__The Gap__
By Jolene Beasley
Captain Larry Stockton surveyed the scene with professional detachment. Mr. Giles had put up quite a struggle. Judging from Mister Armstead’s condition, he had, too. It had taken a half-dozen assailants to bring the two of them down. He had no illusions about the Giles family. . . he knew they were supernaturally gifted, even though he didn’t know the details. Since the perpetrators were able to overpower this man in his own home and kidnap him, they must be formidable, indeed.
He left the forensic team to do their work and went to do his.
The sight of the tiny blonde woman sitting with her pretty little boy asleep in her arms made Larry want to cry. He thought of his own child, just a few days older than Marcus, as he squared his shoulders and moved into the room. Locating an armchair and lowering himself into it, he scooted closer to the victim’s wife and said softly, “Mrs. Giles? I’m Captain Stockton. . . remember me?”
She looked up at him, eyes red and swollen, then smiled thinly. Her voice trembled as she said, “You w-were there when the Council guys kidnapped Marcus.”
“That’s right. And I’m gonna help find your husband. Can I ask you a few questions? I talked to Mr. Armstead before the paramedics took him to the hospital, but I need to get your statement, too.”
“He was brave.”
Marcus whimpered softly and stirred, his face still wet with tears.
Larry didn’t know which man she was referring to, so he just agreed with her. “Yes, he was. Very brave.”
“Where’s Willow? Did. . . did she go with Bill to the hospital?”
“No, she’s here. She’s waiting in the dining room while I talk to you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can you tell me what you know?”
“Um.” She rubbed her face with a tired hand, then nodded. “The guys. . . Bill a-and Rupert, I mean, were doing some research, and s-so we went to the mall. . .”
“You, your friend Miss Rosenberg, and your son?” His pencil moved decisively over the small notebook he held in his hand.
“Yeah. We were almost done shopping, when Marcus went ballistic. . . and I just knew s-something was wrong, so we came home right away.” She began to shiver violently, and one of the officers picked up an afghan off the back of the couch and gently wrapped it around her shoulders.
“So, you came home at. . . what time was this?”
She sighed thoughtfully. “About eight. Yeah, eight.”
“And you just knew something was wrong?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Rupert. . . we’re. . . c-connected. I just knew.”
Larry wrote thoughtfully, wondering how much editing this report would get before it was recorded. “Go on.”
“I got here, and Bill was trying to get up off the floor in the hall. There was s-s-so much b-b-blood. . .” She started crying silently.
Larry reached out and grasped her shoulder. “Easy, now. . . we’re almost done. Who called 911?”
Buffy sniffed several times, then whispered, “Bill did. I was in shock, I guess. They knocked R-rupert out and carried him out the back door, he said. . . musta gone down the alley, he said. Where were G-gerard and Mad? They were s-supposed to be watching the house!!” The last two sentences came out as a plaintive wail.
“You had people watching the house?”
Buffy shook her head. “No, n-not people.”
Larry stared at her, then shrugged. The statement didn’t surprise him too much. This was Sunnydale, after all. Larry motioned an officer over. “Look for more victims outside.” He turned his attention back to Buffy, his face carefully neutral. “Okay, people or not, if they’re hurt, we’ll take care of them, okay?”
“They’re our friends.”
“I know. Now, is there anything else you can remember?”
Buffy sat back against the couch, thinking through the haze of fear and separation. Rupert must still be unconscious, because she couldn’t feel him at all. She refused to think of any other explanation. “Uh, I don’t think so. . . wait, Bill said something when. . . when I first came in. . . he said ‘Ninjas,’ or something like that. I was too f-freaked to ask him what he meant.”
Larry nodded. Armstead had mentioned the assailants were dressed in classic Ninja garb. . . black ghis, red belts, face and hair tied with black cloth, and they moved swiftly, like trained fighters. He also mentioned that they didn’t appear to be human. Any other cop in the world would’ve dismissed it as a descriptive term, but with everything he’d seen, he took them at their word.
So, he was looking for six demon Ninjas capable of taking down one of the toughest men in town.
Wonderful.
He called another officer as he stood, patting Buffy on the shoulder. “Thank you, Mrs. Giles. We’re on it.”
