Chapter Thirteen – Fists Fights and Hair Pulling

Author's Note: A thank you to Eowyn for doing an emergency beta and Tam for stealing a computer to look at it as well. *hugs*

Name: Shamrock Meadow
Report #: 8692
Subject: XF 002
Date: 26 March 1995

Subject XF 002 exhibited flu-like symptoms for the first three days of its captivity, but it admitted that the condition could have lasted for up to seven days prior to the second stage of the disease. Heightened metabolic and muscular functions were consistent with its species, and they seem to be the cause of the prolonged incubation period. Sedatives were administered to keep the subject docile, but the disease was otherwise allowed to progress unmolested.

Stage two was characterised by vomiting followed by violent convulsions, rapidly leading to death. According to the instruments, time of death was recorded as 14:07, 24 March 1995. The progression of its physical death was consistent with heart failure. This stage lasted approximately ten minutes.

Stage three is consistent with our understanding of reanimation, but the details do not match any previously recognised species of the undead. The subject retains no ability for speech, or even the most basic of interactions as would be expected in vampires. It also lacks the polymorphic features and demonic signature of that species, and while interested in consuming human tissue, shows no particular preference for blood.

Previous reports of zombies are not congruent with stages one and two of this disease. Typically, zombies are raised by magic users or magical artifacts which retain some level of control or influence over the corpse. While there is an energy signature consistent with magical emanations found in the subject's blood, there was no external force that could be detected, even when a full spectral and magical scan was performed. The subject also retains much of its previous speed and strength, though its vocalisations and cellular decay are more similar to this undead species than any other.

Corporeality rejects other forms of undeath including all of the various species of ghosts, wights, wraiths, or poltergeists. Spectral emanations are not consistent with revenants, mummies, or any known type of possession.

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Wednesday, January 28th, 2004 (Part Three)

Dawn looked around the infirmary. She was still in shock from the days earlier events. Not only was her sister rushed from the quarantine area to the infirmary, but then a knock-down, drag-out brawl broke out when they were supposed to be handling the introductions and debriefing part of the apocalypse. Everyone, and she meant everyone, had gotten a piece of the action.

Dawn couldn’t wait to see Buffy’s reaction to the new black eye she was sporting, or even Spike’s reaction for that matter. She had lost sight of him during the brawl, but she knew he would end up here eventually. Of course, the infirmary, which normally was quite spacious, was getting slightly over-crowded.

Standing by the nurses’ station was Phillip and two other guards she hadn’t met yet. They had moved from their previous station, which was guarding Buffy’s door – but in reality, they only gone about ten to fifteen feet away and were still glaring at anyone who dared to come close to her sister’s room. She had a sneaking suspicion that even though they were only supposed to be guarding the infirmary in general, their orders were to bully anyone who tried to see Buffy. Christie and Vi had gone in briefly, but neither Spike, nor Dawn herself, had worked up the nerve to visit. Instead, they had gone to the debriefing session. On Dawn’s part it was due to nerves; denial could be beneficial to the psyche. She had a sneaking suspicion the same went for Spike.

She paused to touch her black eye. It had only been three hours, yet the personality clashes were already coming out full bore, and everyone seemed to be simmering on the edge of violence. Of course, the tension was heightened by the Slayers, who were standing near the vending machine. Nancy and Antoinette were about ten to fifteen feet in the opposite direction from the security guards posted at the nurses’ station. The Slayers were taking shifts guarding the guards who were guarding Buffy.

‘Try saying that five times fast.’

Dawn’s stomach was in knots and she felt like she was going to hurl. She had never expected to see Buffy carried in, covered in dried blood. She was aware, peripherally, that something was wrong. There was the email about the Council quarantine. The rioting and explosions within London -which in all likelihood was a separate outbreak of zombies - the dead phone lines, the lack of communication, but still…Buffy was her knight in shining…leather boots?

