Chapter 5: Reunions

Tuesday, January 27th , 2004 (Part 2)

The Island Wars by Kat O'Donnell, Published 2013

…In retrospect, it is only logical that Ireland, Scotland and Wales fell as fast as they did. Once London began to experience what they thought were massive riots, many began to flee the cities. The initial refugees took to the motorways via cars and autobuses. They filtered throughout England in an effort to escape the unrest. They sought out new cities and the peaceful countryside.

As the population escaped, however, so did the unknowingly infected. They carried their disease throughout the island, invading whatever safe havens remained. Even worse, however, was the fact that many of those who had the means deemed it necessary to fly to safety.

No one quite believed that there was a biological or mystical agent which was the cause of the violence. Therefore, there were no screening processes or medical examinations at any of the airports – just the usual anti-terrorism measures that were of no use in this case. Better protective actions would come during later stages of the epidemic, when the public was made aware of the outbreak's true nature. Before that time, many infected flew to perceived safety only to infect others in their new destinations. Ireland and the Scottish Isles suffered great casualties due to their close proximity to England. Many who fled initially chose Ireland due to its proximity and shared language, but this rationale did not spare the Continent, of course.

No one realized that it wasn't safe until three days after the first outbreak. One of the infected changed while on an Aer Lingus flight to Ireland and attacked the other passengers and crew. The flight crashed, but two survivors lived to give testimony. They were later killed when their hospital was overrun.

The last flight out of Ireland was a private jet chartered by the organization we now know as The Council…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To say that Dawn was bored was to say that the Pope was Catholic, or that Buffy owned a few pairs of shoes.

She had stormed into the very heart of Wolfram and Hart, into the belly of the beast itself and found… Nothing.

No human sacrifices. No hellfire and brimstone stinking up the hallways. No hooded figures chanting supplications to the Beast.

Honestly, except for the odd demon or two, and even those had been relatively polite and well-dressed, it looked nothing like the Evil Empire that she had been expecting from Giles' descriptions. Feeling a little more confident, seeing as how she had made it all the way to the main lobby without being eaten by a clerk or zapped into ash, Dawn had asked the first person she saw where she could find Angel's office.

That had earned her an overly interested, if politely brief glance before the young man had pointed her towards the desk of a blonde secretary who looked oddly familiar. She kind of looked like that blonde bimbo of a vampire who had once kidnapped her, but surely it couldn't actually be her. That'd be just too weird, even for southern California.

That had lead through a labyrinthine series of bubbly comments to the fact of the matter. Angel was at the hospital, picking up 'the coma case.' Feeling more than a little deflated, Dawn had allowed herself to be shuffled off into a nicely appointed conference room.

She managed to make it twenty full minutes before boredom got the better of her and she started roaming around the room. Not that there was much to see.

A fancy looking digital projector hung from the ceiling. When she started poking around the large, hardwood bookshelf along one wall, she found the remote among the stacks of random law books and lame corporate art. A little experimentation proved that nothing was loaded on the projector, and punching further buttons only made the screen flash from blue to black to white and back again.

Pressing all the buttons at once, multiple times, made smoke come out of the device. That was at least a little interesting, but kind of alarming too. She replaced the remote immediately.

After twiddling her thumbs for a few more minutes, she decided that one of the thicker books looked like it might be worth a peek. The title on the spine was in ancient Sumerian, but it was amazing what kinds of correspondence courses one could find through the Council's university connections. She thought it was called something like The Eighteen Laws of Resorption. The first picture she found had her placing the book right next to the remote, and with similar speed.

A book here, a trinket there, and when Angel finally showed up two hours later, was it really a surprise that the formerly neat room looked like a war zone?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The door into the conference room swung wide, startling Dawn out of her preoccupation with the ornately carved voodoo doll that was serving time as a dust collector on the top shelf of the bookcase.

"Dawn!" Angel shouted in surprise. "What are you doing here? And what did you do to this room?" He looked around from his position in the doorway with an expression trapped somewhere between condescension and befuddlement.

Dawn herself flushed pink with both embarrassment and irritation, before drawing herself up to her full height and steadfastly ignoring the mess surrounding her. "I'm here to see Spike."

Angel's face took on an even more forbidding expression. "Look, I have more important things to deal with. I'll just call…"

"Who?" Dawn interrupted sweetly, "Buffy? I'm sure that she will be glad to know that between you, Giles, and Andrew, she's being kept in the dark about Spike being all non-dusty." In the back of her mind, Dawn noted that despite their natural pallor and lack of real blood flow, vampires could, in fact, turn even whiter if provided with adequate cause. "So please, call her and tell her that you're keeping both of us from seeing him."

After a long silence, Angel finally managed to say, "Why would she care?"

Dawn might not have fangs, but when she grinned that toothily, anyone who had spent any time at all with her knew that she was about to go for the jugular. She reached into her backpack, "You know, maybe you're right. I think I'll just…"

Her hand wasn't halfway out of the bag with her cell phone before Angel erupted with, "He's not here!"