He turned to the officer and whispered, “Spread out from here, and send a team to check out the nearest sewer entrances. . . we may have another non-human problem on our hands. One that could turn out to be a hostage situation.”
The officer grunted. “Great. And at night, too.”
“We’re gonna check out the back yard and alley, Mrs. Giles, and see if your friends are out there.”
“Thanks.” Her words were barely audible.
Larry went through the sliding glass doors at the back of the house, watching the flaring and beaming of flashlights as the police searched the yard for clues. Willow flew back into the room and slid down next to Buffy, hugging her fiercely. “We’ll find him, Buffy. We’ll look night and day, and we’ll find him. The bad guys can’t win this one.”
Buffy leaned against her friend, too emotionally drained to do anything else. “Maybe they already have. . . I can’t feel him, Will. He’s gone.” Her voice was barely audible as she added, “Where was that guardian angel when Rupert needed him the most?”
********
“Captain? We found uh. . . someone. . . uh. . . something. . .”
Larry strode over to the hedge and knelt by the still form of a pale, blueish creature. His torch played over it, and he recognized it as a goblin. Two goblins had helped the Gileses when their baby was kidnapped. He remembered that day clearly. The small, slender beings had crawled through the air vents, and one of them had managed to distract the ring leader just enough to keep Mr. Giles from being shot at point blank range with a large caliber weapon. It’s not something you forget.
He couldn’t see any movement. “Is it dead?”
The officer shrugged. “Beats me. I don’t recall any first aid courses that covered blue critters.”
“Goblins,” Larry corrected, scowling at the man’s flippant tone, then reached out and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He was about to give up when the creature stirred and moaned. “It’s still alive!”
“Captain! We found another. . . well, we found another one!” Larry stood and turned to see one of his men escorting a hobbling gray monstrosity towards them. . . at gunpoint.
“Put your sidearm away, Tom,” Larry commanded. He knelt down as the troll approached, limping badly. On his knees, he was eye level with the newcomer. “Hello, I’m Captain Stockton. Are you a friend of the people that live in this house?”
Madvehkar nodded, then his eyes grew wide and he gulped, “Gerard? Issss he okay?”
“I don’t know for sure. He’s just waking up. I didn’t see any wounds.”
“Ow. . . they didn’t leave any, Captain. Hit me on the head.” The goblin’s weak voice rose to meet them.
Mad broke into a huge, slavering grin. “Your head musssst be assss hard assss the Watcher’ssss.”
“Shut up, Mad.” Gerard sat up, blinking his multifaceted eyes rapidly. “Oh, no, the Watcher! Did the bad guys get the Watcher?”
Larry nodded soberly. “It looks like it.”
“Oh, man. . . we failed. We’re failures! Some protectors we turned out to be!”
Larry sighed. “From what I hear about the. . . things that took him, you guys got off lightly.”
Mad nodded. “They were Ninja demonssss. Never ssssaw anything like them before.”
“But. . . but they were protected by a Guar. . . I mean, a you-know-who,” Gerard amended, glancing at the policeman warily. This Stockton guy might be okay, but he probably didn’t want to hear about angels.
Mad shook his shaggy head despondently. “I don’t get it, Ger. I thought it was here to protect them.”
Larry watched as the blue goblin got up and moved to join his troll friend. He sighed again, wondering how he was going to write this up. “Okay, you two, I need a statement from you both. Let’s try to make it as believable as possible, okay?”
********
“Oh, this is a true feast for the eyes!”
Giles recognized the voice, even though he couldn’t yet open his eyelids. He couldn’t believe it. Quentin Travers had somehow escaped. . . again. . . from Council custody. His father was obviously not as good at his job as he should be.
The hateful voice continued to cackle madly, seemingly coming from all directions at once. The pain in his head made it impossible for Giles to determine where he was. He was horribly nauseated, dizzy despite having his eyes closed, and thoroughly disgusted with himself for letting a mere half-dozen men best him. He’d even had Bill Armstead to back him up, yet here he was. A prisoner.