The world could be ending and there Buffy would be. Despite dying, despite being kicked out, it didn’t matter what they did to her, Buffy would survive, kick ass, and save the day. Okay, so there were issues there, but she was a teenager; there were supposed to be issues. Of course, that could also be why Buffy had been in Ireland and the Scooby Gang scattered to all corners of the world. The globe kept spinning while some relationships took longer to repair.

But despite the distance – both physical and emotional – she had never expected to see Buffy looking so wrecked. For a moment, that one fraction of a heartbeat, she had thought it was too late. Too late to say I’m sorry, to repair their damaged relationship, to forgive and be forgiven.

Then Buffy breathed. She was unconscious. Everyone assured her that the blood, the torn clothes, the bombed out refugee look was from fighting zombies in Ireland, but Dawn couldn’t help but worry. Buffy had to be strong. She had to be unhurt. She had to be.

Things had been happening so fast, it was blurring together. But the knowledge that both Buffy and Spike were here was making everything more manageable. It eased an ache in her heart that she wasn’t even aware of previously. It felt like home. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since before the potentials had started to show up and everything had gone to hell.

Now if only she could figure out what was going on. The conversations she overheard were freaking her out. It didn’t help that every time she got close to one of the newcomers, the murmurs quieted down. She had a feeling that they were hiding something from her, which didn’t make much sense. She knew the world was ending, how much worse could it get?

It was the reason she gave for going to the debriefing meeting, and in truth, was gnawing on her mind. All she got from the meeting were more questions and her shiny eye. What exactly did they mean when they said the Council blew up? Who blew it up? How? Why did Andrew and the other Slayers tear up when Giles was mentioned? Was he alive? Missing? Dead? Undead?

Dawn practically growled in her frustration. She figured that Dana was dead from the comments which provoked the fist fight, but what about everyone else who had been based in London? Didn’t anyone believe in details?

Dawn curled up on a nearby chair, wrapping her arms around her knees. Giles had to be dead. They wouldn’t insist on waiting for Buffy to be awake before filling her in on the news if he was all right.

Burying her face into her arms, she started to cry.

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It happened fast. One moment it was completely quiet – the beep of machines, the quiet hum of electronics running, the soft murmur of the nurses – then it was chaos.

Fists flew, fights breaking out, people yelling, blood gushing, voices screaming, and a voice howled out over the din, “She bit me! I can’t believe she bit me!”

As the guards managed to separate the two crowds, the Slayers retreated, pulling Dawn off Angel as she glared at him, "Better watch it, Angel, I'm a hair puller, too!"

The commotion from the fight brought Fred and Wesley running. Wesley stopped dead in his tracks, blurting out, “What the bloody hell is going on here?”

Angel pointed at Dawn. “She bit me!”

Spike smirked as he watched Dawn stamp her foot and screech, “Well, he started it!”

“Now, now, Bit, you shouldn’t bite the poof. You don’t know where he’s been.” Days like this only came around once in an unlife, and he was going to enjoy this. Not once, but twice, Angel had gotten beaten up by little girls. It didn’t matter if some of them were Slayers or not; just the picture of Dawn biting Angel and the purple-haired spit-fire punching him was enough to make Spike happy for years on end.

Technically speaking, of course, Spike actually provoked the fight, but only because Angel wanted to think the worst of him at all times. So when Peaches arched an eyebrow and had that ‘look’ on his face when he saw Spike holding a tearful Dawn…well, what was a vampire to do? It wasn’t his fault that every time Angel saw Spike with a Summers woman, he just assumed the worst.

For instance, there was the time when he was having cocoa with Joyce and Angel came by. Angel just assumed that he was going to attack her. Like he would attack his only connection for a decent cup of hot chocolate, marshmallows, and conversation!

So when Angel got the ‘look’ and did the eyebrow thing, could anyone blame Spike for vamping out and pretending he was going to bite Dawn? It wasn’t like anyone else had even noticed!

