"
 
Finn glared in contempt, "I'll be sure to remind Buffy of that when she's back from her check-up.  Maybe a reminder that you're a cold blooded killer with no remorse will wake her up."
 
Spike returned the stare but kept silent.  'Bloody git already got me to mouth off for the cameras!  Shit, nothin' like givin' bullets to the bastards holdin' the guns.'  He was fairly sure that Buffy would understand and blow off anything Finn had to say.  She'd lost that black and white view of the world since becoming one of the incarcerated here.  She knew what Spike was and he had reason to think she also knew who he was by now. 
 
There was a loud commotion in the hallway that broke the uncomfortable silence.  A soldier entered and whispered something into Finn's ear, causing him to grimace. "Sure it's Barnes?"  At the nod from the frightened looking junior officer, Riley spun and started to leave Spike's cell. "Make sure you secure the area.  Don't want those TV cameras here for the press conference picking up on this mess."
 
The soldier left at a near run, trailing a double team of his fellows headed towards the sounds of shouting.
 
Riley sighed, then promised Spike, "This isn't over by a long shot.  I'll be back."
 
"Don't doubt that for a minute," Spike smirked. "As much time as you spend gettin' physical with me I'd be inclined to think you've got a crush.  Not interested, by the way, and besides, I'm taken."
 
Spike could tell by the rigid spine on his tormentor that his insinuations were understood.
 
***
 
The rival television crews crowded the small space near the administrative offices of the facility.  "Probably just more propaganda.  Some blowhard giving another pep talk to the masses," opined one cameraman.
 
"Pays the same.  I just film and upload," his counterpart from another network replied.  "It's so canned now that we might as well just load up the old stuff and recycle,"
 
The group of cameramen chuckled.  "Not much new in the news lately, that's for sure.  Hell, I can give a speech just repeating what they all have to say.  ‘Demons bad.  Must kill demons. Earth for humans. Make the planet ours again. Blah, blah, blah’."
 
"I don't know.  There's that new group that are fighting back.  Might get some footage worthy of a Media and Journalism award out of that," he cameraman said wistfully.  "Need to get assigned to something other than recording these press conferences first, though."
 
"Yeah," his counterpart agreed sadly, "Not likely they'll hit an installation like this.  Way too much security on a regular day, but with the Secretary General here it's tighter than a virgin hooker."
 
U.N. Secretary General Beldescu was spotted getting ready to head for the row of microphones set up for the event.  "Showtime."
 
Cosmin Beldescu hated sharing the spotlight, but in fairness this Travers guy was responsible for his promotion and Cosmin did love the perks of the job.  Eventually there would be a showdown.  Once the demons were removed from the picture, there would be a need for a firm hand on the wheel of government and Beldescu's ambitions would undoubtedly collide with those of Quentin Travers.  In the end, only one hand would steer the ship of state and that hand was going to be that of Cosmin Beldescu!  Let the old geezer have the spotlight for now.
 
"Peoples of the world," he began his introduction speech as the cameras whirred.
 
***
 
..."No one has been as close to the enemy or more in the forefront of the fight as my esteemed colleague.  We all know this hero by now, but it is my privilege to present to you the Director of the Global Human Initiative, Quentin Travers."
 
"Here we go again," sighed Chaim Rosenberg as he turned up the volume on the small TV.  "We have so much on our agenda today and this Shlub has to take some of our time.  Still, we have to listen. Both of them such Tumlers!  To ignore them is to miss the latest stirring of the soup, yes?" 
 
He looked around the table at the small group who constituted the heart and soul of the Lighthouse Project.  Decent men and women all, and the demon Lorne as well.  He was proud to be part of such a group in the troubled days they were currently living in.  "I doubt he has anything of importance to share, but the nasty boys who hang on their words will be riled up later."  Chaim shook his head sadly.
 
Travers began to speak. He talked of the efficiency of the Global Human Initiative in hunting down the dangerous demons and recent success in putting down insurrectionists who had dared to attack innocent human populations in public arenas. "I assure every one of you that this group of terrorists will be shut down," his hand slammed on the podium resoundingly in emphasis. "You decent human beings deserve nothing less than full protection from the oldest enemy who is no longer hiding in the shadows, but is seen and known to us all.  They shall not prevail!"
 
