Homecoming Day 4: Unseen Enemies
By Victoria Hayrabedian
It didn't *look* like a Master's lair. There were no pools of blood, no
stalagmites upon which one could conveniently impale people - or be impaled
upon. There were no game-faced minions scurrying about and dragging
unconscious teenagers with them. In fact, the office looked remarkably
normal. There was a secretary - in fact, there were two on particularly busy
days - who, besides being obvious window-dressing, was also remarkably
proficient in dismemberment and torture techniques. She sat behind a
polished pine desk in broad daylight - sectioned off with shutters and
sunscreens, of course - and did whatever it was that secretaries do. Her
long blonde hair was swept back in an elaborate French twist, with one - and
just the one - loose strand dangling by her ear. Her clothes were tight but
not too tight, revealing but not too revealing, and as conservative as the
dress code allowed.
The room itself was well lit with very discrete panelled lights hidden at
the junction of ceiling to wall. The colours used to decorate the sparsely
furnished office were cream, beige and off-white.
It looked like a set from a James Bond movie. Any minute now, the secretary
would look up and introduce herself as Candy Wellard.
Eric snickered, and was elbowed sharply in the ribs by his sire - a
smart-looking young man wearing the standard business camouflage clothing of
a white shirt, black tie, eager smile and polished shoes. If you didn't know
better, you'd mistake him for a City-worker - a banker, maybe, although he
looked too young to hold too prestigious an office. A trainee accountant?
Maybe an Economics Cambridge student, doing work experience at a stock
brokers. The City was quite accommodating in those respects, after all.
The fact that he had arrived at the office in a black cab rather than on
public transport loaned further credibility to his story - that he was an
acquaintance of Mr Pausanias'. Most likely his parents had gone to school
with Mr Pausanias; Cambridge, perhaps, or maybe even Harvard. Because didn't
Mr Pausanias - long denied his knighthood despite his family having lived
here since long before anyone started keeping records - didn't he have that
strange accent? Not exactly foreign - but it was if he were speaking through
his teeth occasionally.
That just made him seem all the more human, of course - even *he* had one
failing.
The secretary looked up from her computer screen and arched one perfectly
tweezed eyebrow. "Mr Pausanias will see you now, Alex." She said, British
crisp. She had obviously been hand-picked to blend into the background - a
task she accomplished with remarkable aplomb. She gave Eric, who had been
squirming in his seat and scrubbing at his red hair tiredly, a lingering
look of disgust. "I suggest you - er, *restrain* your friend."
"Thank you," Alex murmured, and stood. He resisted the urge to stretch; it
would have been unbecoming. {{Oh, but I ache,}} he thought miserably. {{Ten
hours - ten hours in the City, dealing with that *stupid* BT slump, and no
go. The bloody shares are going to go down no matter what we do. More
stress. And then, to top it all off, I get Eric here,}} he gave his
companion an unhappy glare, {{running up to me in plain view of God, the
universe and my co-workers, and demanding to speak to me.}} He straightened
his tie and cautiously knocked on the heavy oak door. {{He was lucky I
didn't stake him on the spot.}}
"Come in," an unaccented, albeit noticeably thick voice called out.
Alex pushed the door open and practically shoved his childe in before him.
{{And now, first thing in the bloody morning, I get to see the Master. Oh,
my happiness is complete.}} He plastered a smile on his face. "Sir?"
"Alex," Pausanias smiled, looking the two up and down. "And - your childe,
is it?"
"Eric Young, sir," the red-haired lad stuttered, suddenly losing a large
portion of his East End dialect. That came from Pausanias, though - he made
you behave in the most stiff, formal way possible. Not because he was formal
himself - but because he made you feel as though it was the only way you
could show any respect.
What else could you do? He didn't *look* remarkable. Closely-shorn black
hair and deep-set green eyes that seemed perfectly ordinary. Mouth was a
little too thin, but otherwise nothing remarkable. Even his chin was rather
weak. He wasn't fat but he wasn't thin, either - more like solidly built.
His feet weren't twice or half the size they should be, and neither were his
hands. His suit was black Armani, his shoes, Alex was willing to bet, would
be either Patrick Cox or Gucci. His hair wasn't slicked back greasily, just
brushed for that clean-cut look. Mid to late thirties, perhaps, a few years
older if he was the type to keep his looks.
The most remarkable thing was that he didn't seem to have any sort of air of
menace about him. He was a business man - and a very adept one at that.
The only singularly innocuous thing about Pausanias - his long-fingered,
roughly callused hands - only served to reinforce this opinion. Despite his
present status, it was plain that this man had worked hard to earn his
living. He reminded Alex of Richard Branson, actually - that same cocky grin
of the self-made man. {{And this is the king of self-made men,}} Alex
thought, with a trace of awe. He could be excused for his small case of
hero-worship - the nondescript, almost boring man standing in front of him
was over two thousand years old.
Next to him, Eric fidgeted and looked around the room nervously. He kept
stealing looks at the almost vivid calluses evident on Pausanias' otherwise
beautiful hands. The everyday air of the Master gave him the creeps. {{They
ain't supposed ta look this o'dinary!}} Eric thought uneasily. {{'E looks
like food, but 'e smells of old power....}} It was not a nice smell. He
shivered.
Pausanias appeared not to notice, coming around his desk to smile paternally
at the pair. "What brings you two to me?"
"Sir, uh," Alex swallowed, "um, Eric here has some information for you." He
nudged his childe forwards.
Eric glared at him before trying to draw himself up to his full height.
Being barely five foot three, he managed to reach Pausanias' shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Um, issis about the Slayer...." Eric stuttered, trying to keep his accent
minimal. He wasn't sure exactly what he expected from the Master - a
panic-stricken look, maybe. Anger, almost certainly. Maybe he'd be over
confident and tell them to just - go kill her. Like it could be done *so*
easily.
Pausanias raised an eyebrow and leaned carefully against the edge of his
desk. "Yes?" He waited, his face expressionless.
If he strained, Eric could just about see the end of a faded white scar
disappearing into the starched white collar. "Um, well, I think she may be
'ere, sir." He waited for the outburst.
Pausanias looked thoughtful. "What could possibly give you this idea?" He
sounded faintly amused, at most.
Eric swallowed and glanced about nervously. He could just about reach the
window before Pausanias got to him, he reckoned. He'd much rather prefer to
burn up falling out of the building than to suffer whatever the Master would
come up with. "Um, I saw her friends in London. They, um, they threaten'd
me, sir. A-a bloke calling hisself Angelus said that 'e was 'ere looking for
someone called Spike, and that he didn't want you to stand in his way. So I
reckoned that you'd wanna know 'bout all 'is, innit?"
"Ah." Pausanias said by way of an answer, his brow furrowed as he thought
this over carefully, getting up to go sit back at his desk. He picked up the
phone and dialled quickly. "Joseph? Yes, it's Pausanias here. I need some
information on the whereabouts of the Slayer. Um, the blond one. The one not
in hospital." He waited, his hand curiously still on his desk. Anyone else
would have felt the urge to tap his fingers. "Yes? Right. Thank you. No,
nothing to worry about. Yes, my love to Paula." He smiled. "Right. Good.
Thank you. Yes - oh, before I forget. Can you tell Timothy to get those
dialling codes sorted out? I was given the preview of the business cards
this morning, and they still have the same codes on them. I realise that
people in the UK will be able to change the codes themselves, but it looks
rather sloppy. Besides which, I have no intention of dealing with angry
overseas associates." More silence, while Pausanias continued to smile,
evidently pleased. "Oh good. I'll call you about it later on, anyway. BT has
this new 'thing' they want to discuss with us, involving their videophone.
Yes. Right, I'll speak to you later, then, Joseph. Thank you for your help.
Good day." He hung up.
Eric and Alex both shuffled nervously from foot to foot and waited.
Pausanias sat back in his chair and smiled. "Well, it doesn't look like we
have anything to worry about at this particular moment. The Slayer is
reportedly very busy in Sunnydale, in plain view of the world and their
mother. Her friends must be here on non-slaying business." He stood up,
suddenly full of energy, and strode over to the window, peering cautiously
out into the early morning light. "I'll sort things out." He turned to give
the pair a brilliant smile. "Thank you."
Taking that as their dismissal, Eric and Alex filed out quickly, murmuring
their goodbyes as the door closed behind them. Immediately, Pausanias' smile
disappeared. He picked up the phone and dialled again quickly. "Yes, Joseph,
me again. I want you to bring things forward by two days. We may as well set
things up now. Right." He moved away from his desk slightly, stopping in
front of the small ornate mirror he had hanging on the wall. It was
conceited to have one in his office, of all places, but he rather liked it.
The small camera, it's lens hidden in the glossy frame and body seated
comfortably in the plaster of the wall, also provided him with a useful
record of any conversations that took place in his office. Pausanias smiled
again.
His own image, delayed by the fraction of a second it took for the image to
be transferred from the freshly-recorded tape to the screen of the mirror,
smiled back at him. Not perfect. But near enough. "And - I want you to take
care of a possible security leak for me. Two boys - Alex Naylor and Eric
Young. I have a recording of them. Yes. Thank you. Nothing too suspicious. I
just want them - silent. Good." He put the phone down.
His gaze drifted to the window again. Beneath his window, the crowd of
people jostled and pushed past each other. From the high-rise office, they
looked like ants, milling around the anthill that was Holborn Viaduct. A
small smile spread over Pausanias' face. {{Soon...}}
*****
Angel had been dozing when his mobile rang shrilly. Vampire he may be, but
even *he* needed to recharge occasionally. After Spike's abrupt exit, the
trio had debated dragging Xander with them to their Home House rooms.
Exhausted, they'd eventually decided to risk staying in Angel's mansion. It
wasn't as if anyone would dare harm them without the Master's express
authorisation, seeing as Liz was with them.
What worried Angel was that if anyone *did* arrive with the Master's
authorisation, two sleeping vampires and two practically unconscious humans
wouldn't be much of a challenge. This was why, despite his own orders to
Willow to get some sleep, he was only dozing.
Nonetheless, the insistent 'bleep - bleep!' of his phone managed to make him
fall out of his chair.
Rubbing his sore back tiredly, he located the mobile in the pockets of his
coat and quickly flipped it open. The number lighting up the screen was
Giles'. "Hello?"
"Angel!" Giles sounded immensely relieved.
"Yes?"
"Um, I need you to do something for me." The Watcher sounded embarrassed.
That wasn't too unlikely; he hated asking anyone for help, most *especially*
vampires.
Whatever this thing was, it obviously concerned Buffy, for him to - well,
stoop this low. {{Although I wouldn't have phrased it exactly like *that*,}}
Angel thought wryly. "Yes? Is Buffy okay?"
"Um, she's fine - it's not about her. I-I-I.... um."
Interesting. Giles' stutter wasn't this bad unless he was *very* embarrassed
about something. {{Oh, come on Watcher. I *know* you don't like me much - or
at all - but for goodness' sake, spit it out!}} "Yes? Giles, is everything
okay over there?" Angel stood and walked over to the window, pushing aside
the heavy plush curtain. It sighed at his touch, a thin layer of dust rising
with the movement. The window hidden behind it was coated in what appeared
to be thirty eight layers of grim and humidity-induced sticky dust. {{In
other words, *more* grime,}} Angel thought, almost amused. He must be more
tired than he thought to have ended up analysing the dirt on his windows.
"What, h-here? Everything's fine. I, um, I just got a phone call."
{{In the middle of the night?}} Angel thought, rubbing the sleeved heel of
his hand hurriedly over the dirt to clear a small patch of clear glass and
throwing a glance to the early morning outside. It was going to rain that
day. There was no doubt about it. Vampires would be out in droves; rain
meant clouds. And with London's protective layer of smog and general bad
weather, clouds meant next to no sunlight. Bring out an umbrella and you'd
be all set. "From whom? Are you *sure* that Buffy's all right?"
"What? Yes, yes, she's fine. I got a phone call from the Watcher's Council.
In London?"
"Yes, I know where the Watcher's Council is, Giles," Angel was amused. What
was it about people assuming he was clueless? *Every* vampire worth their
salt knew where the Watcher's Council HQ was. You had to know what areas of
the world to avoid if you wanted to survive - anywhere where the Watchers
had a strong base of operations was pretty much a no-go zone if you were
young and relatively helpless. Only the elder vamps ventured into the lush
feeding grounds that were the old cities. "What did they want?" {{And, more
importantly, why are you telling *me* this? These are the same people who
nearly killed Buffy for their stupid tests.....}} His teeth gritted
involuntarily. Quentin Travers was on probation, as far as he was concerned.
If he put so much as a foot out of place, he'd find himself turned into a
demon - and disposed of - so swiftly he'd never know what hit him.
"Um.... they called to tell me that, well, there was some trouble...."
"With the Master?" Instantly, Angel was alert, striding to the door that led
to the master bedroom, where Willow watched over Xander as best she could,
being asleep. {{Damn Pausanias.... I *told* him to stay out our way! Now
we're going to have to get involved and possibly drag others - Buffy - in on
this, and that would be...... bad.}} Words were inadequate to describe
exactly *how* bad this was in Angel's mind. Thus, he could be forgiven at
his small sigh of relief when he heard Giles' reply.
"No....." The former Watcher paused, sounding almost - embarrassed? "Um -
with the law."
*****
There was someone shaking her awake. It wasn't a very nice feeling. "Five
more minutes..." Willow waved the hand away. "Mom, please, five more
minutes...." {{Want to sleep...... am depressed..... Depression Girl. Don't
want to walk around as Depression Girl, or, worse, Trying To Smile Girl.
Hate world. Messed up. Hate world. Messed up. Haven't had sleep.}} She
buried herself under the nearest pillow, almost smothering herself with it
as she pressed it down over her head. {{Sleep. Depression Girl. Sleep.}}
Angel pulled her up to a sitting position, yanking the pillow away. Willow
promptly flopped forward, collapsing on Angel's thigh in a singularly
uncaring manner. Much as it touched Angel to see that level of trust - {{or
sheer exhaustion!}} - this wasn't the time *or* the place. "Willow, wake up!
Now!"
A muss of red hair propped itself up on Angel's thigh and peered up at him
from a most unbecoming position. An instant later, one green eye opened
blearily and found itself face to face with something she didn't really want
to find herself face to face with. {{Wow. Buffy was right. Impressive.....
No! Bad Willow! Bad Depression Girl, missing Oz and Spike - whoa. Spike?! -
and fixating on nearest scrummy male.}} Horror at the mere thought of
regarding her best friend's 'property' in such a manner shocked her into
wakefulness, and she sat up rather hurriedly indeed. "I'm awake! What's the
emergency?" {{Whoa. *Spike*?!}}
Angel pulled away and went over to the other sleeping figure on the bed, of
whom only a pillowed dark head was visible. "Get dressed. We have to leave
immediately." He shook Xander forcefully. The dark-haired teen showed no
signs of consciousness apart from a disgruntled snort and the instant
assumption that Angel was his pillow having gone walkies. Angel shoved him
back on the bed, exasperated. "Is he still out of it?"
"He woke up before," Willow said absent-mindedly as she yanked a pair of red
trousers on, oblivious to her nudity or Angel's presence. He was almost like
a brother to her, right? {{*Spike*?! Okay. Being upset at him being a
stubborn idiot and risking death and all sorts of other - bad - stuff is one
thing.... evil thoughts! Bad, *evil* thoughts!}} She pulled a brilliantly
red piece of ribbon from her trouser pocket and tied it around her throat as
a makeshift choker. "Then he went back to sleep again. He's got a headache,
which is good, because it'll teach him not to drink, but he's relatively
sober - where are we going?" {{*Spike*?! Think Oz! Think non-lethal people
to miss! Think - hang on. Do I *know* any non-lethal people?}}
Xander snorted and buried his head beneath the covers again.
{{Oh, yeah. But, well, he tries, and that's what counts, right?}} On went
the sneakers over her still-socked feet. {{What am I *saying*?! Must
remember to reset moral compass when I get back home...}}
Angel was busy shaking Xander awake, trying to simultaneously yank the
teen's head out from under the duvet and force his hands into a nearby
shirt. "Go wake Liz. We have to leave quickly. I've called us a cab."
{{C'mon, kid... work with me here! This is like dressing an infant...}} His
brow wrinkled in annoyance.