Nope, no one could blame him for the fact that Angel swung at him. Or that Niblet took offense and bit Angel on the arm, or that the Slayers ran over, or the guards…

Just then, Buffy’s voice cut through the din. “Honestly, Spike, you come back from the dead and you let Dawn be the one to beat up Angel?”

Spike froze at the voice. Unsure of what would happen now, he shot a nervous glance at Buffy. Meeting for the first time since his ‘death’ was supposed to be romantic and tearful, or involve a lot of yelling at him and nose-breakage. It wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of a Slayer/Fang Gang brawl with her sister in the middle of the fight. Albeit, Dawn did have the good taste to choose his side over Captain Forehead, but still….

His musings were cut short by the look in Buffy’s eyes. It was something he never expected to see, a kind of warmth, with friendship, love, humour, and acceptance all mixed in, but just as quickly the moment was over.

Buffy glared at the Slayers. “We have been here for…what three hours, and you’ve already gotten into a fist fight with Angel’s group?”

Antoinette mumbled something under her breath and Buffy whipped her head around and her voice got even shriller. “What do you mean it’s technically the second fist fight?”

No one had ever claimed that Buffy wasn’t the Queen of Avoidance - which was an excellent move on their hypothetical part, as other than the one comment to Spike, not a word had been spoken between the two.

It was puzzling to the growing crowd of Slayers and Watchers, as many had heard Andrew’s tale of the star-crossed lovers. The Spike and Buffy Story had been told and retold with such aplomb that the two were more well-known in certain circles than even the ill-fated Romeo and Juliet. Yet, both were here, both alive, and all that was exchanged was a look, a quip, and then Buffy went straight into shrieking about Dawn’s black eye.

It was also disappointing – they had expected fireworks, explosions, and passion.

It was even more puzzling to the Los Angeles gang, however. From the tales they had heard, they had expected Buffy to throw herself weeping into Angel’s arms proclaiming her love for the souled one and halfway expected her to stake Spike. None of them had seriously considered that she could have moved on.

Cordy felt a thrill of satisfaction shoot through her. Maybe the Nair wouldn’t be needed after all. Not that Buffy could have competed with her, but still…nice to know.

The only two who were not puzzled or thrilled with the events were Spike and Dawn.

Spike seemed to be grinning and bouncing on his toes while Dawn was calm and accepting, a wry grin on her face as she explained about her black eye. Both, however, were thinking the same thought: It must be love; for once Buffy didn’t punch him in the nose.

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Thursday, January 29th, 2004

The news crews were still covering the 'outbreak' as some kind of widespread viral incident. The military presence in the streets was enough to scare the vast majority of people into staying home. Well, that and the zombies. Personally, she wasn’t sure which was scarier.

With a guilty pang, Min had dropped her last ten on the counter of the empty grocery store, knowing that one; it wouldn't cover what she was intending to take, and two; probably would never get to the store owner anyway. However, desperate times call for desperate measures, and well… she really, really needed pads.

And chocolate.

Lots and lots of chocolate.

Another bar of extra dark chocolate hit the pile in her basket. The crackle of the wrapper against the rest of the stack sounded incredibly loud in the darkened, empty supermarket. There was something incredibly unnerving about a truly empty supermarket. There were no teenagers in matching shirts and khakis pushing brooms or scanning price tags. There wasn't any canned music playing over the discreet sound system. There was nothing but the low hum of the emergency lights and the distant sound of sirens.

Courtney was off… somewhere. She was the one on official supply duty, but Min had forgotten to tell her about her predicament before they had split up for the day. She was supposed to be watching Wolfram and Hart again, and she would, just as soon as she stocked up on the real necessities of life.

Min wandered down the candy aisle until it segued into cards and magazines. She grabbed a copy of Cosmo and one of those nature magazines Courtney liked so much. Might as well show up with a peace offering in hand when she admitted to shirking on her mission, if only a little bit.