His voice that had started level and calm had increased in emotional fervor as he came to the heart of it, "It is a problem of whether our planet can ever recover its health, whether the demon influence can ever really be eradicated. Don't be misled into thinking you can fight a disease without killing the carrier, without destroying the bacillus. Don't think you can fight racial tuberculosis without taking care to rid the Earth of the carrier of that racial tuberculosis. This contamination will not subside; this poisoning of the planet will not end, until the carrier himself, the demon scum, has been banished from our midst." 
 
Chaim sat upright in his chair and pointed at the screen sputtering, "He's not even trying to be original now!  That is from Hitler's Salzburg speech in 1920!  Of course, in that speech, my people were the demons.  All he really did was change the word Jew to Demon!  Why can no one see this for what it is?"
 
"We see, my brother," Kalil offered a calming hand on the angered older man's shoulder.  "We are not sitting idly by while such evil reasserts itself."
 
Nods all around the table showed the solidarity of the group, and most likely, others like it around the world would be in full accord.
 
"He's a maniac, no question," Rev. Prentiss shook his head sadly.  "How the population can listen to this and not see it just makes me sad."
 
Lorne sighed, "I've read enough demons and humans to know the power of fear.  He may be a maniac, but he knows how to use fear and uncertainty to his advantage.  All he had to do was tap into the natural instinct and there you have it."
 
"But won't people just get tired of being scared all the time?"  Willow remembered how frightened she had been when first exposed to Buffy's world back in high school.  Eventually the fear abated, though, and she had no trouble dealing with the supernatural. "I used to be really scared, but before long I was right there, helping Buffy in the fight."
 
"Well, Gingersnap, you channeled your fear into action and that can be good, but only if those actions are the right ones."  Lorne reminded her.  "There are plenty of terrified people out there taking action too.  What they aren't doing is learning to see things as more than black and white.  They're handling their fear by just killing demons without thinking about if they need to every time."
 
"Buffy killed demons and so did we," Xander reminded him.
 
"Yes, but you didn't go down to their neighborhoods and slaughter them in their homes or kill whole families, did you?"  He looked at Xander as the lad bit his lower lip and looked uncomfortable.  "No, you didn't because you were fighting evil, not demons.  You targeted the ones who were hurting people, trying to end the world.  That's a very different thing, my studly cream puff."
 
"Exactly!" growled Father Mike, "Nothing wrong with protecting yourself and others.  No one here thinks all demons are fine upstanding citizens worthy of a cuddle any more than all humans are. That's the big difference between what your Buffy was called to do and what this Amadan who used to run the Council meant to support her seems to think is the proper response."
 
Jonathan had been listening carefully, "How do you tell the difference?"
 
"You judge by what a person does, not what he is," Rabbi Goldstein offered.
 
***
 
Jonathan tucked his head a little deeper into his jacket against the chill wind as he walked home, deep in thought.  He wondered how he would be judged, based on actions he'd taken at times in his life. He'd done some questionable things over the years in an effort to mean something to somebody, be someone important.  Some of those things got people hurt.  Still, he had to believe that deep down he was an okay guy.
 
"Hey!"  Just who Jonathan didn't need to run into.  His former partner in crime--well, not literally of course, but Andy had some of the same issues he had and they had both done some iffy things.
 
"Hey, Andrew," his voice didn't sound particularly welcoming, but the other boy didn't seem to notice.
 
"Did you get that note to Anya at the Party Box?"
 
"I just gave it to her," he stopped himself before he gave away that he had just been in a meeting that included Anya and Xander.  They were still flying under the radar regarding their sympathies.  He had slipped the note to her just before the meeting was scheduled to begin and told her it was from Andrew Wells, who might or might not be reliable.
 
"Good, 'cause I think Warren got one of his guys to plant the cameras at the store already.  You remember Gary?  He's in heating and plumbing and gets into all kind of buildings on the job, ya know."  Andrew squirmed. 
 
The guy always looked uncomfortable in his own skin that way.  "Hope the note got to her in time," he gave Jonathan a look that might have made him feel guilty had he been as worried as Andrew obviously was.  It was kinda weird seeing Andrew worried about someone like he seemed to be for Anya.
 