Sighing, Willow yanked a soft baby-blue V-neck over her head, trying to
straighten her hair out as best she could without a mirror. {{Ah, it'll have
to do. And anyway - what is this thing about lethal people? That is a *bad*
thing!}} A horrifying thought struck her. {{What if I find Spike a-appealing
in some way, *because* he's evil?}}
That froze her in her tracks for one heartbeat, before she shook her head
resolutely and grabbed her coat. {{Naah. I may be sick and twisted, but I'm
not *that* sick and twisted. Not Masochism Girl, just Depression Girl.}} She
snorted. {{Yeah, like *that*'s a big improvement...}} Giving up on her hair,
she walking over to the adjoining room and knocked on the door softly. There
was no answer. Willow stuck her head around the door. "Hello? Liz?" {{Wakey,
wakey, sleepy head....}} She thought but didn't dare say aloud. She wasn't
sure if Liz would be the type to appreciate early-morning humour....
Nothing. Whoever was in the room wasn't the talkative type, obviously.
The bed was messed up, though, and the bed clothes were occasionally moving
slightly because of the little girl sleeping restlessly underneath them.
Willow cautiously peered down at her. She looked about fourteen, she
decided. Well, she *would* have looked about fourteen, were it not for her
almost ivory skin. And her hair. It was pretty hair. {{Pretty hair,}} Willow
decided. {{Oh, okay, obviously need more sleep....}} She wasn't breathing.
{{Okay, she looks like one of those little dolls you get in antique
shops.... urgh. Freaksome.}} The redheaded witch reached down with a hand
that stopped just short of touching one bare shoulder. "Liz? Wake up!"
Dark eyes opened slowly and glared at Willow with utter venom. "Is there a
good reason yer disturbing my beauty sleep? Or should I just go ahead an'
rip yer tongue out on general principles?" {{Coffee. Need coffee. No. Wait.
It's morning. Night-cap! Need nice warm blood wiv a dash o' whiskey..... and
more sleep!}} Her glare intensified. {{Tell me that I gotta move and die,
little witch.}}
"Angel says we have to go. The cab's on it's way." Willow informed her, not
paying the slightest bit of attention as she tossed the sleepy vampire a
short skirt and a grey halter neck. {{She's pretty. Did I just think she was
pretty? I definitely remember *someone* thinking that she was pretty. *Must*
have been me. She *is* pretty. Spike's pretty. And Angel's pretty. Even
Drusilla was pretty.}} She shook her head to try and clear it. {{Urgh. And I
thought *Buffy* had issues.... not only do I have to work on the wolf thing,
but I now have necro tendencies. Don't most people end up in therapy over
this?}}
Willow glanced back at Liz, who hadn't moved an inch. The bedclothes were
pooled around her naked form, white cotton making her look even more
innocent and sleepy. {{Little doll.... no. Bad. Need head examined. Mental
note - do aura cleansing spell. I obviously have issues. *Many* issues.}}
She scowled at the dark-haired girl on the bed. "Come *on*." She disappeared
out of the door, giving Liz some privacy.
The vampire stared down at the clothes in her lap. "But where the fuck are
we goin'?"
*****
"Soulboy," Xander whined, his hand held up to block out the glaring sun
that, strangely enough, wasn't glaring enough to burn Liz to a crisp. {{This
is one strange place.... the sun is out and so are the vamps... with
umbrellas. Weirdness city...}} "Where are we going?"
They'd been in the cab for fifteen minutes so far, with Liz complaining
about her lack of a change of clothing, and Willow trying to wake up. Xander
was seriously hung over, and had the temperament to prove it, and Angel -
{{well, Angel is being Angel,}} Willow decided. He'd elected not to tell
them where they were going, just that he'd had a phone call from Giles and
that it was rather urgent. {{Which, seeing as I have issues, I'm going to
think of as a *bad* thing,}} Willow thought, pulling her feet up on the
leather seats to hug her knees to her.
The cab driver promptly glared at her via the rear-view mirror and she
guiltily dropped them on the floor again. {{Issues, issues. Think how nice
and quiet things will be with less vamps around Giles' bathtub and Xander's
fridge..... }} A large domed building distracted her from her mantra. Spires
reached up boldly to pierce the skyline; the dome itself was lavishly
decorated, marble sculptures twisting like ivy around it to frame the
impressively large doors that were in the process of being opened by two
similarly large men. A crowd comprised mainly of tourists and one or two
genuinely devoted people waited patiently for the men to move out of the way
and let them in; cameras flashed spasmodically, light glinting off the large
cross that was just visible just inside the building.
{{St. Paul's.....}} Willow thought dazedly, inhaling and then wishing she
hadn't. Power radiated from the place - strong magic, there before the
cathedral had been built. Why else would both Liz and Angel be braving the
sight of the large cross, suspended as if in mid air above the entering
crowd? The power was almost palpable. Light seemed to stream through the
very dome arched above and light up the stained glass windows from within.
Intellectually, Willow knew that it was just a trick of clever architecture
and morning light - the open 'outer' dome allowed light to light up the
cathedral from above, while the partially hidden 'inner' dome made the roof
seem hard and opaque. It was just a trick. Nothing more.
{{It's *beautiful*....}} The cathedral was glowing from the inside in, the
thin morning light amplified by a thousand ever-present candles. {{All that
power....}}
They drove past, then, and Willow blinked suddenly. Once again, the dreary
morning was back, the cab windows framed by a row of bright red
double-decker buses and the early warring crowd - a violent mixture of
amazed tourists and frustrated commuters. It was all so *ordinary*. {{But
the cathedral...}} Willow twisted around in her seat, sitting up on her
knees to peer out of the back window of the cab. The Cathedral was still
there, it's large doors still open. The wood was old and the paint was
obviously rained-in, even from this distance. And the beautiful marble
scrollwork stretching up in tentative pillars weren't embracing an arch of
light but simply framing the black obelisk that cloaked the inner dome in
perpetual night. Willow's eyes widened and her lips thinned in disgust. It
was horrific.
She started to twist in her seat, moving to sit back as the cab took them
around the corner and the Cathedral pulled away from them. It was pure
impulse that made her look back. The cold morning light glinted off the
freshly-rained puddles forming on the canvas of the road, and for one
instant, the Cathedral was illuminated again. Glowing from within.
Then the cab rounded another corner and the Cathedral, whatever it was,
disappeared from sight. Willow swallowed hard and sat back down in her seat,
shaking slightly. {{Well,}} was all she could think. {{*That* showed
*me*....}} She made a mental note to ask Giles - very nicely of course -
about the history of the Cathedral. Obviously *something* wasn't quite
kosher about that site.... all that magic..... She shivered.
No one noticed. In fact, despite the vampires' brief interest in the
Cathedral, she doubted that either of them had looked at it long enough to
see it's remarkable change. {{Remember to ask Giles. This is an *old*
city....}} She turned to ask Angel about the Cathedral's architect, but he
was already leaning forwards, tapping his knuckles against the glass
separation behind the driver's seat.
"Excuse me, but did we just pass St. Paul's Cathedral?" The vampire inquired
evenly, while Xander sulked and Liz stared moodily out of the window. {{And
God help you if you say yes....}}
"Yeah," the driver said. Angel gritted his teeth. "Wha' of it?"
"You know, it's funny. You picked us up in Mayfair, and I asked for you to
drop us off around Euston Station. Yet here we are," he gestured to the
window, "just passing St. Paul's Cathedral. I know that I haven't been back
to England for a long time, but last I remember, the Cathedral was
practically next door to Big Ben. That's in the *opposite* direction to
where we want to head." Angel rested one hand against the black leather of
the backrest pressed up against the glass partition. "Isn't that funny?"
The driver just shrugged. "Yeah, it is. Dunno when you were last in London,
mate, but only an idiot would try to brave Oxford Street first thing in the
morning. Taking the long route ain't only scenic for those little kids o'
yours, it's also quicker in the long run."
Angel frowned, knowing full well that the driver was lying. He'd have
figured them for clueless tourists and decided to snatch a few extra pounds
from their fare. "Just make sure that the rest of the route is less scenic -
and headed in the right direction," he muttered, not feeling up for a
fight - a verbal one, at any rate. Things were getting complicated enough as
it is. {{Trust those Council wankers to get themselves in hot water...}} he
thought, subconsciously slipping back into London slang. {{Idiots, the whole
lot of them.}}
Beside him, a dark-haired head was alternatively trying not to drop off to
sleep on his shoulder and twisting around wildly, eager to take in any and
all famous sites. Xander was suffering from tiredness-induced hyperness. Add
to that his hangover-induced grumpiness, and his annoyance factor shot
through the roof.
"Angelus...." Xander's voice took on the wheedling tone that informed you he
was willing to keep this up all day long.
Liz smirked and refused to acknowledge the long-suffering expression on
Angel's face. {{Th' brat can sure whine,}} she thought with a hint of
humour. The dedication to the complete and utter annoyance of his elders
reminded strongly of another 'brat', hair dark and unruly, eyes gleaming
blue in the streetlight. A familiar voice echoed in her ears. {{"C'mon,
Angelus.... c'mon, c'mon, tell me, you sodding pillock... tell me tell me
tell me or I'll start a bloody riot..."}}
Liz smiled. She'd always wished that Spike would eventually be pushed into
starting that riot. It would have been fun. {{Crazy brat,}} she thought with
fondness. {{Crazy, pretty, fucked-up brat.....}} Her gaze travelled to where
Willow was looking more or less shell-shocked. {{Power in this one. She's
not sure of it yet, but there's potential in there. She'd be *luscious* if
she'd be turned....}} Her teeth pushed against her upper lip. Liz sighed.
She wished Willow didn't have to look so pouty and innocent. She wished
she'd eaten this morning.
The cab was nearing it's destination. You could tell from the sharp influx
of tourists the streets around them were suddenly having to cope with. They
didn't turn into Oxford Street, though; instead, they drove up, straight
past it, through a wide and obviously very old road. Or perhaps it wasn't so
old. The houses looked Victorian in style; most likely the road had been
established during that period - whereas Oxford Street had been founded
hundreds of years beforehand, and was constantly being renovated. This place
looked like it was stuck in time.
The houses, white on black on white on black, stark and stern, were pristine
and spotless. The street was empty, save for the occasional young man or
woman, carrying heavy bound volumes tucked into a half-open satchel hanging
loosely by their sides. The men were all dressed in jeans and sombre polo
necks; the women had on smart trouser-suits, or long thin pencil skirts,
with slender legs than tapered down to strapped chunky shoes - high-heeled,
yet wide enough to not be dangerous.
{{Weird....}} Xander thought, watching them past. {{I thought the main point
of fashionable shoes was that women *couldn't* walk in them?}} H recalled
Cordelia's shoes - Anya had a liking for sneakers he encouraged at every
opportunity - and frowned, puzzled. They'd always looked wonderful -
high-heeled, strappy and very expensive death-traps. {{Yep. Weirdness
city...}} His head hurt too much to come up with a more imaginative
description.
In any case, the young women were gone by then, and so was Xander's brief
interest in the scenery. "Deadboy...." he whined again, using his most
annoying voice. He'd get a reaction if it killed him.... well, not
literally, of course.
Angel tore his gaze away from the large sign that said, 'The University
College and Middlesex School of Medicine' as they drove past, still tied up
neatly in the early-morning rush hour. "We're going to the British Museum,"
he said shortly. {{Why can't they just be patient for once!}} He was wary
about giving out information in public places - especially cabs. Things had
a way of filtering back to whoever was curious enough to question.
"Museum?" Xander groaned. "Why are we going to the *Museum*?"
Liz watched Angel carefully, a hint of a question evident on her face.
"Because the top floor is the Watcher's Council HQ," she informed Willow and
Xander softly.
"Then --" Willow looked puzzled. {{This is confusing...}} "No offence, Liz,
but why are *you* coming along?" {{Not that I need backup when I march in
there and tell those - those - well, I haven't decided what they are yet,
but it's bad - for being so mean to Buffy and Giles! They're fighting the
good fight, and all those bureaucrats can do is - well..... bureaucrate!}}
She blinked. {{Is that even a word?}}
Angel gritted his teeth. "The Council and the Master have a certain...
understanding," he informed them, his face expressionless.
{{Bureaucracy..... everywhere you go, bureaucracy.}}
"But..." Willow's brow furrowed in thought. {{Need sleep.... wish someone
would agree with me on how weird this is.... an understanding? What *kind*
of understanding?!}}
"Later," Angel told her quickly. He didn't want to discuss this here. Not
until they got somewhere a little less - public.
Willow subsided, her question still vivid in her mind. {{An
*understanding*?!}} She repeated to herself. {{With vamps? Why would the
Council have an 'understanding' with them?}}
They sat in silence until, at last, the cab turned the corner off the silent
street and drove straight into what Xander's brain immediately labelled as
'Tourist Central'. They made they way through the thick crowd tortuously,
until eventually the cab pulled up in front of a huge white building that
seemed to go on for miles in either direction. Large Greco-Roman pillars
held up the overhanging stone canopy that seemed to stretch out for at least
fifty meters in front of the building itself. The growing crowd of people
that milled about the entrance wasn't the remarkable part, however. The
British Museum didn't have an entrance fee, and was thus one of the first
spots on the tourist trail. There were *always* large crowds of people
milling about in front of it, inside it, even all over the nearby gardens if
it was a warm day and the ice-cream sellers were out. What *was* remarkable
about this early-morning crowd was the fluorescent yellow and white vests
some of them seemed to be wearing.
Angel groaned mentally. {{Great. Just great. All we need now is to have to
deal with the local police...}}
The 'local police' was a lot more than that. Yes, there were the usual
number of brightly-dressed duty policemen, keeping the curious public -
consisting mainly of tourists and cameras with lenses that were inches
thick - as far away from a sectioned-off area as possible. The slight
problem was that the sectioned-off area seemed to include the ticket office,
where the signing-in book for staff was kept. Predictably, this was causing
a bit of a bother. The policemen - veterans of the New Year's safety
provisions, most likely - did not seem the least bit fazed. The faintly
bored look on their faces spoke volumes.
"Well, looks like the bleedin' coppers are out in droves," Liz said quietly
as they approached the stone steps.
Willow shivered. The pillars, the scrollwork on the entrance itself, the
stone steps... the whole building, so similar to the Cathedral in so many
ways, and yet so different in air, reminded her of a mausoleum. A very large
one. Where the Cathedral had served to inspire, the Museum only reprimanded
and frowned disapprovingly. There was no occasional bursts of light
brightening up the building from within; it stood serene and stern and very
elegant. Very much like a silk-lined coffin.
Willow gritted her teeth and glared at it defiantly. {{Get a grip, Will.
They're not going to entomb you in a national treasure...}} It reassured her
some. Now, if only she could figure out who the 'they' in that equation
were....
Xander was looking around blearily. "Why are the police wearing those vests?
And who are they talking to? Are they questioning visitors?" Indeed, several
of the bright-vested policemen had spoken to a man and a woman, both suited
in the standard 'I'm a conservative boring person, take no notice of me if
you know what's good for you' blue or black ensembles. The woman was small,
her short hair kept in place by so much hair spray that even the strong
winds didn't disrupt it in the least. The man appeared to be in his
mid-forties, with a balding head and the beginnings of a pot belly.
Liz grinned. "Mulder and Scully, they ain't."
Angel rolled his eyes as he strode up the last steps. "Will you three
*behave*," he hissed. Then the fake smile was plastered on and they were
approaching the suited pair. Obviously they were the ones in charge. "May I
ask why you're here?" Angel inquired evenly, coming to rest barely three
inches from the neon tape that stretched around one grooved pillar.
Liz grabbed Willow and Xander's hands and dragged them away to a spot that
was close enough for them to hear what was being said, but not close enough
for them to be associated with Angel. Despite her inherent curiosity, the
fact remained that nobody was going to answer questions from three
teenagers, and it would be folly to jeopardise Angel's chances as well.
{{Sometimes, looking this young *really* pisses me off,}} Liz thought
irritably. Normally, whoever it was she was speaking to knew enough about
her - from her reputation, or perhaps even from personal experience - to not
take her at face value. However, the majority of the mortal world had the
annoying tendency to take her at value of face.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step away...." the man began, reaching
into his pocket for a badge to wave around, no doubt.