He lay still, hoping his captors thought he was still out cold. He vaguely remembered being injected with something as he struggled. . . wonder how long ago that was? That was probably the reason his brain was so foggy. His first thought was for Marcus and Buffy. . . what would they come home to? Hidden assailants? A kitchen covered in blood? He moaned, in spite of his best effort not to.
“He’s coming ‘round a bit, guv.”
The second voice wasn’t familiar to Giles. . . or was it? Something about it rang little warning bells inside his brain, but he couldn’t think straight. Whoever it was, he was in cahoots with Travers, and that meant he was an enemy. Probably another sorcerer, a black magician of some sort. Evil. Dangerous.
Travers leaned over the manacled form of his bitter enemy and smiled, watching the hated face for signs of awareness. “I do hope so. I’m rather anxious to get things in motion. I detest waiting. I did quite enough of that in prison.”
“Oh, yes, I agree. I’ve had enough of languishing in the bleedin’ Council’s ‘Rehabilitation Center,’ myself, old boy.”
“They do seem to have a problem securing their ‘guests,’ don’t they?” Travers chuckled at his own joke.
The other man did not. He looked around, singularly unimpressed with the surroundings. “Lovely spot, sahib. But, where are the demons that brought our charming Mr. Giles in?”
Travers growled, then took a deep breath. “The instant I had the heretic chained, they vanished.”
“Oh, good show, old man! We don’t have a chance in hell of standing against the Slayer without at least a dozen demons at our disposal! What kind of senile old fool are you?”
“Be silent, idiot. I will simply call others.”
“Ah, I see. And what if they decide to bloody vaporize at an inconvenient time?”
Travers turned and advanced on the younger man, causing him to back up in sudden fear. “Do you wish to survive this little encounter?” he hissed. “Or are you so mad you care nothing for your own skin?”
“Oh, I value my skin, all right, old chap. Every bit as much as you value yours.”
“Then cease your prattling and wake the heretic before I tire of your insults and turn you into an ant.”
“All right, all right, keep your robe on, Quentin, please do.” Post reached for a bucket, barely hiding his disgust, and drew a dipper full of liquid as he stepped up to the bound man.
Something cold and vile smelling poured onto Giles’ face, causing him to gasp, cough and wince. ‘So much for the element of surprise,’ he thought ruefully as he tried, unsuccessfully to avoid being splashed again. His head was bound with a chain across his forehead, and the slightest movement caused the heavy links to dig into his skull.
“Rupert, old friend, it’s time to wake up and face your doom.”
“Oh, Quentin, dear thing, what a abominably trite thing to say. You sound like the bloody villain in a shilling thriller.”
That sarcastic voice seemed so familiar. . .
“Shut up, David. Your attitude could cost you your freedom, or perhaps even your life, if you’re not careful.”
Giles would have gasped if he’d had strength to do so. David? David Post? It was definitely time for Father to retire. . . the Council’s worst prisoners kept escaping!
“I know you’re aware of us, Rupert. Open your eyes.”
More of the slimy liquid dripped on Giles’ face, and he screwed his eyes more tightly shut. Hoping he wasn’t about to get a mouthful of the stuff, he said groggily, “Can’t. Bit of a headache, at the moment. Don’t s’pose you know anything ‘bout that, d’you, Quentin?”
“Why, of course, I do. You have, as you so delicately put it, a ‘bit of a headache,’ because I sent six demon warriors to your house while your lovely Slayer and your offspring were amusing themselves at the shops. Said demons repeatedly bashed you in the head until you lost consciousness, and then brought you here, where you are quite at my mercy.”
“I do recall. They were very rude, Quentin. . . didn’t even knock.”
Post snorted in amusement. At least Giles had the same low opinion of Travers that he did. This might be actually be fun.
“Cling to your sarcasm as long as you can, heretic.” Travers slipped back into his fervent, tradition-fed cult fanatic persona. “Soon you will cease to annoy me in any form, and your slut Slayer and her hellspawn will be mine!”
Giles fought down his urge to defend his wife, opting instead to annoy his tormentor. “Never knew you were th’ jealous type.”
“Jealous? Of the likes of you?”
