[A/N: Work has slowed down somewhat, which means that I can take the time and do some writing – which in turn moves this story along, and then trickles down into the other stories, so a plus all around. I have a feeling this one isn’t going to be much longer and after that . . . I just don’t know. I don’t know how many other stories in this verse I have to tell. I suppose that depends on the bunnies. I’d also like to get back on track with my original writings, maybe see if a publisher will actually like my stuff. . . then again, I don’t know if I have a whole lot of time for just writing. . . and I seriously doubt most authors make a whole lot of money doing this. Anyway. . . I’m rambling, and that’s better kept on my livejournal or elsewhere. Title and quotes are as attributed and the disclaimers tell me I’m delusional when I say Spike belongs to me.]

Previously: Nicholson has discovered the Initiative is back in Sunnydale and informed Travers, who told him to get as much information as possible. The new and improved Scoobies are still waiting for the Initiative to show up, but Riley’s been detained by the Doctor, who had some rather interesting things to say. This picks up after our last installment.

Book Three

Chapter Sixteen Strings of Tension

No collection of people who are all waiting
for the same thing are capable of holding a
natural conversation.
Ben Elton, Airport Rescue

And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Strategy requires thought, tactics require observation.
Max Euwe

The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.
Ralph Waldo Emerson



Two thirty had come and gone. Three thirty had also. It was now nearing the four-thirty mark and everyone was beyond restless. Nearly everyone was in the training room, watching Spike spar with Jenner while Faith and Connor squared off. The pairs kept intersecting and every once in a while, Spike would grimace or flinch in pain when he came too close to hitting anyone that wasn’t Jenner.

Though none of them voiced the issue that was at the forefront of everyone’s mind, it was clear they were all beginning to feel the strain of waiting. The sentry Connor had captured earlier was tied up in a corner, blindfolded and gagged. Buffy found her eyes on him, wondering if he was one of the soldiers that had masqueraded as a student the first time the Initiative had been in Sunnydale and then wondering why she cared. They hadn’t bothered to try and get information from him, since he’d been uncooperative from the moment he’d regained consciousness. The inaction forced by her growing bulk was slowly driving her crazy and she wanted to get up and join the sparring, even knowing that she shouldn’t. Her eyes followed Spike’s movements as he battled Jenner, trying hard to keep from shouting out commentary.

Dawn skirted the training floor, sidestepping around Connor as he tried to slide around Faith, heading straight for Buffy. She leaned down, whispering intently, “Wesley just got a phone call from Lawson. He said there’s something going on with Riley’s dorks.”

Buffy shook her head. “Riley’s dorks? Lawson said that?”

“No, that was me.” Dawn rolled her eyes at Buffy’s intentional ditziness. “I’m like, editorializing.”

“Ooh, big word, Dawnie.” Buffy giggled softly, then started struggling to her feet. “Maybe they’re finally gonna show up?”

“Wouldn’t bet on it, kitten.” Spike ducked under Jenner’s punch, spinning around to help Buffy to her feet. “Wanker’s doin’ this to make a point. An’ ‘m thinkin’ he’s not that inclined to help yours truly in any way.”

She sighed, knowing Riley’s presence and the difficulties it brought were all her fault. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called him.”

“No. ‘S done now. No sense cryin’ over it.” He brushed a kiss on her brow. “Had to take the chance.”

Connor dropped Faith with a left hook, grinning and hooting when she stayed down, staring up at the ceiling. “What the hell?”

Buffy leaned down, laughter in her eyes, looking at Faith upside down. “Oops?”

“Funny, B. Really. Boy wonder packs a hella punch.” Faith flexed her jaw, then easily rolled to her feet. “Damn, kid, what was that all about?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Just sparring.”

Wesley stood in the doorway, cell phone at his ear. “Lawson says two of the soldiers just left, and they’re heading in this direction.”

Spike and Buffy shared a look, then proceeded into the shop area. “What about Graham and Riley?”

“They’re still inside. Haven’t seen either of them since Riley left Restfield earlier.” Wesley followed the two of them. “And before you ask, I didn’t know he’d been there either.”

“So we still don’t know when they’re gonna show up.” Buffy slumped into one of the chairs, resting her elbows on the surface and her chin in the cradle created by her hands. “Was he always this way?”

“What way?” Tara glanced up from the book she was reading while Dawn wandered over to the counter.

“Inconsiderate.” Dawn supplied the answer, while Buffy hesitated. “And that would be a big fat yes.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” the retort was out of Buffy’s mouth and it wasn’t until she caught the look on Dawn’s face that she realized what she’d said. “Was he?”

“He was. Trust me.”

Before the two Summers women could get into a shouting match, Giles motioned to his watch. “Whether he was then or not, he’s rather inconsiderate now. Are you quite certain you agreed to the two-thirty meeting time?”

“Well, yeah. He kinda insisted on it. I think he did it because he wanted to try and keep Spike out of the way.”

Various forms of amusement greeted Buffy’s statement, the loudest not coming from the vampire, but from the two former Watchers. “See, that just proves my point. He doesn’t remember Spike can get around during the day.”