"Hey, I heard some scuttlebutt that you're helping friendly demons get to safety.  You're part of some group?"  Jonathan tensed up and felt himself go pale as the blood drained from his face. 
 
"Don't know where you hear crazy talk like that," he hedged.
 
"Don't panic!"  Andrew mimed zipping his lips and tossing the key, "My lips are sealed.  I'd never give you up.  Besides I kinda think that's a good thing…you know, noble."
 
Jonathan would love to believe his old friend had really changed, but it wasn't that long ago he was in Warren's group harassing demons right and left and even causing more than a few to get killed.  "Yeah?  Bet you don't say that at your Youth for Humans meetings."
 
"I stopped going," Andrew admitted.  "Turns out most of my friends had at least some demon in them.  It wasn't so much fun after I saw so many disappear or worse," he shivered.  "I didn't officially quit;  Warren wouldn't like that.  I just find reasons I can't come to the meetings and stuff.  Even Warren's enough afraid of Tucker not to complain when I say I have to work with my brother."
 
"Tucker is lucky Warren hasn't sicced his group on him with all his demon-summoning stuff," Jonathan noted.
 
"Tuck stopped all that when he finally got a girlfriend," Andrew shrugged. "I wonder sometimes about Janice, but Tucker's a lot easier to live with now that he's got a girl."
 
"So you stopped because...what?  You feel sorry for them?"  Jonathan was trying to puzzle out how likely it might be that his old friend had actually changed. After all, sympathy, according to Adam Smith, was the basis for moral feeling.
 
Andrew looked sheepish, an ironically appropriate look for the guy in Jonathan's opinion.  "If there would be that kind of group, you know, helping out the good demons, think I could join and help out?"
 
While he didn’t sense a trap, Jonathan remained silent.  Andrew was a lot of things, but never a good liar.  "MAYBE I've heard about that kind of thing and I might know someone who you could talk to."
 
Andrew brightened up.  "That'd be so cool!  Like in a comic book where once the hero walked the dark path, but then seeks the way of redemption and saves everybody in the town!"  Andrew's eyes gleamed brightly.
 
"Yeah, well, I doubt it would be like the comics," Jonathan warned.  "Anyone who'd try to help out like that would have to do it in secret.  No fanfare or awards."
 
Andrew deflated slightly.  "I know, but inside I'd feel like a hero."
 
"I'll ask around."
 
***
 
Andrew felt the tingle of excitement as a blindfold was placed over his eyes, followed by a hood.  The grim man who turned up on his doorstep and asked if he was the one interested in joining a resistance group wasn't talkative, though Andrew was full of questions.  None was being answered.
 
"You'll be told what you need to know when you need to know it," the man grabbed Andrew by the arm and helped him into the dark van that the boy had only glimpsed before he was blindfolded.
 
Andrew nearly peed himself in excitement.  This was it--his destiny at last! He was going to do something great, he just knew it.
 
It seemed like it took forever for the van to arrive at its final destination and the man guiding Andrew led him on a path he couldn't visualize in his darkness.  It seemed like a hallway or tunnel or something closed in, but there was no way to know.  When the hood and blindfold were finally removed, the sudden light nearly blinded him once again.
 
He was in a small, bare room with a bright light on him and deep shadows elsewhere.  From the shadows, a melodious voice spoke gently.  "So, muffin, I hear you are interested in helping the helpless.  I need you to sing for me, hopefully nothing from the Hip-Hop oeuvre, as I'm pretty sure you couldn't pull that off."
 
"Sing?"
 
"Like a birdie, or whistle, hum...something musical, just let it flow."
 
Andrew began to warble in a shaky voice.
"How do you do
I see you've met my faithful handyman
He's just a little brought down because
When you knocked
He thought you were the candyman
Don't get strung out by the way I look
Don't judge a book by its cover
I'm not much of a man by the light of day
But by night I'm one hell of a lover
I'm just a sweet transvestite
From Transsexual, Transylvania."
 
Lorne suppressed a chuckle.  Somehow he had little difficulty seeing the young man singing for him being a Rocky Horror fan.
 