“Let me see. . . why would you be jealous of me?” Giles was feeling more in control by the moment, his tongue finally beginning to obey his brain’s commands. “I was reinstated by th’ Council, assigned to th’ Slayer, managed to keep her alive, marry her, and have a beautiful son. You, on t’other hand. . . you’ve managed to grow old and unappealing. . .”
“Silence, heretic!”
“. . .an’ a bit thick round th’ waist, as well. . .”
“SILENCE!” Travers’ voice quavered with hatred, and he began to pace. “You have mocked our ways quite long enough, Rupert Giles! You, and your ridiculously ineffective father, have tormented me for the last time! Soon there will be a new Ruling Council, one that reveres tradition and respects the old ways. . .”
Travers’ diatribe was cut short by the sound of derisive laughter. The captive man shook with it, his chains rattling with the motion. He was beyond caring about the other man’s reaction. “Oh. . . excuse me. . .” he said, between guffaws, “Quentin, old boy. . . coming from you, that’s such a load of crap!”
Travers whirled and slapped Giles’ battered face as hard as he could, cutting the laughter short as Giles tasted fresh blood in his mouth. “I said, be SILENT! Don’t try and provoke me again, you fool, or I shall find a way to keep you alive and in pain for much longer than originally planned!”
“‘E’s ever so scary when ‘e’s loike that, guv’nor,” Post mocked, tugging his hair again in the subservient gesture that seemed to drive Travers crazy. Well, crazier than usual.
Giles tongued the corner of his mouth gingerly, his eyes shut against the vertigo Travers’ blow had restored. “I’m shaking in me Wellies,” he agreed, adopting the sassy Cockney accent that Post was using to goad his partner.
Post’s crackle of delighted laughter ended abruptly as Travers threw his hand back. Sparks of dark fire burst from his fingertips, and the younger man found himself flying backwards. The rough wall of the cave stopped him in mid-flight, knocking him breathless. He lay crumpled against the slimy rock, gasping and chuckling at the same time. Painful though it was, baiting Travers was his only form of amusement in this dank hole.
“You’ve no sense of humor at all,” Giles said conversationally. His didn’t see what Travers had done, but he heard the spat of magical discharge and the sickening thump of a body against a solid object, and he could guess what had happened. If he could just goad Travers into spilling his plans. . . preferably without getting himself injured, maimed, or killed. . .
“You’re both fools,” Travers hissed venomously. He produced a syringe from somewhere out of Giles’ range of vision, holding it up as he allowed a few drops of the mysterious liquid to escape from the needle’s tip. He seized Giles’ arm and injected him roughly. Giles fought the urge to cry out as the sedative burned its way into his bloodstream.
Travers chuckled nastily as he finished the shot. “That should silence you for a while. I will have the child, and that is certain. Whether or not your precious little Buffy survives is entirely up to me, Watcher. Perhaps I will be magnanimous. Perhaps not. It depends on my mood.” He let the threat hang in the air, grinning triumphantly for a long moment before whirling and leaving the chamber.
Post, holding his sore ribs carefully, rose and followed, not even so much as glancing at Giles.
As soon as his ears told him he was alone, Giles pried open his eyes, ignoring the flashes of pain that accompanied that effort, and surveyed his surroundings from his nearly immobile position. He was in a cave, roughly round, with only one exit. Kerosene lamps hung from several iron posts driven into the walls, casting flickering, yellowish light over the room. The slab of stone on which he lay was in the center on a raised area. It reminded Giles of a rough altar.
He looked down at himself as best he could. He was neatly bound with chains from forehead to toe. Laid out in perfect sacrificial position, probably with his head at the point of a pentagram. He was swathed in a rough textured black robe. The whole setup reminded him very strongly of something that wasn’t good at all.
He closed his eyes and concentrated fiercely, trying to send a message to his soul-mate before Travers’ little shot knocked him out again. There was a buzzing in his head that grew louder by the second. ‘Buffy. . . Buffy. . . be careful. . . it’s a trap. . . don’t try and rescue me. . . protect Marcus. . .’ He sent the thoughts over and over, oblivious to the passage of time, hoping she could feel his thoughts and understand them.
In less that a minute, he was no longer conscious.