“Dawn, please don’t aggravate the situation,” Anya huffed out. “This is already stressful and stress causes worry and lines and, really, I don’t want to spend my money on moisturizers to remove stress lines at my age.”

The fact none of them thought Anya’s remark was in any way odd was a measure of how far they’d all come and how well she been accepted. It was the gagging noises Dawn made after Giles soothed over Anya’s complaints by suavely remarking, “I hardly think you’ll need to moisturize at any age, dear,” that had everyone laughing again.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Nicholson didn’t have the resources at hand to fulfill Travers’ request, but he managed with the tools at hand to get as much information as possible. What little he did discover lead him back to a unit of the US Army stationed in Belize. Once he read the list of officers stationed there, Nicholson had his connection to Sunnydale. Grasping the printout, he headed down the gangway to where Travers was.

“You’ve found something?” Travers held his hand out, eyes on his assistant.

“It’s a start, sir. I’ll need more time. However, I do believe I have discovered something of interest.” He pointed to the third name on the list. “That young man dated Buffy Summers just before her death.”

Travers recognized the name from the first reports. “Is he back in Sunnydale?”

“Evidently he’s leading the unit.”

“So I’m to assume the reason he’s returned to Sunnydale – with a unit – is because he’s reconnecting with an old girlfriend?” The sarcasm was biting, though Nicholson didn’t react.

“It is a convenient cover.” Neither one of them believed for one instant that it was anything but a cover.

“Almost too convenient.” Travers read through the list one more time. “How many men did he bring with him?”

“Eight.”

“Eight.” The habit of repeating information back was a somewhat annoying one, but in this instance, Nicholson understood Travers was merely mulling over his responses. “Enough to form a wetworks team and too many for it to be just a casual meeting.” He paused again, glancing out the bulkhead window at the clouds outside. “I don’t like the implications of this, Nicholson.”

“Neither do I.” He dropped into the seat opposite his boss. “I could activate another team.”

“That should be a last resort. However,” Travers kept his gaze steady, “I do want you to alert the Defence and Overseas Secretariat that we have a situation of some concern with our operatives in California.”

Something passed through Travers’ expression, something he’d only once before seen. Shortly after Buffy Summers’ death, the old man had given in to an emotion Nicholson had never expected the Council Chair to experience. In a lesser man, he might have termed the emotion regret; but in Travers it had been something deeper, something a bit darker. While he’d never kept his antipathy for the Summers girl quiet, Nicholson often found himself wondering if Travers didn’t also respect her. She flaunted the Council’s authority at every turn, defied the odds against her own death, and basically did everything she wasn’t supposed to do . . . and defeated every enemy in her path.

“Anything else, sir?” Nicholson eased himself out of the seat, preparing to send off an email to the Ministry.

“Activate that second team.”

Obviously, Travers had rethought his position on the teams. “Sir?”

“We have a delicate situation here, Nicholson. Our Senior Slayer is heavily pregnant and we have an untried new Slayer. The Initiative’s presence, however limited, does not bode well.” He sighed heavily. “I have no doubt that the Military, given their previous stance, would make every attempt to capture Miss Summers. No matter who is in charge of the operation.”

Nicholson did not miss the emphasis the old man had imbued the words ‘our Senior Slayer’ with; nor had he missed the other unspoken communication. Travers didn’t have much trust in the new Slayer, despite the fact she had been identified as a potential and been in Council control for about a year. However, that wasn’t what caused the sudden chill he felt in his bones. No, that was caused by Travers’ last comment.

Until now, Nicholson had contented himself with the thought that no matter what happened, Buffy Summers would be relatively safe, at least from humans. Now that the news was out, any power-hungry individual or group could capitalize on the situation and her vulnerability. Added to that the unknown quantities of her offspring and there was a recipe for disasters of apocalyptic proportions.

World-wide and inter-dimensionally.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Growing up in Sunnydale, especially as a teenager, Xander thought he’d seen just about every species of demon imaginable. Squidly-type things with tentacles instead of arms, Fyrals, Brachen, everything. . . But nothing had prepared him for the sight in front of him. Cordelia sat quietly at a corner table, away from the crowds lining the bar and the dance floor, her head bent to listen to something being said by the demon sitting next to her. Xander had no doubt it was a demon, because his bright green skin, red eyes and hair – with horns – gave him away. If that wasn’t bad enough, the demon was dressed in a bright yellow suit, offset by a loud blue and green flowered shirt. Xander kept blinking, unsure of what bizarre wonderland he’d stepped into. He knew Los Angeles was strange; he just didn’t realize how strange.

Their first full night in the city of Angels had been nothing short of an eye-opener. Somewhere between Sunnydale and Los Angeles, Cordelia had regained some of her confidence, the sorrow and despair easing somewhat the further they traveled away from Sunnydale. He supposed in some way, it made sense. While her childhood had been nothing but idyllic, Cordelia’s later years had proved more than trying. And her last visit? Xander couldn’t imagine she’d ever want to step foot in the town again. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to go back.

Despite the hour, or maybe because of it, there were a fair amount of humans in the audience and every once in a while, someone would take the stage and sing. Whenever that happened, the green guy got up from the table and met the singer before he or she made it back to their seat. Xander didn’t quite understand until Cordelia motioned him over.