Angel simply raised an eyebrow. {{My guess - early promotion, bad
performance from there on, stuck in a desk job afterwards. Thrilling.}} It
also meant that a different approach from simple politeness of inquiry would
have to be taken. "And you are?"
"Detective Carter." Sure enough, the badge appeared and was flashed with
gusto. "Sir, this a crime scene, I'm going to have to ask you to step
away....."
"I'm behind the police tape," Angel pointed out. He crossed his arms over
his chest. "What's going on here? What's the crime?" {{Great. Bureaucrats to
the left of me, red tape to the right. And here I am, wondering which
manacled leg to chew....}}
"I really can't divulge any information to the public..." The police officer
continued, as if by rota. Liz looked him over carefully and dismissed him
without a second thought. He must have been transferred to the London area
recently; she didn't recall dealing with him. Her gaze shifted to the woman.
She was speaking to one of the other constables, who was nodding and taking
notes. {{Another detective? At least as high up as Carter, here....}} She
frowned thoughtfully, trying to put a name to the face.
At her side, Willow was fidgeting nervously and Xander was yawning,
obviously exhausted. Curious tourists were looking her over, commenting in
various foreign tongues about her paleness and her smooth skin. Liz sighed.
{{This is what I 'ate about walking around in broad bloody daylight,}} she
thought, tipping a quick glance up at the sky, where grey clouds and the
occasional rumble of thunder foretold rain. {{Well, at least I ain't gonna
be fried...}} she thought.
"I'm not *from* the public," Angel was saying, his glower intensifying. "I'm
from Mr Pausanias' office. We have dealings with the Museum. We need to know
if anything has been stolen, or damaged, or --"
"Oh, no, nothing like that!" Carter blurted, his face going red. He was
mindful of his orders not to discuss things - any requests for information
would have to come in writing - but he was anxious to avoid any sort of
public comment whatsoever. He may not have been affiliated with the Museum,
but a cut in the budget of a national treasure because of a lack of
co-operation from the police - namely, him - wasn't exactly going to earn
him any promotion points. "Nothing has been stolen. This is about some of
the staff..."
"Everyone is all right, I hope?" Angel arched an eyebrow.
Carter laughed, his face reddening even more as he took in the milling
tourists pressing against the tape. "Can you keep back, please! This a crime
scene!" He turned back to Angel. "They're fine. Look, sir, I'm sorry, but as
you can see, we're very busy at the moment. Some of the staff have been
arrested - we received a tip off early this morning that they may have been
smuggling illegal artefacts - and possibly stolen ones, at that - into the
country." He shook his head. {{You think you know people...}}
"No one I know, I hope?" Angel's tone was carefully neutral. In reality, he
was desperately trying to read the collection of warrants clipped to the
notepad the woman carried. He gave up with an inarticulate sigh. The writing
was far too messy, and the page was too far away. {{Damn.}}
Carter laughed nervously. "The entire staff body from the top floor. Can you
believe that?" He shook his head. "All professors and whatnot. Ridiculous,
if you ask me..." A small child of indeterminate gender sneaking under the
tape caught his eye. "Hey! Stay back! This is a *crime* scene, no going past
the tape! Who's responsible for this child?!"
Angel left him to it, retreating back to where Xander, Liz and Willow were
eating hot dogs from a nearby seller and reading the Museum guide. Well, at
least Xander and Willow were. Liz just looked like she'd won the lottery.
Her eyes were alive with suppressed laughter, and there was a suspicious
little jump in her bunched jaw muscles.
"So? What did the Mulder-clone say?" Xander asked around a mouth full of
hot-dog. Ketchup dripped down over the paper towel that was wrapped around
the bun and threatened to drip down his fingers.
Willow looked at Angel enquiringly, munching on her own breakfast.
The vampire sighed. "Giles was right. There's been some trouble with the
Watcher's Council...."
Willow frowned and swallowed her last bite. She pressed a finger to each
corner of her mouth quickly, in the time-honoured gesture of token
dinner-table etiquette most women seemed to practice when out and about
these days. "What kind of trouble?" She asked, her face anxious. {{I'm
wishing for something suitably mieow-worthy, although not lethal. Because
that would be horrible. But mieow-worthy is good....}}
Liz couldn't contain her delight any longer. "The buggers went an' got
themselves arrested!"
"Arrested?" Xander swallowed quickly to avoid choking. This was his second
hot-dog of the morning, and he was still famished. Plus, some idiot had
decided to drill a marching band through his brain. It wasn't pretty.
"Arrested? How arrested? As in, unpaid parking tickets, arrested? Or, killed
someone - some demon - and people noticed, arrested?"
Angel looked at him oddly. {{Out of the mouths of babes...}} Somehow,
Xander's innocuous question had served to put things in perspective. "Now
that you put it that way - well, they're being questioned about several
artefacts, believed to have been stolen and smuggled illegally into the
country. I *had* thought that was serious," he actually smiled at Xander,
"but now it all seem to have put it all into some sort of perspective."
Liz wasn't about to have anyone rain on her parade. {{The buggers 'ave been
arrested! I'm gonna throw a fucking party!}} "Ah, it's still serious," she
waved a hand. "Even if they ge' off lightly, we'll make sure they nev'r work
at the Museum 'gain." She smiled wolfishly and thrust her hands into her
coat pockets.
Xander simply rolled his eyes, understanding but not approving. Willow, on
the other hand, had not spent as much time talking to Liz. She frowned. "You
mean - you're not going to help them?" She sounded surprised. {{Okay, I
don't exactly *like* them, but what's bad for the Council is bad for Giles,
and is thus bad for Buffy. Although,}} she quickly amended, {{the bad for
Giles bit is enough.}} She frowned at Liz. {{Why would she help us so far
and then back out?}}
Liz, Angel and Xander all turned to stare at her, dumb struck. {{Obviously,
I'm missing something crucial here...}} "What?" She asked, flushing. "Well,
you've helped us so far...."
Liz recovered enough composure to set her straight. "Yer not the Council,
ducks," she told the redhead fondly. The kids really were beginning to grow
on her. {{Look at 'at.... so much like the brat! She ain't angry that she's
not gonna get her own way - just surprised that anyone in 'eir right minds
could think otherwise...}} "I ain't about ta 'elp the bloody Watcher's
Council. They'd all rot in the clink until they died of old age, if I 'ad my
way."
Willow gaped at her openly. Xander put an arm around the redhead's shoulders
reassuringly. He'd known what Liz's stance on this was going to be before
the vampire opened her mouth. {{Liz isn't in this for *us*,}} he thought,
trying to work it all out in his mind. {{She's like all other vampires in
most of what she thinks, except when it comes to the Bleached Wonder, where
she has a definite weakness. Maybe she even likes *us* - finds us amusing?
Fun to talk to?}} He sighed inwardly. {{But as for the rest..... Mental
note: do not forget that cute vampire will turn on us if given a better
alternative. Remember never to ask vampire to risk her own neck on our
behalf. Turning into dinner is *not* my idea of the best way to end this
trip...}}
Angel was also blinking, but not at Willow *or* Liz. At Xander. Xander, who
hadn't opened his mouth to say anything yet.
Xander, who was nodding at Liz understandingly.
{{Now, I've seen it all,}} he thought, dumb struck. {{A Xander - who knows
what's going on? Next thing you know, Spike won't be irritating the hell out
of me... naaah, that'll never happen,}} he decided after an instant's
thought.
But, back to the task at hand. "Liz, fine. I won't force you into helping us
assist the Council. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't hinder our
efforts--" he held up a hand to forestall her objections. "I know, I know,
you don't like them. But when Giles spoke to some of them on the phone, they
said that they'd been set up - a politician had been out to get them, and
had sent off the tip. Perhaps to get them out of the way for a little
while...?" He let the question dangle in the air.
Xander frowned, deep in thought. Willow looked at him and then her gaze
drifted back to Angel again. Evidently, this wasn't the problem that they
had originally thought it was. "Politicians?" She questioned, a small frown
forming. A large man jostled into her from behind and she stumbled forwards,
turning around to glare behind her. "If it's politicians, we can't really do
anything - we're foreigners..." {{And that means that it's serious enough
for us to try and get them out immediately, rather than letting them sit in
jail for a little bit..... drat.}} She smirked to herself. {{Definitely
mieow-worthy....}}
Liz rolled her eyes. {{Okay, still as naive as when she was first a babe in
arms.}} "Um, luv?" Willow blinked at her. "I don't mean ta shoot yer worry
out th' water or anythin', and I certainly have no intention of 'elping,
Angelus, don't even *look* at me like 'at - I just thought ta point out th'
timing o' this."
"Timing?" Xander looked at her, his brows creased in thought. {{What
happened recently that I should know about?}} Realisation dawned. "Last
night we told that kid to tell the Master we were here!"
Liz nodded. "It ain't politicians, pet."
Willow set off back down the steps again, red hair thrown back by the fierce
early-morning wind. Her muttered words, snatched away by the wind, drifted
back to the three following. "The plot thickens....." {{Oh, this should be
*fun*....}} Sarcasm twisted her face into a mask of worry.
Angel cast his eyes heavenwards. {{You couldn't make this easy for me, could
you?}} He grumbled.
*****
Giles thoughtfully placed the phone back on the receiver and stared at it
for a long moment. Years of staying up all night to research whatever demon
had been threatening humanity and Christmas at the time had made him
accustomed to strange hours. He wasn't especially tired. Just very annoyed.
"Giles! What would be the worst thing that could happen if Harmony were to
slip and fall on my stake?" Cordelia's voice drifted down from the first
floor. Cordelia and Harmony had retreated to the guest bedroom to try and
decide what to do about this new threat while Buffy patrolled. They had
taken munchies and several weapons with them to try and keep things neutral.
{{There is something seriously wrong when a vampire finds all sorts of
amenities in a Watcher's home,}} Giles thought irritably, putting a hand up
to his face to push his glasses back up his nose. His finger connected with
the bridge of his nose and he remembered, for the third time this evening,
that his glasses weren't there. For some strange reason, he'd worn them when
out on patrol with Cordelia, and now they were gone. And goodness only knew
when he'd be able to get a replacement pair.
"I evict you and make you patrol with Buffy," Giles called back
distractedly. There was the sound of a disgruntled sharp expelling of
breath, then Cordelia's face appeared at the foot of the stairs in the
manner of the Cheshire Cat. Her body followed later, dragging an extremely
annoyed and clearly vamped-out Harmony with her.
"Then make her *shut up*!" Cordelia demanded, her grip on Harmony's elbow
intensifying. "I did not come here to have to put up with Miss Motor Mouth
here going on about her sucky boyfriend!" {{No,}} she thought, growing more
annoyed by the minute, {{I'm here because little Miss Sunshine, out on
patrol as always, has major traumas we *all* have to help her deal with.
Puhleeze. Like *I* haven't got problems of my own!}} She glared at her
former friend. {{Like the Marcia Brady wannabe over here!}}
"*Ex* boyfriend!" Harmony clarified indignantly. "I wouldn't be seen dead
with someone as gross as him again!"
"Harmony, you *are* dead." Cordelia informed her, none too kindly. She
released Harmony with an impatient sigh and stalked over to the couch,
throwing herself down on it. She propped her feet up on the coffee table and
crossed her heeled feet at the ankle. "Get over it. Move on. Get a manicure
or a facial, just *shut up* about *Spike*!" {{Or not only will I stake
*you*, I'll go after Peroxide Boy and stake him too. Stupid vamps....}}
"Hey!" Harmony demanded, striding over and pushing Cordelia's feet off the
table to tower over her angrily. "I listened to *you* when you wanted to
bitch about *your* disgusting ex, *and* I didn't talk about how boring it
was! The least you could do is return the favour!"
Cordelia rolled her eyes. {{Someone's *seriously* got the wrong end of the
stick.... what, is she implying I owe her anything? Excuse me while I choke
on my disbelief.}} "Two things, Harm. Firstly, you *didn't* listen to me
bitch about Xander; you were too busy bitching about *me* and stealing my
so-called friends at the time. Secondly...." She stood and wrinkled her nose
delicately. "I'm here *because* of your stupid ex. He's done a *whole* lot
more to me than he did to you, and if anyone's going to bitch about that
walking fashion disaster, it's going to be me!"
Harmony gasped, outraged. "To *you*?! He tried to stake me!"
Cordelia smirked and walked off, sitting down in a chair next to Giles and
turning her back on Harmony. "You see? I told you. Incompetent. The heart's
there, he just can't finish anything off..... A. D. D. Boy." Her mouth
quirked in a cruel smile as she pushed a strand of dark hair back behind her
ear and showed all the symptoms of being completely ready to ignore Harmony
for the rest of the evening. "So, Giles. What did the brooding one have to
say?" {{C'mon, Angel..... come through for me here. Tell us you found the
moron and are coming home....}} She shivered slightly. {{I hate this place.
It's not home anymore...}}
Giles contemplated getting a nice stiff drink, having a quick shower and
then locking his bedroom door behind him for his first early-ish night in
years. {{Of course, I could stop Cordelia and Harmony from killing each
other instead.... When did my life become this thrilling?}} He sighed and
pursed his lips, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. Cordelia
raised an eyebrow and regarded him silently, waiting. Harmony seemed willing
to wait for him to offer some opinion before getting started on Cordelia
again. {{Oh..... wonderful.}}
"Well, he said he'd look into it. He *does* have other concerns to take care
of...." {{I can't believe I'm making excuses for Angel....}} Giles thought,
a little shocked. He scratched at the inside of his left wrist idly,
unstrapping his watch and laying it down next to his open address book
carefully.
Harmony threw her hands up in disgust and stalked back to the couch, sitting
down and searching briefly for a remote control before realising that she
wasn't facing a television.
Cordelia rolled her eyes at the disgruntled sighs that drifted back to her.
She crossed her legs and played with the lace edging of her cream top. With
her knee-length pencil-skirt and her plain black shoes..... Giles blinked.
{{I must be more tired than I thought.... Cordelia *never* looks
conservative.}}
And she didn't. She looked beautiful, alluring, spectacular.... *not* the
kind of girl you'd find working in a law office.... perhaps the kind of girl
that could live off the earnings *of* a law office, but.... {{Perhaps she
*has* changed....}}
"Hello? I'm not getting any younger here." Cordelia studied her nails
critically. {{Great. Another one chipped. I hate this job!}}
{{And then again, maybe that's just wishful thinking...}} Giles finished
ruefully. "Well, that was all he said, really. He'd look into it over there,
and we should try and find out all that's happening here." He picked up his
address and rifled through it leisurely. "Do what we can with our sources
here...."
Cordelia grabbed the book out of his hands swiftly and snapped it closed.
"Or perhaps not....." Giles raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
Cordelia sighed and put the book carefully - but *very* firmly - on the desk
in front of her. {{God, how much more complicated can this get?!}} "Look, we
both know that that would be making up work. The Council's based in England;
whatever is happening there has to be dealt with *there*." She frowned
suddenly. {{Unless...}} "They haven't got anyone over here, though, have
they? I mean, apart from Wesley - or that creep, Travers?"
Giles looked at her, startled. {{I didn't think it had been that obvious
that Quentin was from the Council.... it would appear that I'm not the only
one who needs to work on keeping a low profile,}} he thought with some
satisfaction. Travers' accusations had strung him - both for their accuracy
and for their venom. And Wesley Windham-Price had been pathetic. Nothing
short of it. *That* had been their replacement for him? *That* had been what
they thought he was? {{Well. Perhaps I certainly started out like that,
but.... no. I was *never* that whipped.}} "I - well, I don't think so. I
mean, apart from the other Watchers, but...."
"Watchers?" Instantly, Cordelia was alert, a notepad appearing out of
nowhere. "Where? Why here? How is this relevant? And what else did Angel
say? I know that you two had a nice long cosy chat, and I can't imagine that
some book guys in England could have been *that* interesting...."
"Dorkus......" Harmony called, her voice a singsong. {{Dorkus... I knew it.
Dorkus-face. I can't imagine why I was ever friends with her.... Oh yeah.
Money. But now she hasn't got any, she's turning into a secretary.....
Ewwww. Like, how low can you get?!}} She wrinkled her nose. {{They do, like,
*work*!}} The mere thought was abhorrent to her.