********
Willow hoped fervently that the doorbell hadn’t disturbed Buffy and the baby. She ran down the hall and checked the peephole before throwing the door open and admitting a distraught Joyce and Wilton.
“Where is she? Where’s Marcus? Have they found. . .”
Willow shushed her sharply, then whispered, “I just got Buffy to lie down. With her Slayer hearing, you have to be quiet. Marcus conked out hours ago. . . he cried himself to sleep.”
Joyce pressed her fists to her mouth to hold back a sob. Willow ushered them into the living room and watched as they sank onto the couch. Joyce looked completely traumatized, and Wilton looked helpless and frustrated.
“We came as soon as you called, Willow, and thank you for thinking of us.” Joyce tried to keep her voice level, but the guilt and self-loathing about her performance that morning caused it to tremble. “How is Buffy?”
“Not good. She spent the last half hour scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom. I tried, but I couldn’t stop her. . . it was like, if she got rid of the mess, she wouldn’t have to think about him being gone. . .” Willow’s resolve collapsed, and she began to sob again. She was too tired to keep it together.
Joyce enfolded the slender girl in her arms, holding her with a mother’s compassion until the storm of tears had passed. She grabbed a box of Kleenex off the side table and helped the girl compose herself. Wilton moved to sit on the other side of Willow, his presence meant to reassure her.
“I don’t know what Buffy would do without you, Willow,” Joyce said earnestly. “You and Xander have done so much for her. . .”
“Buffy and Giles have done a lot for us, Mrs. Sum. . . I mean, Mrs. Bernard. . .” Xander’s voice startled them, and they all looked up. “Sorry, but the door was unlocked. I saw you guys come in, so I knew someone was awake. I just got off work and got the message from Mom.”
Willow rose to give her best guy friend in the world a soggy hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered.
“Xand-man goes where he’s needed,” he joked softly. “What can I do?”
“We have to find Giles. Buffy thinks the Council guys have him, and she’s scared to death they’ll hurt him, or even kill him, if we don’t find him soon. I almost couldn’t get her to lay down and rest until it gets light and we can start searching. . .”
The doorbell rang, causing Willow to bolt towards the front again. “Buffy’s never gonna get any sleep if people don’t stop ringing that stupid bell!”
She checked the peephole, stepping back with a confused look on her face. She opened the door to admit Faith and Wesley. “Hey, guys. . .”
Faith said immediately, “What’s the plan to find Tweed Man?”
“How did you. . .?”
“I called them.” Buffy came down the stairs, rumpled but alert. “Faith. . . Wes. . . we need to get to work.”
“Right, then, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Wesley’s voice was all business. Willow shelved her questions and sat down, knowing this group was Giles’ best hope of survival.
Wesley launched into full lecture mode, droning on and on about tactics and adequate backup procedures, when Buffy snapped to attention and gave an anguished cry. Waves of pain enveloped her, and she could dimly hear Rupert’s thoughts through the haze.
Faith shuddered, then knelt at Buffy’s side. “Hey, B. . . that’s Giles, isn’t it?” She couldn’t make any sense of what she felt, but she knew it was the Bond, and there was only one person she knew strong enough to make that kind of mojo.
“He’s hurt. . .” Buffy sobbed, head high as she tried to focus on him. “He’s. . . it seems like miles from here. . . he’s in a cave. . . underground. . . under the sewers. . . that way.” She pointed southwest with a shaking finger. “Oh, thank God. . . he’s alive. . .”
Upstairs, Marcus began to cry again, and Joyce jumped to her feet, torn between comforting her daughter and going to her grandson. She finally decided on Marcus, and dashed upstairs.
Wesley sat by the distraught ex-Slayer’s side and took her hand with surprising gentleness. “Buffy. . . tell us. . . we can’t feel it as clearly as you do. What is he saying? Does he know exactly. . .?”
She was panting with the effort to reach out and capture the ethereal tendrils of thought. Rupert was weak, she knew that for sure. She couldn’t dwell on that now. . . she had to find out where he was. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was trying to convey. “NO! He doesn’t want us to come! It’s a trap. . . No, Rupert, tell us where you are. . .” As suddenly as it had begun, the connection was severed. She screamed and slumped, defeated in spirit. There were few things that could disrupt the Bond. . . unconsciousness, deep concentration. . . powerful black magic. . . and. . .