“How come you won’t sit?”

He shrugged, staring into his pint glass. “You looked like you didn’t want me to interrupt.” He’d ordered a beer, thinking that at least would be safe, but he wasn’t sure what he’d gotten was actually beer. “Why are we here?”

“Because Lorne is letting me stay here.”

“Who’s Lorne? And why is here so important?”

“He’s the Host. And here is safer because there’s a no violence spell in place.” Though her tone was imperious, Xander got the impression she was trying hard, using her Queen C persona to help her get back to herself. Her next words verified his impression. “I’m not sure I’m ready to stay in my apartment or be alone just yet.”

There was nothing else he could say to that.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Graham stood in the doorway to Riley’s room, watching his fellow officer pace around the small bedroom. “Don’t you think we’ve stalled long enough?”

“I’m not stalling.”

At least Riley had the decency to blush. “Riley, we were supposed to meet with the Slayer at two-thirty. That was three and a half hours ago. Either you’re stalling to piss her off, or you’re stalling because you don’t want to do this. But either way, you’re stalling.”

“Fine.” His answer was terse, his words clipped. Then he sighed, relenting a bit. “You’re right. I’m not looking forward to this at all.”

“You’re the one who instigated this whole thing. Why all of a sudden do you not want to do this?” Graham was perplexed and more than a bit annoyed. Finn had requested this detail and asked to put together a unit. So why now is he balking at actually completing the mission? Is it just because of the girl?

“I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought.” Riley shook his head, then slipped on a button down shirt over his army-green tee-shirt.

“You thought you were coming home to your ex. The girl you nearly threw away your career over.” Graham had enough of the pity party Riley seemed to be throwing for himself. “You figured you were gonna be able to pick up where you left off and be a hero.”

Riley’s face was once again suffused with red and when he refused to meet his eyes, Graham snorted in disbelief.

“Don’t you get it? With this girl, you’ll never be the hero. She doesn’t need you now and she probably didn’t even need you before.” Graham shook his head, then headed down the hallway toward the stairs. “We need to complete the mission and leave this place. You lose your focus every single time you’re around her. She’s not good for you, man. Wake up and face it.”

“All right. I get it. Are you done?” Riley’s voice trailed after the shorter officer.

“Are you? What are we going to do? Are we going to turn down her request?” The questions were fired at Riley as he descended the stairs.

“I don’t know yet. I need some more information.” He motioned for the remaining soldier to accompany them. “I’ll make a final determination after tonight’s meeting.”

“So we’re going now? “

“Yeah. We’re going.”

With a sort of grim satisfaction, Graham opened the door and headed out into the early evening, followed by Riley and Gebhardt.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


At five minutes past six, the shop’s phone rang, freezing everyone. Wesley was actually closest to it, so he reached to answer it, not waiting for anyone else to react. “Good evening, Magic Box, Wesley speaking.”

“Wes, we’ve got movement.” Lawson’s voice was pitched low, so that Wesley had to strain to hear him. “I’m tailing them now.”

“How many?”

“Three.” The muffled sound of fast movement obscured his words. “They’re heading to downtown. I’m gonna hand off to one of the others and get in position before they arrive.”

“Right. You, ah, do that. Tell whoever picks up the tail to stay out of sight.” Wesley was very uncomfortable giving orders, it was much easier acting as a second – or even third – in command. That way all he had to do was pass on the orders from someone else. Much easier. So he didn’t protest much when Spike reached for the phone.

“Lawson?”

“Yeah, chief.”

“How far away are they?”

“They’re walking pretty slow, trying to stay unnoticed. They’re another ten minutes away from you.”

Spike could easily discern the noises Wesley only guessed at. “How far are you?”

“Getting in position in the Espresso Pump.” He paused, then huffed out, “Got everyone but George in position. He’s about two minutes out.”

“Right. Jus’ keep an eye on things. Don’t move until you see somethin’, yeah?”

“Got it.”

The connection was severed before Lawson could say anything else and before the phone was hung up, Spike immediately started barking at everyone. “All right, kiddies, seems the soldier boys are on their way. So let’s move it, an’ brace ourselves.”

For a long moment, everyone sort of paused as if they were waiting for more and it wasn’t until Spike just whirled around gazing at each one of them that they finally moved. Anya bustled behind the counter, grabbed the calculator and started totaling receipts. Faith and Jenner headed for the basement door and the training room respectively, while Connor climbed the stairs to the restricted section. Dawn sat at the table between Tara and Buffy, trying very hard to look bored. Wesley and Spike were standing in the middle of the shop, while Oz kicked back in his chair, resting it on two legs.

The second time the phone rang, everyone jumped. Anya grabbed for it, frowning when the line went dead. She looked at Giles and shrugged one shoulder. “Is that the signal?”

“Yes, dear.” He took the receiver from her hand and placed it back in the cradle. “They’ll be here momentarily.”

Collectively they all inhaled, even the vampire, and stared at the door.









Feedback is continuous cycle. The more you give me, the more I write. Please contribute to the cycle and leave me a note. I love hearing from everyone. Slainte, Nia