"Harmony, do you *really* want me to become extremely religious suddenly and
nail a crucifix to your forehead?" Cordelia turned her attention back to
Giles. {{Calm. You tolerated her prattlings for years before, you can stand
her for a few more days before she's dust.}} "Come on. What did Angel want
you to do? Why haven't they come back yet? What's Peroxide Boy done this
time?"
"It appears that Spike doesn't want to come back...." Giles straightened the
book sitting in front of him, a purely nervous gesture. His stutter had all
but gone, but the nervous gestures containing all his unused energy had
taken over. He had to have *something* to do while speaking to stop himself
from shouting or biting the words off. The veneer separating Rupert Giles,
former Watcher and civilised, educated man, from Ripper - no less educated
but a lot less civilised - was a lot thinner than people realised.
And right now, Ripper wanted in on the action. {{Pausanias? Doesn't sound
familiar to me... Well,}} he amended silently, {{it does, but not as a
vampire. And certainly not as a Master.... then again, if he's in London, he
may have *negotiated* with the Council, and been erased.}}
It *had* happened upon occasion. If a vampire wanted to disappear from
history, he'd just have to make sure he bribed the right people and kept low
for a century or two. And you could 'bribe' anyone if you put your mind to
it. With a wife or brother's life, for instance.
"Well, *there's* a surprise. Yeah, *that* was a great idea... let's send the
people he's running from after him! And people said *I* was dumb....."
Harmony sulked.
"Harmony - *shut* *up*. *You* were the one who threw him out; why couldn't
you keep him around! Then he wouldn't have ended up living here, and then I
wouldn't have to come down from LA. to pick up after him. God," Cordelia
threw up her hands in disgust. "He's worse than a little kid. At least them
you could spank...."
Harmony brightened. "Oh, you can spank....."
"Angel wanted me to research the London Master, Pausanias," Giles broke in
hurriedly. {{Why do they all feel the inescapable urge to tell me about
their sex lives? Does no one understand that I *really* have no interest in
that area?!}} "And you're right, the watcher's Council business is best left
up to him. The only Watchers in the States are inactive ones, or ones
training Slayer candidates. None are directly connected to the Council."
"Slayer hopefuls?" Cordelia frowned. "I thought Buffy was just born a
Slayer? You know, the whole 'one dies and another Slayer is born' thing?"
{{I felt kinda sorry for her about that for a while... God, I can't believe
I did that after she was such a bitch to me! But she hated being so alone
all the time... guess if she's got 'Slayer hopefuls', she's not as big a
freak.}} Cordelia thought about this some more and then amended her thoughts
to, {{well, not a freak *all on her own*, at least.}}
{{No one should be on their own.}} Huh. Well, *she* was, wasn't she? And
here she was, back in Sunnydale, a place she hated, trying to fix everyone
else's lives. And no one noticed anything at all..... {{Damnit. If I'm going
to change into a better, less shallow person, the least they could do is
notice and applaud me for it!}}
Meanwhile, Giles was speculating on whether there was a single competent
person left in the Watchers Council. {{Trust them to mistranslate from the
Latin....}} "In actuality, it says another Slayer *takes her place*," he
corrected.
Cordelia gave up on the frowning. {{I do any more of this, and I swear, my
face will freeze this way.}} "Like *that* makes any difference." {{Yeah.
They're not *here*, helping, are they? They're off, living normal lives,
when *they're* the ones supposed to be defending humanity, *not* us.}}
But what was *us*? Angel? He was a vampire. Oz? A werewolf. Willow? A witch.
Even her former best friend, Harmony, was a vampire. And nice normal Giles
was a warlock and former thug. Her and Xander were the only normal ones
around - the class clown and Queen.
Former Queen.
Freaks, all of them. And what for? So 'Slayer hopefuls' could go to school
and tie their hair in pigtails and grow up to be in their teens before being
called. {{She's only 18,}} Cordelia thought with a sudden deadly premonition
weighing in her mind. {{Eighteen. They don't live past their mid-twenties. I
miss Miss Calendar, but I never really knew her. I've lost - others,}} and
she was still unwilling to think about her life, even here, {{and still, I'm
shaking. God, I don't even *like* her! And I could stake Harmony without a
second thought! What's happening to me? These people aren't my friends! I
don't like them, and they don't like me!}}
No. Her real friends had disappeared on her. Could she talk to either Angel
or Doyle anymore? No. Not since... {{Not since....}}
And she still couldn't bring herself to say it. {{Humility. It sucks.}} She
sighed.
And Giles naturally misinterpreted her sigh as one of impatience, rather
than weariness. Tired, himself, he had to stop himself from frowning in
disapproval. "It makes a *lot* of difference. It means that another Slayer
is *not* born - but is *activated*. How could Kendra have appeared so
quickly if she had just been born? All that occurred was that she was been
activated. When she died, Faith was activated."
"And all these Slayer hopefuls have Watchers? Cool. Are they all English?
And can you have more than one Watcher?" Harmony raised an eyebrow. {{Is it
just me, or is that *very* kinky? I mean, what kind of a title is 'Watcher'
anyway? Gee, it's not like it sounds impressive on a resume....}}
Giles ignored her. "That's not important right now." He tapped his fingers
on the closed address book impatiently. "What *is* important is that Angel
and the others appear to have everything in London well in hand. Which
leaves us free to concentrate on our present problem."
{{Oh. Yeah. That.}} Sighing, Cordelia stood and walked back to the couch,
sitting down next to Harmony heavily and grabbing a cushion to hug. "Yeah.
And we still have no progress...."
"Until Buffy gets back from patrol," Giles corrected, also standing. He
retreated to the safety of the kitchenette, switching on the kettle. He
wasn't sure whether he was dreading or looking forwards to Buffy's return.
On the one hand, she'd stop him from killing both Cordelia and Harmony from
sheer self-preservation. Or at least help him hide the bodies.
{{On the other hand, she seems determined to treat me as if I'm breakable,}}
he thought, his hand stealing down to touch his ribs gingerly. The bandage
underneath his sweater was thick, though, and he didn't really seem to be
that bruised. And his head no longer swam. Which was good.
{{Now, if only she would *accept that*....}} He quickly made two cups of tea
and warmed up a bag of blood, pouring it into what had quickly been labelled
the 'blood' mug - the one vampires used if they were coming over. {{I'm
certain that other Watchers don't have to deal with things like this....}}
He carried the tray back into the leaving living room, where the two girls
were waiting expectantly for him to finish his sentence. "I'm sure that
she'll find - something," he said, rather ineffectually, sitting in his
favourite armchair.
Cordelia sipped her tea and pouted. "Yeah. Like *she* would be able to see
anything.... the girl is blind!" She declared. {{She is. She's going to live
for what, six, seven years at most. God.... she won't even make it to our
high school reunion! That's pretty much like most of the class, actually, if
they tried to stay in Sunnydale. But, still.... six, seven years... it's not
enough.}} It wasn't. How could you live with the threat of *that* hanging
over your head? It was like having a terminal illness. {{Yeah, a case of
'Slayerism'. Stupid, stupid. Let's mope around the house, blaming everyone
around me for that thing with Angel not working out, wasting a good year of
the six or seven left. That's like wasting ten years for the average person!
What's the point of that? Move on!}}
Like she would. Like *anyone* could after losing a love like that. {{Then
why bother going on? If she can't bear to live without him, why bother to
live at all?}} Hadn't Cordelia been asking herself those same questions, day
in day out in LA.? And hadn't Doyle and Angel provided her with a reason to
go on? Now that reason was gone, and she was back home, back in Sunnydale,
grasping at straws. Buffy had more. She had *family*. {{She's blind,}}
Cordelia thought sadly, gazing at the small framed picture resting on the
mantelpiece. A sombre, tweed-encased Giles, joined by a smiling, happy,
perky blonde little girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen. {{Just a few
more years, and she'll have wasted her life saving ours.}} Useless. She
could have so much more, and she didn't even realise it. {{Blind.}}
Meanwhile, Giles was choking on his tea. "Please refrain from making any
statements like that in the future," he managed, in between trying to
swallow so he didn't scald his tongue. {{The *last* thing we need is some
demon overhearing and delivering a blind Slayer!}} The disastrous effects of
Willow's last spell weighed heavily on his mind.
Harmony giggled. "Yeah, Cordy. Like Mr Giles said." She shifted into game
face. "Shut up."
Cordelia pulled out a stake from where she had hidden it earlier, down the
side of the couch. One could never have too many weapons handy if the walls
started spelling out death threats. "Look at the things you leave lying
around here, Giles! This could stake someone!" She waved it in Harmony's
general direction vaguely. {{Great. I'm stuck with a vampire Valley Girl.
How humiliating is this? I was *never* that air headed or catty - okay,
maybe I was that catty, but never that air headed. Ewww. I can't believe I
actually socialised with such a dork.... it made her cool by association.}}
She shuddered at the thought. {{Oh, ewwwww. *Gross*. *I* made Harmony
popular?! I'm never going to forgive myself!}}
Giles intervened hastily, an idea occurring. {{Get them out of here before
they kill each other, or *I* kill them both,}} Ripper instructed
impatiently. "Why don't you two, um, go out and investigate, then? If Buffy
can't find anything, we'll need other people out - and Harmony obviously
knows the areas the vampires will be avoiding...." {{Go. Now.}}
Yes, it was dangerous, and yes, Harmony wasn't to be totally trusted. But
Cordelia had shown that she could more than take care of herself, and had
arrived from LA. armed with her very own crossbow. Besides which, they
didn't really have much choice, did they? Giles was the only one who could
research their problems properly. Buffy had to patrol. That left Cordelia.
Who, it seemed, wasn't entirely put off by the idea of doing something -
anything - active.
Cordelia smiled. "Yeah, Harm. What's the one place that *really* creeps you
out right now. Nothing like the library or anything though," she waved a
hand, "but, you know, gives you the wiggins in a major way."
"The beach," Harmony answered immediately. {{I never thought I'd hear myself
say that..... a make-out spot, turning freaksome. Ewwww.}} "There's
something majorly freaksome going on there. And I *really* don't want to
find out what. I just get - bad vibes. You know, the stay away kind."
"Great!" Cordelia grinned. She turned quickly to Giles, her long dark hair
narrowly avoiding Harmony's face in the process. "We'll go to the beach!"
{{Harmony petrified... maybe this day won't turn out to be such a total loss
after all....}}
"Hey!" Harmony immediately objected, her lower lip jutting out. Giles, who
had been about to object as well, forestalled himself and waited. Harmony
folded her arms and glared at Cordelia and Giles petulantly. "I told you,
that place creeps me out! What if I get staked or - or - eaten - or
something like that while you're looking for your stupid clues?"
Giles nearly bit his tongue off to keep from replying to that one. Cordelia,
of course, wasn't held back in the slightest. "A plan with no flaws," she
said, grinning.
Harmony only glared at her harder.
*****
{{Chicken fucking shit lying bastard, a motherfucker who'd rip your throat
out and then smile politely to a passing little old *fucking* lady, and the
stupid cunt would smile back and it'd be all right....}}
{{Fucked up bastard, I hate him, I wish he'd go stake himself in the middle
of fucking Trafalgar Square, so every one can see what a fucked up son of a
bitch he is, with his poncy hair and his fucking smile, and all those bloody
promises you know he'll never keep....}}
{{Wish I could stake 'im myself, I really do. Wish I could cut his head off
and watch the blood burst out all over me, and I could roll around naked in
it until he explodes into dust and covers me like a blanket...}}
{{Wish he was gone, gone, out of my head, wish he wasn't here, wish I knew
what the *fuck* is going on in my *bloody* head!}}
The stake, still blunt from not enough chiselling, hit the wall and bounced
off the plaster, falling to the floor with a thump and rolling right back to
the figure sitting hunched in the empty room. There was a bed there, a
single bed, propped up against the wall, with a shelf overhanging it,
guaranteed to give anyone sitting up from a nightmare a good attempt at a
concussion. The flickering light of the lamp, shoved into the far corner of
the shelf, almost sliding off the edge onto the dirty blue carpet, was the
only light in the room. The light bulb had been removed from the small room
light swinging emptily above, and obviously no one had bothered to report
it. So, you sat in darkness, or you coaxed the small lamp on the shelf to
life to watch the walls of this god-awful room close in on you.
Victoria to Embankment to Waterloo to god-knows where.... it was a nightmare
for those with only thirty quid in their pockets. A dingy little room, more
a hovel than a dwelling, more like a coffin than a home. There wasn't any
wallpaper, just paint that had once been white, and even that was half
chipped off. The walls were paper thin, so everything you said or did could
be heard in the next room. And the room after that. And probably the rooms
below and above you, and all the way out into the street, for all you knew.
Pimlico to Southwark to Elephant and Castle and beyond, to the crazy subways
that criss-crossed underneath the empty streets for at least two miles,
coming at last to a crumbling building full of little children taking notes
about the World Wars. And the stupid paintings all over the subway, it made
you want to run and scream and run some more, but you couldn't, because once
you entered the tunnels, you had to keep walking until the end. There was no
turning back until you chose where you wanted to go - be it the river, to be
separated from any actual water by high fences and building works, or to the
Museum, to watch the little children buy model aeroplanes and sketch gas
masks for school assignments. And then back on the tube, back to this little
bedsit, without a TV, without a bathroom - just a sink in the corner where
twenty other guys had probably already pissed in, and you were meant to go
near that to wash your face? To look in that mirror, cracked a dozen times
around the edges - but never enough for it to be replaced - and see nothing
staring back except the shadows of the wall behind you?
Even the window was small, dingy. Facing the wrong way. No chance, here, of
even an accidental death. No, if he wanted to meet the morning, he'd have to
walk himself down to Trafalgar Square and take his clothes off and run
screaming around, dancing on the statues and scaring the little children
with their ice cream cones and little cameras, and kick water from the
fountain at the three million pigeons that had a home there.... Wait for the
sun to come out from behind the January clouds and burn him to a crisp in
front of Nelson's Column. A human torch; a living work of art on display at
the steps of the National Gallery.
How the people would talk after that.... it'd make the headlines. A naked
human male - or maybe not so human - screaming himself into oblivion as he
made a statement about - something, something good, something pure,
something incredible and divine - and the entire world watching...
That would show them. That would show them all.....
{{I'm sick.}}
It was true. That was one hell of a sick fantasy. Beyond sick. Beyond
twisted. This was into mind-bendingly spaced-out, high on something
insanity.... fucked in the head, doped on E's and whiz, one too many Jack
Daniel's, and it would make him combust all the more easily...
Maybe there wouldn't be sun that day, though. Would *that* be the way to go?
Get arrested for indecent exposure, for scaring those little children, those
little children with their beautiful necks, their cream and honey and
chocolate necks, gazing at him solemnly as he was led away, their mothers
spitting insults in his direction. {{Wanker..... sick perv..... Cover
yourself up, luv, I've seen it all before....}} And he'd laugh, then, and
his eyes would glow yellow as he looked at their pert breasts and their
shorts skirts that didn't hide enough of their thighs, and he'd dream about
spreading those legs apart and biting, breaking through the flesh there...
A vampire bites the neck. Why? Why the neck? Blood spurts everywhere, covers
you in it, looks glorious. But to push those knees apart, to lick your way
to that spot, midway between knees and curling hair, and there would be
shining, blue and red and inviting, arteries galore - bite there, and drink
to your heart's content. Bite there, and not a drop would be spilt. And then
move on to the children, with their little sketchbooks and their 'bomber'
jackets and trainers not allowed at school, and take those jackets off....
he couldn't bite children on the thighs though, it made him sick to his
stomach. But you could bare their beautiful forearms, turn them so the
elbow, scabbed and cut, was facing down, and bite into the soft flesh there,
finding the artery as quickly as a National Blood Service needle..... and if
you bit carefully, no mark would be left, except for two little pinpricks.
Bite carefully, and you could do this forever without being caught. You
didn't have to tear their necks apart, those poor little children, who would
never grow up to be full meals otherwise. Why kill them? Waste. Waste.
{{I *love* waste....}}
{{I'm sick....}}
He was.
{{I am. I should be having a fucking party, not daydreaming - nightdreaming,
whatever.}}
He could hear All Saints coming from next door, piping through real quiet.
Someone was listening full volume to a Walkman. And he could hear it.