'Now we're getting somewhere.'

"So where is he?" Dawn continued in the most saccharine voice she could muster.

"Where's who?" Cordelia Chase popped her head around the corner and smiled brightly at her. "Oh, hey Dawn. Long time, no see."

Dawn stared for a second. She could've sworn that she'd heard the others talking about Cordelia being possessed, or dead, or something. There had been a phone call.

"Hey," she said weakly. "Uh, aren't you supposed to be…?"

The seer quirked a smile. "I got better." She looked up at Angel. "So what's the delay?"

The vampire shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "She's looking for Spike."

A change overtook Cordelia's face. Her voice was still light, but there was a gravity behind her eyes that belied her light words. "So? We'll pick him up on the way to deck out my toilette." She looked back at Dawn. "You'd think this place would have some decent shampoo in their otherwise chic pads, but no. And I absolutely refuse to get trapped in here during the end of the world if this place isn't well stocked with breath freshener and deodorant."

"But… Spike?" Angel argued feebly.

"End of the world?" Dawn repeated dumbly at the same time.

Cordelia looked at them both as if they had gone crazy. "You," she pointed at Angel, "Were the one who called him a hero. We're gonna need a few of those. And you," she turned her finger towards Dawn, "Have really bad timing. Or good, depending on your point of view." When Dawn and Angel continued to stare at her as if she had grown a horn, she rolled her eyes and turned back towards the door. "C'mon. I'll explain on the way." And with that, the old Queen C that Dawn remembered swept out of the room and into the hallway, secure in the knowledge that they would follow.

And they did, Dawn mutely shouldering her backpack on the way.

"So, you called Spike a hero, huh?" she asked, having to needle the brooding vampire just a little bit more.

Angel's eyebrows looked fit to eat his eyes after that. He grumbled something rude before stomping off down the hallway.

Dawn just filed that one away for future reference.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The slayers and watchers in the makeshift conference area in the plane's cargo hold looked ready to erupt into armed combat at any second. The majority of the watchers and scientists sat on one side of the fuselage, glaring angrily at the slayers and those few watchers and scientists who had taken sides with the younger girls. There was an air of gloating among the slayer-heavy contingent, only equaled by the mulish, stubborn cloud hanging over their opponents.

One of the more senior members of the Council began to speak again, nose held high in the air, when Vi cut him off.

"No sir, you listen. I don't really care what you think the best plan of action is. You can't seriously think that we're going to head to some Council safe house and ride out this storm. This is not a simple infection that will die out after a few months. The General wants us to rescue her sister before L.A. is overrun, and after that, then we'll start talking about finding a secure location for us to start our counter-offensive from. If we don't let the rest of the world know what is going on, the entire human race is screwed.

"So, here's the plan: we secure what allies we can, go public with this news, and then we kick some major zombie butt. If you don't like this plan, then you can stay in Los Angeles when we get there." She crossed her arms decisively, "The slayers are together on this."

Her sister slayers all nodded in agreement.

"Now shut up and let us get back to our research. We have reports to finish!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Wait just a bleedin' minute!"

It wasn't until Dawn heard his voice filtering through the apartment's flimsy door in response to her repeated knocking that she really believed that Spike was back.

When she finally heard the locks start to rattle on the other side of the door, Dawn's knees went weak. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? 'Hey Spike, I don't want to set you on fire anymore. How's it been?' or 'Why didn't you call, you enormous lunk?' or maybe 'Hey, the world's ending again. Want a ride? Oh, and please don't die this time.'

The door swung inwards, heralded by a groggy, and very growly, "Better not be…" But Spike's words, whatever they might have been, died in his throat when he came into sight.

Dawn couldn't seem to find her voice, and simply stood there, staring for a long moment, which was fine, because Spike seemed to be doing the same thing.

One of the first things she noticed- other than his extreme lack of shirt, which was more than a little distracting- was the livid purple scar encircling his left arm, just above the wrists. A quick glance found its twin on his other arm. Other than that, he was wearing the same worn jeans slung low across his hips and the same black boots that he always had. The same slicked back blond hair, the same wiry muscles and scarred knuckles.

The same old Spike.

Having taken in the rest of him, she finally screwed up the courage to look him in the eyes.

Spike had always sucked at hiding his emotions from anyone who cared to look, and at that moment, there were quite a few of them running across his expressive face. Surprise was close to the top, as was disbelief, and more than a little fear. Dawn tried not to dwell on that one. There was also an aching kind of hope that he was so obviously trying to hide. When taken as a whole, he looked kind of like he had been pole-axed .

Considering the funny way she was listing to one side, Dawn probably didn't look much better herself.

Dawn wasn't stupid. Those last few months in Sunnydale, she had watched and weighed and finally come to the conclusion that even though the soul was definitely a tipping point in everyone's book, she also didn't really know the whole story behind Spike and his sister's epic implosion. Oh, the fire comment had probably still been warranted, but what was one little well-earned death threat among friends? Pride dictated that he be the one to offer the olive branch, so she had waited and waited and then he simply wasn't there to wait on any more. No explanation, no apology.

