full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Angels and Demons by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 5.24
 
<<     >>
 

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 5.24
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.
 
<<     >>