***
 
"Verdict?" Rabbi Goldstein was well aware of the nervous anticipation Jonathan was consumed by, waiting to hear the results of Lorne's read of his friend.
 
"The boy shouldn't try a move to Broadway any time soon," he smiled at the group.  "I've only seen one other destiny like this one.  Lindsey McDonald was hard to read too.  Seems, like Lindsey, this kid could go either way and I don't mean just in one sense."
 
"But what does that mean?" Jonathan was a wreck.  "Isn't this Lindsey guy working with us at that farm?"
 
"That he is.  It took love to finally nudge him to the right path.  He fell in love with Darla and it's because of his love for her and her son that he threw in with us.  Andrew doesn't have that sort of incentive right now," he looked pointedly at Jonathan much to that boy's confusion.  "If he had a reason, he could easily be the hero he fancies himself as becoming or..." a long pregnant pause followed.  "He could bring death to us all here in Sunnydale.  It always comes down to the choice between love and hate.  It's not about good and evil, but about love winning out over hate."
 
"And young Mr. Wells?" Calvin Prentiss inquired, his eyebrows raised.
 
"Young Mr. Wells hasn't learned love yet.  Hasn't had much in the way of it in his life to now.  He does have attractions that could bloom into love.  He has potential."  Lorne took a deep breath.  "If we reject him, I guarantee he'll go to the dark side.  The boy is looking to belong, to matter.  He can be guided and molded.  What he can't be is trusted, not fully, not now.  Once he learns something of love, then he can soar."
 
***
 
Buffy watched Spike sleeping.  He looked so young and innocent in his slumber.  She wondered how they had gotten to this place. No, not the labs, but to the place where he had found a place in her heart.  They had been mortal enemies, but even then there was a sense that his word could be trusted, enough that they became allies when it was needed.  
 
Spike had somehow weaseled a place into her life, her group and finally her heart.  It didn't happen in a blaze of passion or attraction like it had with Angel.  It didn't happen by making a seemingly rational choice like with Riley.  He sort of grew on her.  Just as the changes in him, that slow path to the light, came bit by bit, so too had he become far more important to her than she might have realized had they not been caged together.
 
He loved her.  Buffy knew that Spike could and did love without a soul.  That had all been nonsense.  More of Angel's rationalization for his actions as Angelus combined with Council dogma.  No, Spike could love and deeply.  She had seen his care for Dru, his willingness to sacrifice himself for that love.
 
He told her he loves her and Buffy knew he didn't use the term lightly. No, he loves her.  But what did she feel for him?
 
Buffy and love were pretty unmixy if you looked at her track record.  She sighed inwardly.  'Jinx.  That's what I am.  If I love someone, they leave or go bad.  Spike would be lucky if I never loved him back.'
 
She wished she were better with words.  Maybe she could explain her fears as well as her feelings and give Spike what he needed to hear.  Maybe, when they were free, she could try.
 
Spike stirred, the feeling of being watched nudging him into consciousness. Buffy smiled at him as his eyes fluttered open.  "Sorry, hope I didn't wake you."
 
"No, pet.  'Sides, if I get to look at you when I open my eyes, I don't mind."
 
Buffy smiled wider. 'Spike has no trouble with words.  He's Wordy Boy actually.'
 
"I'm just a moth, love.  And you, Buffy, you're the world's only candle.  The brightest, most effulgent candle that ever was.  Being near you might burn me to ash, but I couldn't stand to be anywhere but as near to your glow as you'll let me be."
 
See!  Buffy felt her eyes tear up, "That sounds like it could be a poem."
 
Spike returned her smile although his was a bit sad, "If I had the gift of Wordsworth or Burns...maybe Byron...."  His voice trailed off as he became lost in thought.  "No, even then no words could possibly do you justice."
 
'I must be a candle, 'cause I know I just felt myself melt,' Buffy thought as she felt one of the tears track down her cheek.
 
"Wish I could love like you do," she whispered.
 
"Sweetheart, you ARE love."


*******
 
 End note:
 
https://youtu.be/IKgVln8XmuE
 
https://38.media.tumblr.com/cf7cc36434b9855362530d34408252b3/tumblr_inline_na7yg4dpS41r3qh5a.jpg