{{"Calling you, my dear, out of reach...." yeah, calling you, dear sire,
calling you away so I can rip your throat out and not have to worry about
Red turning those big eyes of hers to me and screaming and screaming....}}
{{I'd scream too, I think. Not because it would upset me that she was
spattered with your blood, but because I wouldn't be able to rip her throat
out too and turn to watch Xander gulp and swallow and piss himself in his
soddin' pants with fear.... Scream and scream and scream and then my voice
would stop and I'd be screaming silently because I'd get over that bloody
implant long enough to kill them both, and it would end right here.....}}
{{I'm sick.}}
{{Right here, right here where it started.... Don't want that. That'd be too
bloody easy. Or hard. Whatever. "Just want you here, my dear, out of
reach.... calling you, I'm calling out for you....."}}
{{I need help.}}
The stake was in his hand again, and he was whittling away happily, carving
away huge slices of wood and possibly fingers, because the stake now had a
nice red point. {{Oh, who bloody cares....}}
He was quite possibly drunk. {{Very drunk. I'm choppin' off me own soddin'
fingers, and I don't bloody notice...}}
He stared down at his hands, trying to squint past the blood and check that
he was still intact. {{Nope... all there, I think. Oh.... I just cut one
open. It's healin' all ready. Never mind, then...}}
And back to whittling the stake.
It was a good stake. It would pinion Angel to the fountain, possibly, right
to the bloody fountain in front of the gallery, with Nelson glaring down at
him and his blood running down through the water. It would only last a
minute, because he'd break off a large chunk of dear Nelson's hat, and bring
it down on dear Daddy's fingers. No more Gem... no more daddy.
{{"Out of reach...." Oh God.... I swear, if they don't turn off that bloody
music soon, I'm gonna...}}
{{Do what? Like Giles said.... your best offensive is licking them to
death.}}
{{Hate this. This is all Angel's fault.}}
It was. It always was. If Angel hadn't have turned him and hated him and
loved him and just generally been around for far too long and then
disappeared only to reappear as an ensouled pantywaist, then....
{{Ah, too bloody complicated. It's 'is fault because it's 'im. It's *always*
'is fault.}}
{{Soddin' Angelus and his soddin' moral 'igh ground....}}
{{Gonna stake 'im real good, though, real good. Squish the hand, and no more
peaches.... I gotta apologise to the Slayer, though, because, her mum went
an' got me marshmallows, but after that, I'll rip *'er* throat out an all.
Sod all to do after that, really, except kill 'em all and go find Dru to
shag somewhere. And kill Angelus. Kill 'im a *lot*.}}
It was all so simple. Angelus was the bane of his existence, *not* the
Slayer (who had been banished to the humiliating existence of a lesser bane,
or whatever the name for that was... he'd think of it later. He was
sure.....), and so, being the bane of his existence, he had to be removed.
From the universe. From *his* universe. Because no matter what Spike did, no
matter where he went, the poof was dead set on following him.
{{"Yeah yeah, my ex boyfriend lies, oh, he does it every time, it's just his
permanent disguise, yeah yeah but he's drop dead gorgeous...."}}
{{"Drop dead..."}}
Okay. Kill Angelus. Then, kill those people next door who were playing music
that was like a soddin' soundtrack to whatever was going on in his head. At
the moment, it was the sound of a marching band that celebrated the
approaching of sobriety. Or something. Whatever. {{Head hurts.... more
drink.}}
More Jack Daniel's. Oh dear. He was nearly out of Jack Daniel's. Just....
Spike squinted at the floor. Three, maybe four bottles left. And he needed
them *all*. Luckily, he also had a case of Stella he hadn't started on yet.
And Stella always managed to get him pissed.
{{"Want you back... want you back.... want you back, for good..."}}
{{Oh God.}}
Moving in a slow, torturous manner, Spike clambered to his feet, somehow
avoiding knocking the opened bottles of drink round him. Using the stake as
a walking stick - a very *short* walking stick - he somehow made it to the
wall - all of half a meter away - and banged heavily on it. "Listen to me,
you stupid goddamned pricks!"
It took him three seconds to work out that that was *his* voice sounding
like it came from an Eastenders regular. {{Rickeeeey! Oh, Rickeeey! Gonna
rip out *her* throat an' all.... stupid bitch.... and 'e's not much better,
with his soddin' 'Bianca, oh, Bianca....' Toffs..... Fucked up toffs....}}
Where was he? Oh, yes, screaming abuse at the people next door, who had
turned off the Walkman to listen to him shout. "You can play as much All
Saints as yer bloody well like. I don't give a fuckin' toss. I have bugger
all against those tasty little bints. Yer can even play Republica - I mean,
*other* stuff than their *one* good song - an' I won't complain. But I draw
the line at *Take* *bloody* *That*! You play *one* more song from *those*
bloody wankers, I will shove that Walkman up yer arse and have yer balls on
toast - and *you'll* serve them up!"
He paused, trying to gather up some more air. His head was spinning. He
didn't *need* air, but his head was spinning. {{Drink. It'll be the end o'
me... ah, but what a fuckin' perfect way to go.....}}
His neighbour, completely silent, was obviously very much female. If it had
been a bloke next door, he would have been knocking on his door and
demanding they 'step outside' for a bit of rough and tumble. A downright
fight, in the middle of the empty street.
It wouldn't have mattered. The streets were always empty. Anyone who was
here was either stranded or sleeping something off. The area may have been
disreputable, sure. Families still would live there - and they did, as far
away from the hotels as they could.
Spike snorted. Hotel, right. *Hovel*, *that's* a better word for it.
"Right then." He stumbled backwards and ended up sitting heavily on the bed,
the stake serving as some sort of handle for him. It ripped through the
flimsy pink blanket and into the questionable sheets and Spike looked at it
in surprise. {{Great.... just bloody great..... *more* bills.}} Lucky he'd
filched a credit card from his last kill before dispatching his unwilling
accomplice. {{Stakin' yer own kind...}} He smiled, teeth shining. {{Nuthin'
to it... dunno what the minions get so scared about it. Stake 'em and move
on.... or fuck 'em an' move on...}}
Back to his sire. Who had to die. The person next door, bless her dear
little heart, had decided that silence was the best option. {{Good for
'er....}} Now. To the pressing issue of staking his sire.
And why he hadn't done it before. {{Had chances... had lotsa chances.
Buggered them up good an' proper, I did. Didn't stake 'im when I first saw
'im at the school... told 'im to bugger off instead.... Reckon that's when I
started ta go soft on 'im..... Hitting with that bloody crowbar, for fuck's
sake! Vinnie Jones woulda been proud, but it didn't exactly do us a lot 'o
good... shoulda staked the bastard.... shoulda staked 'im in LA. an'
all....}} He clutched the bottle as he staggered to his feet, his footsteps
slow, unsteady, swaying. The doorknob seemed unwilling to co-operate, so he
broke it off, tossing it down on the bed to roll between the ripped sheets.
{{Shoulda killed 'im when I 'ad the chance.... thought I tried, but I was a
bloody wanker about it....}}
He feel down stairs, narrowly avoiding staking himself in the process. Three
more flights of stairs, and then he was on the pavement, tasting rain and
dirt and piss on the 'welcome' mat of the hostel. {{Can't figure it out...
usually better than that...}} "*Was* better than that, lemme tell you!" He
assured a nearby stray that seemed unsure of whether it wanted to eat him or
run away. It settled for guarding its red post box - the nearest thing to a
fire hydrant for miles around - and sniffing at him threateningly. "I was
better than that... I bagged me two Slayers!" He waved three fingers at the
dog. It decided that he wasn't worth bothering with and went back to
exploring his new-found acquisition.
Spike snarled at it ineffectually for a while, then his gaze came to rest on
a windowless phone box. It had once been proud to wear the purple and black
regalia of a BT public phone box. Now, minus the windows dozens of hooligans
had kicked in and the council had grown tired of replacing, it looked a bit
like a death trap. Gum was stuck all over the flat ledge above the black
metal that was the actual phone. Pictures of semi-nude girls offering
'services' papered all available space. Spike discovered that if he leaned
against the bar of the right windowless frame, he could dial with minimum
discomfort. "Two Slayers!" He assured the dial tone before remembering that
he hadn't dialled yet.
Okay. Dial. Call who? Never mind. {{100 or 111?}} He tried both, and finally
got through to the operator. "Two Slayers!" he assured her.
She didn't sound the least bit nonplussed. "Sir, do you have a request?"
"Two Slayers! And me sire's a prick."
"Sir?"
{{Stupid bitch.....}} Why couldn't she follow? Call his sire. Tell him to
get stuffed, or to turn up and let him stuff him. {{Him stuff him? Who's
him?}} His head hurt. "Sire. Want to call sire. Head hurts." There. He'd
made it so simple, even a moron could follow it.
The operator sighed tolerantly. "And what is your - er, *sire's* phone
number?"
{{Number.}} That took some thought. Spike remembered Angel's mobile number -
sort of - but his home phone number remained a mystery. {{Not at home. At
*my* home.}} Which *was* Angel's home. Okay, one thing at a time.
Got mobile number. But not at home. No phone... stupid BT probably cut the
fucking thing off...." Yeah. {{Stupid BT. Wankers. Stupid bills....}} The
mansion wouldn't still have a phone there..... mobile it was. "Mobile
number? Reverse charges. The wanker can pay for the call."
"I'm afraid that we can't reverse charges to a mobile phone, sir," the
operator informed him primly, ever polite. "Are you sure that there is no
other number you'd like me connect you to? A relative, perhaps?"
{{Awww, sweet. Sweet sweets. Look at that phone manner training.... always
be polite to the soddin' customer, even when the wanker's pissed off 'is
head and rude as fuck....}} Spike thought for a while. "Got credit card." He
ventured after a while. A credit card would let him get connected somehow,
right?
"Okay," the operator said, relieved. Since it was plainly obvious that there
was no way for her caller to follow the instructions staring him in the face
about using a credit card to call someone, she took his details down and
finally connected the call.
"Thank you," Spike assured her, just before she disconnected and the 'bleep'
of a mobile phone began. {{Nice lady.... won't wear her head as a hat.
Maybe.}} "Pick up, yer Paddy. Bloody bog trotter...."
"Spike?"
Angelus. His bloody wanker of a sire had decided to call him! "Why's you
calling me, yer bloody knob? Irish bog trotter.... fucked up wanker...."
Spike's legs hurt. He'd pressed the stake into his thigh deep enough to
score a little, even through the denim material. Where had his bottle gone?
He couldn't remember. And his bloody wanker of a sire was calling him.
{{Couldn't leave well enough could ya....}} "Why's you calling me, yer
soddin' wanker?"
"Spike? Spike, why are you calling? Are you all right?" A pause, while Spike
thought this over.
What was he doing in a phone box? {{Callin' me sire, obviously.... shit, my
head hurts....}} "Huh?" He managed.
"Are you drunk?" Angel again, sounding rather accusative.
{{Like 'e's me bleedin' mum.... like 'e cares..... only wants ta kill me,
away from th' kiddies... 's okay, though, 'cuz I want the same soddin'
thing...}}
"Want ta kill ya," he informed Angel gravely, trying to figure out what time
it was. He'd been in that fucked up room for the entire day..... probably
most of the night. 'Twas possibly very very early morning..... "Want ta kill
ya and wear yer entrails as a necklace."
"Mutual, I'm sure," Angel replied dryly. In reality, he was nearly biting
his tongue off. Spike sounded more than drunk - depressed. Dejected. Why was
he calling? {{Because we didn't follow.}} It was obvious, wasn't it? The
typical temper tantrum. Storm out, and wait to see who follows.
But no one did.
{{And now, he's drinking himself into oblivion.... and it's nearly dawn.}}
It'd be a sunny day, that day. He had to get Spike inside. "Where do you
want to kill me, Spike?"
Silence. Spike thought this over. Where? What was up with this? Weirdness
going on, and his head was too fucked up for him to figure it out. He wanted
Angel *gone*, but he also wanted to see him, to hear an explanation, a
reason.... *something*. Why was he here?
"Spike?"
How long had he been silent? He had no idea. "Back home," he whispered after
a while, carefully propping himself up. "Want ta go back home and figure out
why I'm so fucked in the head...."
He chewed his lower lip. Silence from Angel at this. "Don't want th' kiddies
to see. They got me food. What 'ave you done with the kiddies, Angel?"
"They're asleep. I can leave them here; no one will bother them. I can come
to you, Spike." A pause, while Angel thought about what he'd just said. Turn
up to see his childe who was dead set on dusting him.... {{Stupid, stupid.}}
But he didn't have any choice. "Back home, William. Okay?" Yes. Back at the
mansion. Surely Spike would be able to make his way there?
Silence from Spike as he tried to still the pounding in his head. "'K. No
kiddies. Sleeping." More silence. {{Hate him.... why do I have to talk to
him? Why?}} "Why are ya here, sire? Why?"
Had he said that aloud?
"One hour," Angel said, softly. "I'll be there." Then he hung up.
Stumbling out of the phone box, Spike met the pavement headfirst and
wondered how on earth he was going to get back home for this confrontation.
{{Bleedin' tosser..... I can't cut off his dick if I can't find 'im, now,
can I.....}}
*****
"I'm going to see Spike," Angel informed the sleeping pair. Two heads nodded
sleepily at him and buried themselves under the covers. Angel sighed wearily
and shrugged his jacket back on, frowning at the neat hole in the back. He'd
have to get that looked at. {{On second thought....}} He *did* have another
jacket, that was almost identical. He put that one on instead. No sense in
looking like a mugging victim.
He let himself out and closed the door behind him gently, waiting for the
familiar //click!// of the lock.
He was not the only one listening for it. The moment Angel disappeared, a
red head popped up from under the covers it had been hiding under and glared
at the room blearily. A triple room, which meant three beds, a dressing
table, an en-suite bathroom... and not a whole lot of floor space. Willow
clambered out of bed, scrubbing at her eyes tiredly, and headed straight for
the bathroom - via Xander's bed.
Xander grunted as something warm and heavy hit his midsection and tried to
make him regurgitate his breakfast. Growling, he rolled over and curled
himself into a foetal position, depositing the said warm heavy thing on the
floor with a //thump!// "Willow," he muttered sleepily, "we're supposed to
sleep. Sleep. Sleep. 'Cuz that's more fun than death by exhaustion."
{{Sleep. Mmmm...... Sleep.}} "Shhhhhh!" Willow informed him and crawled to
the bathroom to splash water on her face. She emerged a few minutes later,
her eyes red from rubbing and her mouth twisted into a sleepy pout. "Up.
Okay, up, up to save the world...... or at least find stuff out," she told
the bundle that was Xander.
"Go 'way," the bundle said, annoyed, and tried to bury itself even farther
into the bedclothes. {{It's almost morning.... if we're supposed to hunt
creepy things during the night, can't we at least snooze during the day?}}
"Up, up. We got a *lot* of investigating to do...." She threw him a pair of
pants, frowning at the realisation that she'd left most of her stuff at
Angel's mansion. "Um. I forgot most of my stuff at Angel's. And I can't even
call him and ask him to bring it back...."
"'Cuz he might be carrying Spike back, too?" Xander definitely had images
*there*. {{Oh boy......}}
Willow thought about that pleasant image for a moment. {{Okay. Obviously
need more sleep. But we gotta be back before Angel gets back, because, well,
he won't be pleased at our going to skulk without him.... moving in on his
territory, as it were.}} "Up, up, up. We're off to skulk."
"Hate this job," Xander finally muttered, surrendering and pulling on his
trousers. "Most people my age have to worry about jobs, and possibly
girlfriends..... no, I haven't spoken to my girlfriend for, what, a week,
now? *And* she's an ex-demon. *And* we're here hunting demons that are
really just like care bears with fangs. *And* I don't get enough sleep!"
{{Slayer handbook,}} he thought snidely, yanking a t-shirt over his head,
{{what about a Slayerette handbook? Or possibly a severance package?!}}
They locked the door behind them.
*****
Willow pressed her hand against the peeling paint on the front door. The
combination lock next to the already-picked keyhole laughed back at her
scornfully.