“He’s gone again. . .” Tormented blue eyes looked into Wesley’s, and he fought the urge to flinch away. “What am I gonna do, Wes? I can’t not go!”
“I know,” he countered soothingly. “We will go, but we’d best be prepared.”
“Yeah. I know. Preparation, preparation, preparation.”
Faith snickered at that. . . Wesley’s favorite expression was excruciatingly familiar to her.
“Yes, well, let’s prepare.”
*********
“Are you sure this stuff worked?” Post idly picked up the small bottle of clear liquid on the table as he spoke. In front of him, Travers hovered like a vulture guarding a particularly fresh corpse. “He seemed pretty aware to me.”
“That’s why I gave him another dose, idiot.” Travers snapped impatiently as he checked his gathered spell ingredients for the tenth time. “The Slayer is nothing if not prompt in her response to a threat to her loved ones. He was only awake long enough to send a weak call for help via his accursed Bond. The last shot should keep him unconscious for several hours. It will take time for the rogue Slayer to locate him in the caverns, and by then, all will be ready.”
“I hope you’re right, old thing. I wouldn’t want an angry Slayer to burst in before we’re ready!”
“I have a great deal more experience in these matters than you. If you’d managed to finish your Watcher training, you’d be familiar with dozens of drugs, sedatives and poisons. Council training is very thorough in those areas.”
“Pardon me for being skeptical, Cap’n. I may not have all your lofty training, but one thing I know, having been on the receiving end of most of the items you’ve mentioned, courtesy of Council ‘doctors’. . . you best know your dosages. Otherwise, you could very well get unexpected results.” Post raised up to full height, then winced at his sore side. “I don’t like to rely on ‘should be, could be’ when my life is at stake, and you certainly haven’t done anything to bolster my confidence.”
“I removed you from that hellpit of an insane asylum, didn’t I? I transported us to Sunnydale in one piece, with absolutely no trace, didn’t I? I have the heretic in my power, don’t I? Seems my record is rapidly improving, boy.”
“Oh, you’ve done well, sir. Smashingly. I was merely offering a word of caution. It’s my bloody neck, as well, you know.”
“You would do well to remember that, boy.”
“Yessir, guv’nor, ‘deed I will,” Post sniped.
Travers ground his teeth. ‘That’s what I get for choosing a certified lunatic as a second,’ he thought to himself. ‘If he continues to annoy me, I’ll feed him to Thoniak myself.’ The idea made him smile. “I suggest you leave now, boy. My patience is wearing thin. I will call you when the time comes.”
Something in Travers’ evil smile convinced Post that the older man meant business. “Oh, right-o, Guv,” Post mocked, then slouched away.
As soon as Post left the cave, Travers began an incantation. It was risky, but he needed more power if his plan was to succeed.
"Ich rufe Thoniak!
Ich rufe den Prinzen der Unterwelt!
Ich rufe die Macht der Grube und die Feuer der Hölle!
Erscheine Thoniak! Ich flehe Thoniak an zu erscheinen!"
translation:
“I call on Thoniak!
I call on the Prince of the Underworld!
I call on the power of the pit and the fires of Hell!
Appear, Thoniak! I beseech Thoniak to appear!”
With a melodramatic puff of sulfurous smoke, a large, black, warty, foul-smelling demon blinked into sight, its eyes bright red, its fangs bared in anger. It growled, in a voice so deep that the cavern vibrated with the sound, “You call Thoniak? You dare?”
“I have called. I have commanded you,” the small man said imperiously.
The demon laughed, belching a fog of hot breath into the human’s face. “You commanded me? We had a deal, little worm. My power in exchange for the heart of a Watcher! I did NOT agree to a fireside chat!”
“I am aware of that, Thoniak. I have the Watcher, and the ritual is almost complete.”
“Then why are you risking my wrath?” Thoniak’s voice rose, shaking the ground under Travers’ feet.
“Because I believe the Slayer will try to rescue her Watcher.”
“As any Slayer would. Deal with it, worm.”