A military hummer rumbled by slowly, which prompted Min to drop low behind the magazine display in order to keep from being seen. While she wasn't exactly looting, she also didn't care to plead her case in front of a cadre of armed men with rifles leveled. She also had the sneaking suspicion that the crossbow clanking against her back wouldn't help her image in front of your standard issue authorities.

The hummer rumbled along, taking its sweet time, but it was soon out of sight. The military presence had been dwindling over the last few days. Min and Courtney had been focusing their attention on Wolfram and Hart, so neither had seen the military buildup around the hospitals and sports stadiums anywhere except on the television. It was hard to tell if the tanks and patrols were leaving, or simply focusing on the areas around those sprawling tents and sealed, sterile buildings.

Just when she thought the coast was clear, the tinkling of bells announced that someone else had entered the store. Her slayer senses leaped to attention and then skipped off the charts. That warning sent her into sensory overdrive in a way that the military presence had not.

Faster than conscious thought, the crossbow was off of her back and nestled tightly against her shoulder. Min crouched low, listening as hard as she could since she could not yet see who or what had just joined her in the store.

"I say we stock up on the disposable stuff," said one. "I mean, the spam will still be here in August, so we might as well have, you know, steak and hot wings while we still can."

"Uh-huh," said another.

"Or maybe that's being, I don't know, short sighted?" the first voice continued with what would have been an endearingly childlike tone of voice had Min's senses not still been screaming. "I mean, what if this is the last time we can get out to get stuff? Maybe we should get more canned stuff, just in case."

"True," came the second voice again.

The basically one way conversation continued. "But we do have an awful lot of stuff already, so shouldn't we have some nice stuff while we still can?"

"Maybe."

"But I really think that greenhouse is going to work out well once warmer weather hits, so it's not like we won't have anything fresh if this stretches out."

"Looks like."

Min hazarded a glance over the magazine rack. Just because one, or even both, of these guys were setting off her demon-radar didn't mean that they were necessarily in need of a good slaying. And in all honesty, this conversation was not leading her to believe that they were evil masterminds bent on world domination. That didn't stop her from keeping the crossbow trained in their direction, but it did stay her trigger finger.

The chatty one was clearly a demon. He had floppy folds of pink skin covering his entire body, and she thought she caught a glimpse of fang as he continued to jabber about canned ham and frozen peas. The other one looked human; he was slight, wiry, with dyed pink hair and an air of calm coolness that belied his choice of companion. But there was something about him. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to be smelling something, and… 'Oh crap!' He was looking her way.

They both froze. She watched him over the length of her loaded arrow. He blinked with surprise, watching her over the cereal aisle.

The floppy-skinned demon just kept walking, oblivious to the tableau behind him. "I'll grab some more stuff from the pharmacy, too. You never know when you'll need a good antibiotic."

"Clem…" the boy said in an overly calm tone of voice.

"Oh, look! Pickled eggs!"

"Clem," he repeated, strain finally entering his voice.

"No, really, they're really good!" The demon grabbed a jar of the food in question and turned, eggs in hand. "And…" He saw Min and the jar hit the floor, shattering with a wet splat. "Oh," he said lamely.

Min just blinked stupidly. She had no idea what she had done to give herself away. She was the sneaky one, the silent one. She wasn't used to being seen while on the 'job.'

It was disconcerting.

"Could you maybe put the crossbow down, and we can talk this through like rational people?" the pink-haired boy asked, voice level and calm again. Min's eyes flicked to the other, the demon. "Or, um, rational, not-exactly-people?" he added, noticing her pointed look.

Min glanced back at the boy, who was holding his empty hands up in mock surrender. She turned her eyes towards the demon, whose hands were raised in a more convincing show of outright fear. Her slayer senses might not agree, but every other fiber of her being was telling her that these two were not a threat.

She lowered the crossbow. "So, talk then."

TBC…