"Will, we gotta book.... someone's gonna see!" Xander shifted from foot to
foot next to her and looked around nervously. Something about this wasn't
quite right.... {{Why aren't there any guards here? I mean, if this was the
Watcher's HQ, you'd think they'd have someone watching the place while
they're, um, away.....}} The notion that someone probably *was* watching the
Museum - and watching *them* at the same time - had just occurred to him,
and he wasn't very happy. The Museum looked freaky at night, all stone
pillars and marble steps. There wasn't a single window in sight. For some
reason, that freaked Xander out even more. {{Why wouldn't there be any
windows? Why wouldn't they want people looking in?}} He shivered. {{Okay, so
this was probably built like an ancient Stonehenge thing, but still, it's
freaky.}}
He prodded the scowling Willow. "Maybe we should go get Liz...." {{Yeah,
let's ask Liz to come and break into the Museum for us.....}} He berated
himself mentally. The vampire had already made it *very* clear that she
didn't want to be involved in this fight. Spike - sure, she'd help with
that. But the Watchers were none of her business. Still..... there was
something refreshingly honest about Liz, in this city where everybody had a
hidden agenda.
Willow glared at him before returning her attention to the lock. "Liz won't
help us," she said tonelessly, beyond exhaustion. While Xander had been
sleeping, she had been going over her plans silently, waiting for Angel to
go away. Liz had disappeared into the Home House bar and had been vague as
to when she'd return. She'd been waiting for Angel to fall asleep so she
could investigate the Museum. {{Because otherwise he'd say it's too
dangerous and 'ground' me,}} she thought, hitting her closed fist on the
concrete softly. {{Too dangerous, sure, like staying around at Home House
isn't.... vamps to the left of us, vamps to the right, and politicians in
the middle, and some might say that that's even worse! Okay, okay, let's not
be judgmental of other cultures,}} she took a mental breath and plunged on,
{{but are things like this in most European cities? *Very* strange!}}
Okay, so London wasn't quite the cultural centre of creativity that she'd
imagined. {{It's still a very interesting city, full of museums, and.....
vamps.}} She glared at the keypad. Trust the Watchers to move into the
twentieth century *now*..... {{Whatever happened to living in crypts? Oh,
right. Watchers live in houses, vamps live in crypts.}} She thought on this
some more. {{But, well, maybe they could be, like, *identifying* with
vampires. Know thy enemy!}} This established, she continued to gaze at the
inert keypad. {{Right. So, why aren't they living in crypts? And I think I
stopped making sense a while ago....}} The moon chose that opportune moment
to throw down the reflection of the corpse of a nearby tree across their
vision. {{Okay, okay, so the Museum's a big crypt. I get the point! It's big
and it's kinda stoney, so that figures..... now, if I was a combination lock
to the crypt of the Watchers Council HQ, what would I be?}}
"Will, time's a wastin', vamps approachin'," Xander hissed in her ear and
pulled a stake out. Vampires were not exactly approaching, but a policeman
could appear at any time, and how could you know that he wasn't a vamp?
{{Maybe he was bitten to, you know, infiltrate the police force....}} Xander
shook his head. {{Okay, enough of the making up of potential threats
already.....}} "Willow....."
"Yeah, okay, okay, I get it. Um, I'm gonna have to do a spell for this one,
I think...." She frowned and dug around in her bag. "I shoulda brought my
stuff with me; I left most of it at Angel's, and now I need it...." {{That
was rather silly of me.... distracted by Spike - mmmmm, Spike - and Xander -
mmmm, Xander - and Angel - mmmmm, must not think about Angel - on the floor
together - mmmm.... okay, someone is obviously at a very strange stage in
her cycle!}} She counted in her head silently. {{Okay..... yeah, fourteen
days. Great. Pick the time when I'm at my *most* um, horny, and send me off
with three fabulously attractive guys. Yeah, whose great idea was that?!}}
Right, back to the spell. Xander was staring at her with a not
inconsiderable amount of fear in his eyes. Willow pouted at him. "If you say
'Are you sure?' I'm going to turn you into a frog or something....." She
warned him, before pulling out some herbs from her bag.
Xander blinked at them tiredly. {{I trust Willow... I know she means well,
it's just that.... well, some of her spells tend to go a bit.... awry}} he
admitted. {{And we're both very tired.....}} "Is this a good idea?" He asked
instead, accompanying Willow to a nearby large shrub and sitting down out of
sight.
She sat down opposite him and placed a small bowl in front of them.
"Probably not. After all, my spells don't always work; I usually end up with
soup. Then again, it seems to be the only idea we have, since Angel has gone
off to probably be very nasty to Spike and we can't do much about that
without hurting one or both of them, and something strange is happening here
that may have repercussions which may destroy the world...." she took a
breath, "again!"
Xander scratched the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "When you put it that
way, suddenly I'm all for this plan......" {{Although, I *still* wish
Deadboy and Spike were here.....}} He finished in his head, a little
surprised to have ended up calling Spike by his chosen name, rather than a
moniker of Xander's choosing. {{Hmmmmm.... well, he's a lot nicer than
Deadboy, that's for sure. No chance of him turning evil on us...}}
Then his brain kicked in. {{Yeah, because he's already a bloodthirsty
killer! Jeez, what am I saying!}} He turned his attention to the bowl he was
sitting in front of.
Willow placed a small brown twig in the centre of the bowl, pouring a little
of her holy water over it. At Xander's raised eyebrow, she clarified. "It
doesn't matter that it's holy water. We just need.... water."
"Are we cooking?"
She ignored him, and added something..... long, green and stringy.
Celery.
{{Okay, we're cooking.}} "Why are we adding celery to the bowl? I thought we
were doing magicky stuff."
"Celery *is* magical. All things are. You just have to know how to use
them." Willow added a few drops of oil to the mixture and sat back, closing
her eyes. {{Calm thoughts. Thoughts - calm.}}
"But - celery? What on earth could you use it for? Are you *sure* about
this, Will?" Xander stared doubtfully at the little plateau. It somehow
didn't look terribly.... impressive.
Willow sighed and opened her eyes. "Celery's for mental and psychic powers."
Xander regarded the little green sprig thoughtfully. "I bow to your
knowledge, oh great salad accompaniment!"
"Xander, stop taunting the celery." Willow stilled herself, calming her
breathing. She laid her left hand, relaxed and open, over her knee, holding
the blue candle with her right. "Okay. I don't need you to say anything, but
just think.... happy and calm thoughts. Okay?"
"Right. Sure. Uh - just one question before we do the mojo thing?" Xander
raised his hand slightly in mock fear.
Willow glared at him. "What?"
"Well, I'm no expert on magic -"
Willow rolled her eyes.
"-but I wouldn't have thought that there'd be many spells about combination
locks in your magic books...." {{Unless there have been some serious
upgrades in the standard witch's manual!}} Xander thought, a trifle snidely.
He was still annoyed that everyone apart from him seemed to have an
instruction booklet on life.
"True," Willow said, lighting the candle. "But most witches write their own
spells, after a while. That's what I was doing last night, while you were
running with the bunnies in sleepyland," she said, a hint of a smile on her
face.
"Hey, sleepyland beckoned, and I answered the call, just as any soldier
would!" Xander protested, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to yawn.
{{This is gonna involve a fire, I guess.... great. We're going to be
arrested for being an environmental nuisance.....}}
"Mmmmm," Willow said, putting her lighter to one side and closing her eyes
again. "Okay, so I came up with my own spell - but I didn't have a lot of
time - or a lot of ingredients - so it's not exactly pretty." {{It works,
though.... I hope.}}
Xander opened his eyes hurriedly and looked at her in alarm. "Not pretty?
But - I want prettiness! Prettiness is good! It makes me happy!" {{An
untested spell. Great.....}} Okay, so he wasn't mad at Willow, because they
didn't really have a lot of choice. And it wasn't like she could phone Giles
up and ask for pointers.... she'd have had to do this on her own, and she
obviously wasn't too sure of herself. Which was sweet, in a way, but
also.... {{very dangerous. Of the bad. Of the bad.}} He gripped the small
pouch he kept in his coat pocket at all times. After Willow had created the
general protection pouches for him, Buffy and Cordelia, he'd asked her to
make him one slightly better smelling. Okay, so it might not work very well,
or ever be used, but it did wonders for his confidence.
"Xander....." Willow sighed. "We have to do this, okay? Just - think happy
calm thoughts. Think bunnies."
"Okay," Xander said nervously. {{It's almost day. When it's day, vampires
are asleep. That's good. Plus, Angel has gone off to find Spike. Spike will
hopefully beat the crap out of Deadboy and send him packing. God, what am I
*thinking*?! I shouldn't even be thinking about this. This isn't a happy or
calm thought.... actually, it *should* be, but it's not. Okay, *major*
strangeness is living here. *Major*. Idiot Jed, the glutton for punishment,
climbs to freedom. I haven't been this confused since I dated Cordelia...}}
{{Okay, I just thought about *guys* and *dating* in almost the same thought.
Obviously, something is very wrong - apart from the fact that I've had about
three hours of sleep in the four days that we've been here. But, no, I have
to go and turn into a male Buffy. I make friends with hot vamps. I think
strange thoughts about vamps I should be staking, and they don't even have a
soul!}} He thought about this some more. {{Then again, souls just make
people brood. I kinda liked Angelus, in a very twisted kind of way. At least
he was honest in his perversions. Deadboy just..... throws me. He can be
*that* passionate about love and goodness and stuff, and not passionate when
it comes to hate? Doesn't fly.}}
No, it didn't. But it *was* strangely calming - if not especially happy - to
finally see that he was right about *something*. {{Yeah, and it would have
to be about *that*.... Deadboy's got issues, and he's probably working them
out on Spike right now.}} That disturbed him, more than he thought it would.
Since when did he start to think of Spike as someone to protect? As one of
'them'? {{Liz got to me. That stupid, stupid talk, it got to me. I shouldn't
have listened..... I mean, come on. He's a killer!}}
He sighed. {{Yeah, keep thinking that. He's a killer, and so's Oz, but you
were friends with *him*.....}} And what about Buffy? She killed vampires
every night. *Every* night. {{Okay, so they're supposed to be pathetic
bloodsucking things, without souls, but..... Spike's one of them, and he
seems to be a *person*, rather than a thing. I mean, he has a favourite
*food* - apart from blood - and he watches daytime television.... he even
ran away when things got unbearable.}}
What, he was going to start feeling sorry for him now? {{He's just a
vampire. He'll be killed by one of us eventually. Tracked down when that
implant finally breaks, and then there'll be a stake to his heart, and he'll
be dust.....}}
Dust.
Something poked Xander's shoulder and he jumped, startled. {{Dust.}}
Willow glared at him. "I said *happy* thoughts," she hissed.
"Sorry," Xander mumbled, trying to concentrate. {{Um, happy thoughts. Anya
naked. Buffy naked. Um....}}
Willow nodded approvingly at the gradual ease of tension in Xander's face.
{{Okay, good. Now, um, summonings. And stuff.}} "It's pretty short, but no
interruptions, okay?"
Xander nodded. Willow inhaled slowly, holding the breath for a long while
before exhaling.
"Right and wrong, wrong and right
Give to me the blessed sight.
As time is one first till last,
Veils part to the past!"
She lowered the candle so that it was directly above the oil and water. A
little lower, so that it touched the oil, enflaming it.
.
And then -
##Dark hair, dark eyes, sneering as a snake coiled itself around his neck
and rested on his shoulder. Sneering, angry, uncaring, a crucifix in one
hand dripping blood as he walked up the steps and --##
##Anger fear confusion when he reaches the doors, blanketed in darkness. The
moon emerges to shine down and light him up with a luminance frightening and
vivid, and you have to gasp, because he's made of marble, the man is made
of --##
##Marble suddenly screams aloud as the door is opened - see his hand against
the black plate; watch the plate come alive as he caresses it as he, marble,
statue, would caress a lover - and the door is opened - all that's holy, the
door is opened and there's--##
##Blood on his hands on his neck and the snake is hissing, screaming as it
drowns in blood, shining red and inviting as it spills down, down the marble
steps, marble like himself. And his dark hair - his beautiful dark hair -
suddenly is as alive as the snake around his neck its grip tightening ever
tighter, because the snake was --##
##Dying, screaming, finally, both man and snake as the doors were opened and
the crimson flood washed them down the steps to leave them broken on the
floor. The hidden sun emerges, laughing, laughing, see the sun it's laughing
as they explode in dust and marble chips, cutting open throats as they
fly --##
##Out of the building emerges a new man, a strong man, strong, not scared,
marble-like statue, living stone - and he has a snake too, see his hair his
beautiful dark hair his hair is full of snakes watch the snakes move and
move away because the snakes are angry and angry snakes bite --##
##Little children are afraid of him, and his skin is so pale, not pale like
marble - not like marble, marble is beautiful and light and this is yellow
like curdled milk yellow, evil and bathed in the crimson flood as he throws
back his head and laughs, laughs and then the snakes laugh too, and darkness
falls again - watch the darkness fall and the snakes roam and --##
"Earth to Willow..... hello, Willow?" Xander waved a hand in front of her
face.
With a startled gasp, Willow came out of - of - {{whatever it was that I was
in,}} she thought, raising an unsteady hand to her face. Whatever it is she
had expected as a sending from the Goddess, it had *not* been *that*! {{That
looked like a - a premonition of some sort. And it wasn't good!}} She
thought this over. {{Well, obviously. Blood pouring down the steps of the
Museum? Uhuh.}} She quickly put out the small fire by pouring some dirt over
the bowl, then gathered up her equipment and quickly put it away in her bag.
All the while, Xander watched her, a suspicious and worried look on his
face. {{She's not telling me something... well, apart from what was up with
that freaky trance thing she just did...}} He stood with her, though, and
followed her to the Museum silently, watching her punch in the numbers like
a woman possessed and not saying anything. {{Will?}}
Finally, green eyes turned to him and stared blankly. "I saw it," Willow
said by way of explanation as she pushed the door open. "Something - bad -
was - maybe still *is* happening in there. At the Council HQ." {{Am I meant
to be scared?}} She wondered numbly. Visions were one thing. Suddenly things
had reordered themselves in her mind. She hadn't been scared when the blood
swept past her and spilled down the steps. No, not scared, just....
{{Curious. Is this what Buffy's visions are like?}} But Buffy had
precognitive visions, and this wasn't....
No. It wasn't a vision. It was - an image, abstract art of whatever was
inside the Museum. Whatever was happening there. {{What was the Council
doing?}} What were they doing that would make the Goddess give her that
image of blood? {{How strong would the evil have to be to create a
*vision*?}} She knew of people with visions; Doyle had spoken of visions, Oz
had said, right? Doyle. But Doyle was a messenger from The Powers That Be.
Willow was just an ordinary girl. {{That's a witch. Okay, I grant you,
that's stretching the definition a bit, but still....}}
Still. She wasn't - she couldn't *do* anything. And neither could Xander.
She glanced up at him, his pale face hidden by the shadows. No, he was as
helpless as she. And now..... now the Museum really *did* feel like a crypt.
"Xander...." She half-whispered, clutching to his sleeve in an unconsciously
protective gesture.
"Mmmmm?" Xander shone a torch down the corridor, searching for the signs.
The light reflected off several glass cases, effectively shielding them from
sight, until it eventually illuminated the far corners of the room. There,
right at the top of the wall, just before you rounded a corner, were several
small plaques. "Stairs for the first floor - on the right." Okay. On the
right, he could do that. Past the vases - horrible pink and green things,
probably out of the Victorian era as well - {{is everything in this country
a hundred years old?!}} - and around the glass case that housed something
that looked suspiciously like a chamber pot. "Yeah, Will?"
"This doesn't feel so good....." Willow swallowed hard as she saw the vases.
Victorian, yes.... one hundred and fifty years old, showing the Queen's
soldiers on their 'mission' to India. It wasn't a nice painting. {{Who would
want this in their living room?}} It was worse than the Shumash spirit
they'd had to deal with a few months ago. At least the spirit had had the
good grace to be a murdering avenging demon...... whereas this was just
china.
"Yeah, I know what you mean...." They'd reached the stairs - horrible, steep
things, with just the brass rail running up along them to help you up.
"Those hot dogs weren't enough.... and were probably a bit off, to be
frank."