“How can I? The Ninja warriors I summoned have vanished into thin air. You assured me of success, oh Prince of the Underworld! Where is my army? Where are my guards?”
Thoniak actually chuckled. “Fool human. I did not promise you an army! I merely allowed you to tap into my power. It is not my fault you have no idea how to wield it.”
Travers blanched visibly. This was not going well. “I must succeed in all aspects of my plan, Thoniak, or your sacrifice will not be made.” He paled even more as the demon loomed over him, its face irate. “That is not a threat, oh Prince. Surely you must realize. . . without an army, I have no hope of defeating the Slayer!”
The demon lord paused thoughtfully. “Yes, that is true. This Slayer is blessed. In order to defeat her, you will need an army.”
Travers waited anxiously as the demon considered. Finally, it nodded. “Very well, human. I will grant your request. . . for a time. However. . . you must complete the sacrifice by midnight, and a single heart will no longer be sufficient payment. I now require two.”
“Two? Pardon me for asking, but I want to be sure of what I’m agreeing to. Does the second heart have to be a Watcher, as well?”
The giant demon considered, stroking his chin with a clawed hand. “I suppose not. Once I have a Watcher’s heart, any old additional heart will do.”
Travers began to chuckle underneath his breath. This was the perfect opportunity to rid himself of Post and appease the demon simultaneously. “Then it is done. I already have someone in mind.”
Thoniak laughed stertorously. “You shall have your army, and I shall have my hearts. It is done.”
The dark shape vanished, leaving curls of acrid smoke in its wake.
Caught up in thoughts of his eminent victory, Travers didn’t notice that Post was lurking in the shadows just outside the cavern, listening to every word.
“And just who does he intend to add to his little massacre? Five’ll get you ten it isn’t himself!” Post snarled to himself, his paranoia coming to the surface, then took off into the darkness. He was going to plan a little surprise of his own for Quentin Travers.
* * * * *
The scrub-covered hills and valleys surrounding Sunnydale seemed endless as Buffy’s little scouting party searched for the vast underground labyrinth Buffy had sensed from Giles’ all too brief message. The sun crawled across the sky, and tempers grew short. Buffy was beginning to despair. Time flew by, shadows began to lengthen, and her soulmate was still in enemy hands.
Faith and Wesley split from the rest of the group, hoping to increase their chances of finding the entrance before dark. Buffy felt Giles’ absence more keenly than ever as Willow and Xander argued over inane ideas and half-baked schemes to make the search go faster. He could always manage to pull things together.
After an exhaustive exploration of yet another dead end cavern, she whirled on her two dirt-encrusted friends and shouted, “Will you two SHUT UP!!!”
They did, their expressions hurt.
“I’m sorry, guys. . . this is really getting to me, not being able to feel him. . .” She lay a grimy hand over her heart. “We’re getting nowhere!”
“I know, Buffy, it’s okay. We’re all grumpy and hot and stuff.” Xander pulled Willow away as he said, “We’re just gonna check the next cave. Why don’t you take five and. . . um. . . chill?” They disappeared into the relentless sunshine, leaving the Slayer to stare at the rock wall in front of her.
She rested her head against the cool stone and began to cry, letting her fear and misery out. “God? Hey, God, you gotta help me find Rupert, okay? I mean, he’s really one of the good guys, y’know, and he’s gotta be there for Marcus. . .” A sob caused her voice to break. “. . . and for me, too. I can’t go on without him. . . I don’t even want to. . .”
Suddenly, rage welled up inside her at the complete unfairness of it all, and she screamed as loudly as she could, the sound starting from deep inside her and pushing its way out until the world was filled with pain. She swung a fist at the cave wall in front of her, ignoring the warning in her head that said, ‘That’s really gonna hurt!’ She could hear the scrabbling of footsteps as Xander and Willow rushed back down the trail to see what was the matter.
To her vast surprise, her fist broke through the wall easily.
She stared stupidly for several minutes at the hole, her arm still imbedded up to her shoulder. She flexed her hand, and encountered only air. The two Slayerettes skidded to a stop behind her as she withdrew her fist, the beginnings of a grin on her face.