No chance to say goodbye.

But here he was again, looking as lost and confused and hopeful as she felt and… 'Oh crap, I'm gonna cry…'

So, in the end, she tossed out her half-baked ideas for a smooth opening line out the window and simply threw herself at the surprised vampire. He caught her- like he always had- and then she was hugging him, he was hugging her, and wow, he still wasn't wearing a shirt. As predicted, she was crying, he was… 'Nah, Spike doesn't cry,' and they were both babbling over one another's words.

"'Bit, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course!"

"But—"

"We thought you were dead!"

"Was for a bit. Back now."

"Why didn't you call?"

"Didn't think I'd be welcome."

"Well, you're a dummy!"

"Thinkin' you might be right."

"Urk! Ribs…"

"Sorry, just good to see you…"

And so they would have continued, if not for Angel clearing his throat rather noisily on the stairs behind them.

Dawn squeaked like a startled mouse, spinning around in surprise. As for Spike, he looked like a deer in headlights for a split second, before hastily throwing up a façade of machismo and leaning against the battered doorframe. "Afternoon, Gramps. Checking up on my convalescence again?"

"No," was the gruff response. If it wasn't so crazy, Dawn thought that the older vampire looked jealous. "Pack whatever you need, we're going back to Wolfram & Hart."

Spike sneered at that. "Yeah, and why the hell would I do that?"

Angel crossed his arms across his chest and said blandly, "End of the world."

That earned a spark of interest. "What… again?" Spike asked with a sheepish half smile.

"Would you just hurry up?" Angel growled before turning around and stomping back around the corner and down the hallway.

"He's just mad because Cordelia's out in the car waiting to pack it with Scope and toilet paper." Dawn rolled her eyes and grinned at Spike.

He just looked at her blankly for a moment before finally saying, "Never mind, Captain Forehead'll catch me up, probably at length. Damn." He ran a hand across the back of his neck and looked more than a little rueful. "Thought I'd escaped the Hell firm for good…this time. Want to help a slightly maimed vamp pack a suitcase?" He held up his hands, probably to try wiggling his fingers at her, but two of his fingers twitched spasmodically instead, which turned his smirking grin into an irritated grimace.

"Sure." Dawn shrugged. "But that doesn't mean you're getting off scott free over the whole not calling thing."

Spike shook out his hands and grinned. "Fair enough, Platelet. C'mon into my secret basement lair. Much nicer than the crypt, 's got hot runnin' water and everything…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To the Employees of Wolfram & Hart,

Due to the ongoing events in the greater Los Angeles area, Wolfram & Hart will be going into total lockdown. Any employees who want to leave may do so with no repercussions. Suitable severance packages or full reinstatement after the incident has run its course will be arranged on a case by case basis.

Anyone who wishes to remain will be under the protection of the firm throughout the duration of this emergency. As of 18:00 tomorrow, Wolfram & Hart's doors will close. Anyone claiming sanctuary after this time will be funneled through the southeast service entrance where a screening center will be manned twenty-four hours a day. Any infected individuals will be diverted to the offsite medical facility until some kind of treatment can be developed.

Angel
C.E.O. Wolfram & Hart, L.A. Branch

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dawn was sitting in the far corner, half-heartedly listening in on the conversation going on around Angel's desk and dialing her sister over and over again. She must have left fifteen messages on Buffy's home machine and cell, to no avail.

The others were talking about counteroffensives and scouting patrols and stuff. Whatever awesomely sweet plan that they were gonna use to save the world.

Dawn didn't really care about that, or anything else that didn't involve making sure that Buffy and the others were okay. She had finally heard about the rioting in London, which didn't really sound like rioting at all.

Not gonna cry. Already cried once today. Not gonna cry…

"Hey, Little Bit," Spike's voice cut through her preoccupation. "Callin' big sis'?"

She nodded and sniffled a little, pressing the red 'End' button without leaving message number sixteen. If the first few hadn't made the point, one more wouldn't help.

"None of that," he said, playful mock-seriousness in his voice. "This is the Slayer we're talkin' about, yeah? Not gonna let a little thing like a mystical plague get her down."

The faith in Spike's eyes, blind as she knew it to be, still managed to lift Dawn's spirits. She smiled a little, and then battered away his hand when Spike tried to ruffle her hair like she was a little kid. He opened his mouth to say something, probably snarky, when the door to Angel's office swung wide and a strange man stepped through.

"Doyle?" Spike asked, confusion thick in his voice.

That couldn't have grabbed the others' attention any more quickly than if he had torn his clothes off and danced naked on the conference table while singing Livin' La Vida Loca.

"This offer open to former employees, too?" 'Doyle' asked, holding up the memo that Angel had had sent around the firm only hours before.

"Lindsey," Angel growled menacingly.

Lindsey smirked at that. "Miss me, big guy?"