Willow shook her head. "No, I don't mean about the food. I mean....." First
floor. A mummy greeted them with piercing emerald eyes. Xander jumped half
out of his skin. "Oh! It's a photograph....." {{Not real, not real....}}
Xander swallowed weakly. "Right." {{Not real.... not Ampata.}} "And - what
else feels wrong?" {{'Cuz I am *way* into this, and simply cannot wait for
the next problem to present itself. Man, if this were a book, they'd be
lynching the author right about now! Talk about clichéd hack writing!}} He
moved past the photograph embedded in glass. {{A mummy. Man.}}
"Oh, you know.... just.... general oogy things. Um, photographs of mummies,
breaking and entering... visions of blood and eternal torment...." Okay, top
floor. And..... no lock. How strange.....
"Uh, finals are still a way off, Will...." Xander grunted and pushed the
door open. {{Wonder why it's not locked, if it's in private hands?}} He
shrugged. {{Oh, well. Their loss is our convenient gain...}}
Inside..... dust.
A blackboard, with a strange diagram on it - several triangles, all
overlapping. One of the points on the largest triangle was circled
vehemently. Willow immediately headed for the blackboard, ignoring the piles
of books laying about. {{Piles of books?}} Xander thought, puzzled. {{It's
not like neatness freaks like Watchers to leave their books out..... maybe
they were seized while studying?}} It was plausible. But if the police still
thought that a crime had been committed, why were the books still here?
Wouldn't they be... {{evidence? And - where's the police tape?}}
No tape. Xander spun around suddenly, racing back for the door. No tape
across it. No lock. Nothing. "Shit!"
"Xander?" Willow didn't even turn from the diagram. It looked so familiar -
five points, like a skewed pentagon - with strange names on it - {{Gaelic?}}
A straight line, from Llandin, down past Penton to something called the
White Mound.... It was the White Mound that was circled so strongly. Willow
squinted at it. The positioning looked *so* familiar - but...... {{No. I
can't place it.}} She sighed, taking a step backwards, squinting. {{I don't
remember it, it just looks...... familiar. Then again, it's a *diagram*.
Maybe I remember it from first grade math class......}} "What's wrong?"
No tape. {{Oh shit oh shit oh shit....}} No police marks of *any* sort left
behind, nothing, nothing..... "Willow," Xander hissed, turning around,
suddenly panic stricken. "We gotta book! Something's definitely not right
here!" Willow seemed engrossed in the stupid diagram on the blackboard.
Xander marched up to her, grabbing her arm roughly and spinning her around.
"Xander!"
"We've got to *leave*!" He hissed in a forced whisper. His eyes had started
to shine, his mouth twisting in a rictus of fear. "Blood and eternal
torment, remember? Where's the police tape??? This is supposed to be a crime
scene! Where --" he gestured wildly at the books spilled over the various
study tables making up the central core of the room. "Why are all these
books out? Why is there stuff still on that blackboard - and wasn't this
just a *little* too easy to break into?!"
{{Easy?! I survive a burst of blood sweeping down the steps of the Museum,
and that's *easy*?!}} Willow scowled. {{Okay. So it was just a vision. But
visions are strong, and sometimes painful, and......}} Her face paled.
{{Goddess....... help.}} "Xander," she whispered slowly, her voice quivering
slightly. "Turn around."
Xander had already felt - something. Something itching, scratching, howling
behind him. He turned, as if in slow motion, to see the vampires standing
between the two humans and the door.
Silence.
"So," one of the vamps started - Xander immediately nicknamed him 'Big and
Ugly'. All the men - and they were all men - were still in their human
faces, and looked respectable enough. Professors perhaps. Researchers. But
anyone touched by magic could tell that the delicate air of menace that hung
about them like a cloak was not just for show. Their eyes were too bright,
their skin too smooth and perfect. Their teeth were too brilliantly white in
the almost total darkness of the room. Somehow, Xander had managed to switch
his torch off.
{{Just as well.....}} He thought numbly, swallowing. {{Okay. Best case
scenario - they kill us straight off. Or - or, they use us as bait to get
Deadboy. At which point..... }} He closed his eyes. {{We're screwed.}}
Willow pushed to the front. "Uh.... w-what do you want?" She asked, tipping
her head inquisitively, a shower of red hair flying about her.
{{Boy, for someone with short hair, she can *flick* it.....}}
Indeed, despite her insistence that she wasn't one for flirting or.... well,
the whole 'dating' thing (except for Oz, of course), Willow seemed to have a
certain panache in the way she carried herself..... around vampires, in any
case. Her head was carefully kept centred, so as not to show any tantalising
flashes of jugular, her whole body seeming to be that of a doll - an
abandoned puppet, with it's string cut. Usually quite jerky and energetic,
her actions suddenly acquired the fluidity present only in falling....
{{Yeah, Will, let's emphasise our *not* worthiness.... maybe they've already
fed....}} It was worth a shot in any case.
The vampires continued to survey them carefully, as if undressing them
mentally. Xander shivered. Or was that dissecting?
"Hmmm.... now, we *could* kill you, but that would be..... messy." Big and
Ugly decided.
Xander suddenly decided that he *really* liked Big and Ugly.
Willow didn't. "What are you doing here?" {{Okay, direct, straight to the
point, and if they kill us, well, at least we got to ask our questions on
the off chance that Angel followed us and is listening at this very
moment....}} She swallowed dryly. That suddenly didn't seem very likely.
Big and Ugly smiled. "Well, those Council wankers aren't using this lovely
research room for anything, so we thought to have a look....."
Xander grabbed Willow's wrist, keeping the witch from reacting to this. The
only thing you *could* do is scream defiantly and attack.... {{and get your
neck broken. So, no heroism for Willow today....}} "Where are the Council
members?" {{Yeah, like they'd answer....}}
Big and Ugly nodded to someone just behind Xander. "Stick them in the Museum
vault. We can re-air them every few hours." He smiled, showing a flash of
teeth. "And the Watchers were.... bailed out. We can't have such prominent
professors in the *clink*, now, can we?" His smile got wider. "Guess what
happened after that."
This time, Xander's hand didn't do much good. Willow fist connected with Big
and Ugly's jaw, snapping it to one side cleanly, her voice high in a furious
shriek. "You murdering --!" She choked on the words, unable to come up a
strong enough expletive. {{Visions of blood down the steps - they killed
them! They killed the Watchers' Council!}} She hadn't known them, so she
couldn't really mourn them. But the Watchers' Council had been something
besides a group of people somewhere far away in her world - they'd been the
cavalry. The backbone behind the whole 'Slayer' concept. The home ground of
the 'good' team. And their deaths was - unthinkable.
Unthinkable. {{Oh God.... if they can kill the Council, no one's safe!}}
The vampire said nothing for a second, simply smiling at her as if he could
read her thoughts. No doubt he could smell the fear on her. He reached a
hand out, carefully turning Willow's chin to get a good look at her jugular.
Xander bolted involuntarily at this, and was forcibly restrained by one of
the other goons.
{{Beautiful....}} The head vampire licked his lips and sighed. {{But not for
me.}} "Take them away."
*****
"Um, Willow? I hate to sound, you know, assuming or anything of Wiccas or
stuff, but... couldn't you just fly us out of here?"
Silence.
"Willow?"
"We have handcuffs on, Xander. I'm not Houdini."
"Well, couldn't you just.... you know, pick the lock with that very
attractive brain of yours? I'm only asking because we're in a vault with
limited air with vampires awaiting the order to *kill* us....."
"The handcuffs are iron. Iron halts the power of witches. Watch the thought
bubbles form: iron equals no power. Nothing to make spell with, anyway."
"You don't have to be rude about it. I don't know what happened during that
spell of yours, Willow, but it's made someone here *very* cranky." Pause.
"And - really? Not a huge great spell but just - iron?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
Silence.
"I guess this is the bit where I start to hope that Deadboy followed us,
right?"
*****
They took Harmony down first. That was the main impression Cordelia took
away with her from the fight. Bruised, wounded, limping, the two girls made
their way to a shallow bunker and collapsed, exhausted. And all the while,
that one thought kept repeating itself in Cordelia's mind. {{They went for
Harmony first.}}
And it wasn't because the vampiress was any more a threat than the
well-armed human girl who obviously knew a thing or two about martial arts.
Harmony didn't *look* like much of a threat, and there certainly weren't any
hidden talents lurking beneath her too glossy (although currently slightly
ragged) surface. {{Why did they go for Harmony first?}}
She lowered the nearly dead {{again}} vampire onto the sand and collapsed
next to her, tucking her legs up over her stomach. Harmony glanced at her
tiredly.
"What in the world are you doing, Cordy? Those things are dead. You can't
impress them with your butt anymore...." She ran a hand through her hair
wearily, choking when the hand came away with a tangle of matted blood and
torn hair. "Oh God...."
"Don't worry Harm, I'm sure no one will notice. It's not much worse than
your usual look anyway...." Cordelia closed her eyes and slowly, carefully,
extended one leg into the air at a perfect 90 degree angle to the floor.
"And in case you didn't notice, some of us have a pulse."
"So? And - *I'll* notice!!!!!" The blonde vampiress tried ineffectually to
stick the tangle of hair back onto her head, completely ignoring the gash
that cut across the top of her skull. Her fingers encountered something
warm, sticky and ragged. "Eeeeeewwwwww!"
"You won't notice, Harmony, you can't see yourself in the mirror - wish
you'd extend that courtesy to the rest of us, though. And having a pulse
means you tend to lose blood if you get cut....." Cordelia gestured towards
the un-bandaged wound on her ankle, still bleeding profusely. "The wound
needs to be elevated to stop the bleeding..... and for crying out loud,
would you stop playing with that! *Skin* is hanging off! It's.... it's.....
*gross*!" She ran out of breath and let her head drop back onto the wet
sand, sighing in pain as she felt the feeling return to her hipbone - and
drain away from her ankle. Somehow, she was going to have to persuade
Harmony to help her home. {{Great. This isn't exactly on my list of best
days ever, God! There better be a very naked Joseph Fiennes waiting for me
in my bed when we get back to Giles'.....}}
She opened on eye and fixed it on Harmony, who'd managed to sit up and was
glaring at the empty air surrounding them threateningly. "Give it a rest,
Harm. We killed them - no, wait, *I* killed them. You, big bad vampiress
that you are, were too busy hiding...." Her ankle throbbed angrily, dripping
blood down her black Capri pants. "Ah..... can you put something under my
leg to prop it up for a little while?"
"I should just let you bleed to death.... or, better yet, have a snack,"
Harmony muttered, yanking off what was left of her jacket (which was not a
whole lot) and rolling it into a ball. She thought for a moment, then ripped
off a sleeve and tied it firmly around Cordelia's weeping ankle, stopping
the flow of blood as best she could.
"Why, Harm, I didn't know you cared," Cordelia murmured, drowsy. Her head
felt fuzzy. "You turning all Willow-y on me now?"
"You really do have a death wish, don't you Cordelia," Harmony hissed,
falling back down on the sand beside the brunette. Blood gleamed wetly on
her blonde hair in the moonlight. "I need you - you and those loser friends
of yours. If I didn't, I'd be feeding. But you guys obviously know what
you're doing when it comes to disgusting creatures of the night -"
"A label which covers you as well, Harm, though I wouldn't have been quite
so harsh..... " she paused for a moment, a ghost of a smile surfacing. "No,
actually, I would have. Carry on."
"Ha bloody ha," Harmony said, frowning. Her head throbbed; she'd figured out
that she had a head wound of some sort by the fact that claws had been
trying to carve her new eye sockets a few minutes ago. If it hadn't been for
Cordelia's timely help - in the form of a well-aimed bolt from an absolutely
tiny crossbow, followed by some truly spectacular kickings of demon ass -
Harmony would have been found in pieces {{or pieces of ash... or whatever}}
a few days later.
{{God, she's starting to sound like him, now.... what is with Spike that has
everyone in such a tizzy?}} Cordelia rooted around in her bag - despite her
injuries, she'd remembered to pick up her bag as the pair had fled -
{{Gucci!}} - and found her water bottle. She brought it to her trembling
lips and took a hasty gulp, managing to spill most of it down her throat.
Oh, well. At least it would wash some of the blood off. "Harmony," she
managed after a few shaky breaths. "We need to get to the car. I'm
freezing."
"So?" Harmony frowned, tenderly poking at the ragged *stuff* on the left
hand side of her head. Definitely torn skin, with the hair hanging off the
end.... God only knew how long it would take for this to heal.... she was
going to have to be holed up in some crummy apartment while her looks
returned.... just great.
"It isn't that cold.... it means I'm probably going into shock. And I'm
losing blood. I have no wish to be dead before we save the world and get a
day off as a reward - or even half a day off. We need to get to Giles' and
tell him about the demon thingy...."
"He was a new vampire," Harmony supplied, finding out that a small patch of
skin was attached on only one side, flapping like a small hatch if she
didn't tip her head to the right. "And it's going to take me forever to
heal!"
"Doesn't it hurt at all?" Cordelia asked finally, fascinated. Harmony looked
a state. There were the claw marks through her scalp, ripping skin and hair
and possibly even cutting into her skull - {{not that anyone would notice if
her brain got hit,}} Cordelia thought, smiling inwardly - but those were
just the injuries on her head. Her neck had deep claw marks etched into as
well, where 'the baby vamp', as Harmony had called him, had tried to remove
her throat. The rest of her body was relatively unscathed - which was more
than could be said for Cordelia.
The 'baby' vamp had appeared out of nowhere, slamming into Harmony from
behind and taking her down in one feel swoop. The weak vampiress hadn't
stood a chance as preternatural claws - {{mental note: claws, *not* hands
with long fingers, but horrible bird-like claw thingies}} - had tried to
grab her hair and remove her head with it. Cordelia had chosen that moment
to grab *his* hair and yank his head back, sticking a well-aimed knife in
his neck and fumbling for her crossbow. The vamp had thrown her to one side
like a puppet with all it's strings cut; Cordelia had hit a nearby rock and
felt a dull flash of pain as something hot hit her ankle. Later on, she had
registered it as blood: a sharp piece of the rock had torn her ankle open,
coating her sandals a bright shade of red.
In any case, she'd dispatched the vamp quickly enough, getting him with the
bolt from the crossbow and following through with a flung stake. Easy
enough.... {{Still, he nearly killed us both,}} she thought to herself
reproachfully. {{Angel taught me better than that....}} He had. He'd taught
her to fire the crossbow *before* getting embroiled in a fight, because
later on she might not be able to fire it.
He'd taught her to look behind her before getting involved in a fight - and
if she had, she would have noticed the three other demons - because they
certainly weren't vamps - making their way here. Instead, she'd turned and
had barely had enough time to fire the flare gun into the face of the
worst-looking one of the lot (taking his head off, which was a pretty
standard way of dispatching demons. It didn't work against all, but most.)
before the other two were on her.
"It stings a bit. Not really bad, though." Harmony got to her feet shakily.
"Come on, then...."
Cordelia moaned softly as Harmony lifted her up onto her shoulders and
started dragging her painfully towards the car they had left parked a block
and a half down from here. {{Careful, Harm, I'm not dead yet....}} Cordelia
thought, but forgot to say. Her head throbbed, and when she put a hand up to
it to investigate, she, too, encountered something wet and sticky. Congealed
blood. Hopefully not hers, but you could never be sure. {{Harm, for crying
out loud, be careful!}} And Harmony still didn't seem to hear her. Cordelia
gritted her teeth. "Harmony, for the third time, watch what you're doing! I
do *not* have a desire to end with a severe oral fixation!"
"Oh, don't worry Miss Personality, I wouldn't turn you if you paid me -
though how you'd manage that, I have no idea," Harmony answered snidely as
they made their slow and torturous way onto the road. They could see the
grey Citroen - Giles' run-down car had been commandeered for the scouting
expedition - off in the distance. *Far* away in the distance. "I don't like
you now; and I can't see myself liking you several hundred years down the
line." She looked down at Cordelia's feet, who, truth be told, were not
doing much walking. With a definite snarl of annoyance, Harmony swung her
former friend up into her arms in the traditional 'rescue a fainted damsel
in distress' pose.
Cordelia, startled, could only look up into Harmony's suddenly ridged face
in surprise. "Uh...... what do you think you're doing?" She inquired after a
slight pause. {{I don't *like* Harmony, but.... damnit, we need her. A 'baby
vamp'? What the hell is a 'baby vamp'? It didn't look much like toddler to
me....}}
"Saving your over-made-up hide, of course. I'm not going to get many Brownie
points with your loser friends if I leave you out here to rot -" a toothy
smile emerged - "or snacked along the way."
{{Okay, so she *has* changed,}} Cordelia though, dazed. {{*Definitely* for
the worse. What's with the whole 'grrrr' thing, for starters? She doesn't
look very scary, just..... chewy. Yeah. Like some giant dog has chewed her
up and made a mess of her and stuff, and now she's trying to be scary.....
Oh God, I think I have a concussion..... Angel's gonna kill me!}}
It took them fifteen minutes to get to the car. Fifteen minutes of Harmony,
her pink top in tatters, her face healing *so* slowly any change was
unnoticeable, carrying Cordelia. For Cordelia, those were the longest
fifteen minutes on Earth. {{I have *never* been this humiliated.... okay,
maybe that time my family lost all their money and I ended up working in a
shop to pay for my prom dress that *Xander* ended up paying for anyway is
worse - but, God, this is close! I must look a state; God only knows who
might drive past and see me like this!}}
"Gross," Cordelia muttered as Harmony dumped her in the passenger seat.
"Harmony, you're losing skin and stuff. It's.... gross."
"You don't look much like your old May Queen self anymore either, Cordy, so
shut up before I eat you." She rifled around in the back of the car and came
up triumphantly with a blanket. "Tell me again why you don't have a cell
phone anymore?"
{{Eat me? Ewwww. Why did brain think such thought? Ewwww.}} "The Devil's
work. Like pink chalk, or so Doyle informed me," Cordelia said drowsily. Her
eyelids were heavy - but she wasn't going to sleep. {{Sleep is bad. Sleep is
especially bad if you have a concussion. Okay, it's unlikely I have a
concussion, but best not risk it. Sleep is of the bad. No sleep.}}
Harmony raised an eyebrow at this. {{Doyle? *Again*? She won't shut up about
this guy.... and she gave up her cell phone for him? Must be really
something...}} "The Devil's work, huh? I must mention it to Aura.... no,
wait," Harmony smirked, "I ate Aura. Okay, I'll find someone else to mention
it to." She sat down in the driver's seat and started up the car noisily.
"Do we have to drive this thing? It *reeks*. Even my mother didn't have this
bad a geek-machine...."
"Drive, or walk, I don't much care. Maybe those 'baby vamps' will come back
and squish you, and save us the trouble...."
"Gee, thanks ever so much. Feel the love in the car!" Harmony moved into
second gear and swerved sharply in a sloppy U-turn. Eventually, she
'persuaded' the battered car to do as it was told. Settling back - and
finally starting to feel the pain in her numbed joints - she glanced at the
almost-asleep Cordelia scooped up next to her. {{Great.... fall asleep, die,
and then I gotta explain things to Mr Giles..... thanks ever so much Cordy!
Talk about selfish!}} She prodded the dark-haired girl with an elbow. "Wake
up. Tell me about this Doyle of yours...."
"He's not mine," Cordelia murmured sleepily. She sat up a bit, wincing as
she pulled up her injured leg to brace against the dashboard. "He.....
ah..... well," she smiled, "dark hair, beautiful blue eyes, and this amazing
smile.... oh, yeah, Irish. The most delicious accent you have ever come
across."
"That great, huh? Maybe I should meet this Doyle..." Harmony smiled coyly.
{{Watch the fireworks.... a sheep, am I? I'll show you 'sheep'! I've never
been a sheep in my entire life! You want this Doyle guy? I can want him
too!}}
Cordelia tried to laugh and ended up hiccuping instead. "Not your type,
Harm. Nice guy, for starters. Plus - uh, half-demon thingy. Not," she
gestured, "not *thingy*, thingy*, but all half-demon, and that's the
thingy."
"Ewwwwww!" Harmony made a face at her. {{A half-demon thingy? What is it,
half green?!}} "Half demon? That's just *gross*!"
Cordelia opened one eye to glare at her. "Don't pick on Doyle! Jeez, just
because your inferiority complex is kicking in...."
Harmony stared at her, dumbfounded. "I do *not* have an inferiority
complex!"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, Harm."
They 'discussed' Harmony's inferiority complex for the rest of the way -
much to Harmony's chagrin.
*****
"Well, why don't you just tell him you're busy? I fail to see the need for
making up a complex cover story...." Giles glanced up from his drink at
Buffy, who was curled up on his sofa in one of the most forlorn positions
known to man. "I mean, I understand that he might be a little suspicious,
but surely if he has grown up here, he would have become adept at
denial...." {{More than just a river in Egypt, here in Sunnydale,}} Giles
thought, and was instantly abashed for that thought. {{I'm becoming more
Americanised by the day....}} He glared at the book open in front of him.
{{And still nothing on this 'Pausanias' fellow! Angel is *not* going to be
happy if we can't find anything.... Not that that will make the blindest bit
of difference, of course, but still, it's nice to be prepared...}}
Buffy pouted at him, playing with a strand of her hair. {{Look at him....
immersed in a book. Again. Nice to know that *some* things don't
change....}} "Yeah, but Riley's different from, say Owen or Scott...." {{For
one thing, he's a lot more persistent!}} "I don't know.... maybe it's this
whole Initiative thing freaking me out again..... despite everything, they
still give me this really oogy feeling." She wound the strand of hair around
a pencil, desperately trying to create a ringlet with sheer will power.
Giles looked at her, surprised. "The Initiative? What on Earth does the
Initiative have to do with Riley? I mean - are there any more surprises
you'd like to announce?" {{For one thing, why haven't I heard about this
Riley person before now???}}
Buffy gave up on the ringlet idea, getting up to get herself a glass of
orange juice. She poured herself a glass in the kitchenette, returning with
an orange moustache. "Oh, you know.... it's like, if I date him, then I'm
dating the Initiative as well. I mean - Professor Walsh! Ewwww! I *knew*
there was a reason I didn't like her!" She licked her lips, eating the
remaining moustache.
Giles carefully closed the book he had been staring blindly at, and removed
his glasses. "Is this Riley character actually *in* the Initiative, then?"
Buffy looked at him, puzzled. "Of course. I mean, I told you that!" At
Giles' stony look, her voice grew smaller. "I *didn't* tell you that?"
"No. Excuse me for a moment, I'm just going to glare." Giles put his glasses
back on. {{Of *course* she didn't tell me; she's too busy running around
with one of their lackeys.... let's all ignore the disaster with Parker and
the residual hurt over Angel....}} Which, to be fair, he was still fairly
puzzled over. As far as he could see, Buffy seemed a lot more angry with
*Cordelia*, than anyone else. And that, he couldn't understand. {{It's not
like Cordelia has done anything to her.... apart from spend time with Angel
that is.}} He frowned inwardly. {{Is this what this is all about? That
Cordelia is living in LA. with Angel?}}
"Eeeeek. Behold my mortification." {{Big word......}}
{{Big word,}} Giles thought at exactly the same moment, and bit his tongue
at the traitorous thought. {{Damnit. She's not stupid, she just doesn't have
as much to devote to academic subjects as I'd like. Or, in other words,}} he
took a sip from his cup of coffee - a rare concession on his part - and
grimaced, {{she does whatever she pleases and nothing less. Wasn't there
some sort of guideline I was meant to receive along with Slayer Handbook?
How to keep teenage girls away from the road to ruin?}} The added problem
that the said teenager was not in any sense his daughter, ward or charge was
not exactly helping. {{Behold *my* mortification. Hormones on parade...}} He
set the cup of coffee down, resolving to never have any more caffeine -
{{unless it's tea-based}} - ever again.
Buffy just continued to blink at him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
{{Okay, he's not exactly happy with me.... which, to be fair, I'd understand
if I was him. Except, obviously, I'd wear more colour and.... okay, track
change. I need more coffee.....}}
The front door chose that particular moment to be shoved open. Buffy was on
her feet in an instant, dropping into a fighting crouch.
Harmony stumbled into the living room, carrying a badly beaten Cordelia.
Indeed, the vampiress had seen better days herself, obviously. {{Ewwwwwwww!
Increased oogyness, and *not* in a good way!}} From Cordelia's open ankle to
Harmony's slowly healing head wound, it was obvious that the two girls had
encountered some trouble.
This, of course, did not mean that they were staying silent.
"And anyway, I don't think it's any of your business!" Cordelia said,
wincing as Harmony dumped her on the couch. Giles was at her side
immediately, a hand pressed against her forehead.
"What happened?" Buffy asked, sitting down next to Cordelia and pulling
Cordelia's feet onto her lap. "Harmony, get me Giles' first aid kit. It
should be in the kitchen." She prodded the wound gingerly, stealing a quick
look at Cordelia who had very pointedly *not* screamed in pain. "Do you feel
this?" She prodded again. At Cordelia's shake of her head, Buffy sighed.
"Great. Just.... perfect."
"What's wrong with her ankle, Buffy? No, it's just underneath the sink,
right at the back of the cupboard.... Cordelia, *what* happened?" Giles
brushed back a strand of dark hair falling across Cordelia's brow. The May
Queen just frowned and shook her head.
"We met a few of the 'baby vamps', is what happened, Mr Giles. And, let me
tell you," Harmony appeared in the door, first aid kit in hand, "they looked
just as gross as I thought they were going to be!" She tossed the kit to
Buffy, who set about bandaging Cordelia's ankle. Thankfully, the bleeding
had all but stopped, but you could never be sure.
"'Baby vamps'?" Giles looked at her, startled. {{Obviously, that blow to the
head did some damage...}} "What happened, Harmony. From the beginning."
"We were attacked," Harmony startled off, gingerly lowering herself into a
nearby armchair.
Cordelia opened one eye immediately. "Correction, *she* was attacked. *I*
was the one who saved us!" She glared at Harmony, who happily glared back.
"I'm telling you, it was freaky! These things - I mean, they were obviously
vamps of some sort 'cause they tried to bite me - and only vamps do that,
right? Don't tell me if other demons do that because I'd really rather die
in blissful ignorance - but they weren't *proper* vamps. I mean, they were
stronger, for starters. And why would they attack *Harmony* - apart from
good taste?"
"Oh, that hurt, Cordelia. See me bleed with grief at the realisation that
you don't like me..." Harmony mimed a heart attack. Buffy glared at her.
"Harmony. Go stick that skin back down.... it's gross." She turned her
attention to Cordelia. "So, they attacked you? What did they look like, how
many were there and how did you get away?"
"What do I look like, Memory Girl?" Cordelia rolled her eyes. {{Yeah, Cordy,
and what were they wearing, did they have nice eyes and oh! Is the ice cream
seller still at the beach?}} "They were ugly. Kind of like - ubervamps. Only
much grosser. And I killed them all to get away."
Buffy looked at her sceptically. {{Yeah, right.... she killed them all......
in between having a fit because she broke a nail, obviously....}}
"Yes - ah, Buffy, Cordelia's training has progressed in leaps and bounds, it
would seem.... she's more than able to take care of herself," Giles said,
checking Cordelia's eyesight and throat. {{Current appearances
notwithstanding! Okay, good, her eyes are fine.... no obvious head injury,
then. And she hasn't been bitten.... no obvious loss of blood, just bruises
and perhaps a break if we're unlucky... ah.}} Her skin was cold and clammy
under his touch. {{Great. Shock.}}
"She's in shock," Harmony supplied at this point, eliciting a glare from
Giles. What were they all going to wait until he knew what was going on, and
*then* volunteer the information?!
"Is she?" He asked thinly. "You don't say."
Harmony glared at him. {{Oh, shut up. I go to all the trouble of keeping her
alive, and this is the thanks I get....}} "Yes. She is," she said pointedly,
crossing her arms across her chest. "I kept her warm and made sure she
stayed awake. That was all I knew I had to do about shock and stuff like
that."
"Ah." Grudgingly, Giles offered Harmony a smile. "Thank you."
"Hello? Can we get back to *my* pain, here?" Cordelia said weakly, scowling
at her former friend. Buffy scowled at everyone else, feeling more than a
little ignored herself.
"Yeah, fine. You go baby Miss Chatterbox. I'm going to go take a shower...."
Harmony stood slowly, stretching carefully to make sure that everything
still worked. She shifted into game face, as {{it'll make me heal quicker.
It's not like I need to impress anyone here, anyway....}}
Cordelia giggled. "Ewwww. Game faces are *so* not in, Harm. "
Harmony smiled coquettishly. "Like *you* can judge.... you're all gaga over
a half demon guy.... talk about gross!"
Buffy blinked at them. {{Huh? Half demony? Who would Cordelia know that's
half demon?}} "Who's half demon?" She demanded.
"Doyle," Harmony said through clenched teeth. {{I've had almost all I can
take here..... I'm starting to think that a nice stake somewhere pretty
might not be quite so bad after all!}} "Half demon. And extremely heightened
creep factor because of it."
Cordelia opened one eye to glare at her. {{She's one to talk! All fangy and
grrrrr!}} "Oh, get of your high-horse, Harm! I mean, it's not like you've
ever been *picky* about who you went with - I'm not being bitchy or
anything, "she smiled, licking her lips, "but you'd spread you legs for any
scabby guy who paid you a compliment!" At Harmony's outraged gasp,
Cordelia's smile got wider. "And, come on, you're one to talk about Doyle -
*you're* *full* demon, and --"
Harmony took this as her cue. "Hey, where do you get off calling me easy!
I'm not! And...." She retreated to the door slowly, glancing up the stairs.
{{There is a shower with hot water in there beckoning me...}}
"Actually, Harmony *isn't* a full demon," Giles interjected. {{Not severe
shock..... keep her warm and looked after, and she'll be fine. Not sure what
we should be doing about that ankle, though.}} He started to pack away the
first aid kit. "She's only half demon herself - all vampires are. Human
blood runs through their --"
That was as far as he got. Cordelia's face was deathly white. "What?" She
asked weakly, growing paler by the second. "Oh God..." {{Oh God, don't let
it be that, please, anything but that....}}
"What?" Buffy frowned at her. {{Intuition at work..... feel the effort to
form a thought, there. Okay, okay, bitch mode off.}} "What is it?"
"Half demon? But - the vampires that attacked Harmony - they *weren't* half
human! When I cut one, it bled *blue* blood, not red!" Cordelia chewed on
her lower lip. {{Not fair, not fair not fair!!!! We did this once, and it
was *so* painful, and I don't want to do this again! Do you hear me God? I'm
not going to do this again!}}
Giles was cleaning his glasses - his replacement pair had arrived in the
afternoon post, shortly after he had sent Cordelia and Harmony out. A
decision he was now seriously regretting. {{I thought that the good guys
were exempt from near-fatal mistakes?}} "Have you come across something like
this before, Cordelia?"
"I-I think so. Maybe. Kinda. I mean, Angel did most of the coming across
part, I just sorta helped out....." She closed her eyes. {{Not fair God! Not
fair! First you take my life away from me - everything I've known and grown
up with - and okay, maybe it was to teach me humility or some other stuff
that I'm not fond of, but this second time was no excuse! You shouldn't have
taken him away, and no, I'm *not* happy about having to do all this again!
Jeez, are you running out of evil things to throw at us? I know, let's send
them an army.....}}
"Cordelia." Buffy poked her until she opened her eyes. "Who - or *what* -
are you talking about? What do you know about all this?" {{What I'd really
really like this to be is some sort of rehabilitation effort on the part of
vamps.... make some ubervamps, and send them to kill all normal vamps....
and then, we could all go to Disneyland!}} Her expression darkened. {{Okay.
So humour is maybe not very appropriate here, what with Harmony and Cordelia
injured and everything. And Riley doing God knows what with those friends of
his.... *why* doesn't the Handbook have any of this stuff in it? Maybe Giles
and I should rewrite it....}}
Cordelia looked at her balefully. "If this is what I think it is, we have
serious problems. I mean - *big* problems."
"Big? How big? Big demony big, or many demony big?"
"Army of demons big.... out to kill everything with human blood. They're
like.... demon Nazis, or something." Cordelia frowned, trying to prop
herself up on an elbow. "Angel, Doyle and I came across them in LA....
they're called the Scourge. And yes, they're as friendly as they sound."
{{God. I *really* think we need to have a talk.....}}
Giles had already taken out a notebook and was looking at her patiently.
Buffy cocked an eyebrow at Cordelia and simply waited, silent. The May Queen
sighed. {{Great.}}
*********
TBC