“Hey, you found a way in. Way to go.” Xander tried to sound casual as his friend began attack the wall like a madwoman.
“Help me, you knuckleheads!” she commanded, not even looking up from her task.
Xander stepped out of the cave and gave a loud whistle, then rejoined the girls. Faith and Wes would be there in minutes. He and Willow began to pull at rocks and scoop dirt out of the way as Buffy dug.
It was almost show time!
********
Joyce held her grandson in her arms, rocking him gently. The minute Buffy left, he began to cry, and it was almost thirty minutes before she could calm him. He’d barely eaten anything all day, his face so solemn and sad that it broke her heart. He refused to play, sitting at the sliding glass door, staring into the distance as if he was watching some distant action. The only time he seemed to be at peace was when Joyce held him, so she’d held him most of the day.
“Wilton?”
He started out of his light doze, tired already from being up for almost thirty-four hours. “Yes, honey?”
“Do you think I’m a bad person?”
He frowned at her in disbelief. “What?”
“I didn’t believe them. I thought Rupert was making all this prophecy stuff up, or that he was being duped by the stupid Council. How could I think that, after everything I’ve seen. . . everything he’s done to protect her?” She sniffed morosely. “I’m a bad person.”
“No, you’re not.” His arm slid around her, holding her loosely so as not to disturb the motion that soothed the tiny boy in her lap. “They’ve been dealing with this kind of thing on a daily basis for a long time. It’s hard to see it when it isn’t right there in front of you, twenty-four-seven.”
“But it was! It has been. . . oh, I’m so blind sometimes. . .”
He kissed her brow comfortingly. “Only where the people you love most are concerned, sweetheart. We’re all that way.”
She looked down at the sleeping baby. “I once was blind. . . but now I hope I can see.”
*********
Travers waved his bundle of noxious herbs in an intricate pattern, trailing smoke in a large arc. He was outlining the door by which his dark army would enter. He didn’t complete the ritual, leaving the last word unspoken. When the Slayer was almost upon him, he would finish it, and then, all Hell would literally break loose.
He loved a theatrical casting, and this would definitely be a grand one.
He chuckled to himself as he waved one of his favorite demon servants to his side. “As soon as it is dark, gather all the demons and vampires you can find and surround the Watcher’s house. The child will be there, guarded by ordinary humans. Here’s the address. . . break in, kill anyone that interferes, and bring the boy to me. As soon as the child is mine, you are free to go and feed. Just bring the child, untouched, to me, or face my wrath.” He had more faith in the demons in his employ than he had in his human co-conspirator. Humans were dreadfully unpredictable, and Post was mad, so that made things even worse.
The little demon, having witnessed Travers’ magic first-hand, nodded enthusiastically. “Right, Master, the kid’s as good as yours.”
The instant the servile creature was out of sight, Travers began puttering around, cheerfully checking his spell ingredients. Suddenly, his happy humming was interrupted as he was jerked off his feet by a long, slimy looking tentacle. “What the. . .ack!”
He was hoisted into the air, his stomach doing a heaving flip-flop as his head brushed roughly against the ceiling wall. He heard his double-crossing partner laugh as he struggled against the muscular appendage. The demon was behind him, and he couldn’t get a look at it, but he assumed from the tentacle that it was an immature hell monster. Only a mere infant would be weak enough to be controlled by the likes of Post! Still, it was strong enough to immobilize the average human, as Travers was painfully aware.
What happened to the protection spell? Post had cast it. . . he’d probably created a loophole in it somewhere. . .
He caught enough breath to snarl, “Post! What is the meaning of this?” He hoped to buy time while he thought of a simple combustion spell that would fry his captor to a crisp well-done.
“I think you know exactly what this is, ducks,” the irritatingly nasal voice answered. “You thought you’d off me and give my innards to the cracking big demon you’re indebted to, didn’t you, you bleedin’ double-crosser! Oh, and in case you’re wondering. . . your version of the protection spell doesn’t cover hell monsters. I had a feeling you’d sell me out.”
“David! Listen to reason! You must release me! The Slayer is on her way here. . . perhaps at this very moment! You don’t stand a chance against her without me!”
“You were going to let it cut out my heart!”
Travers rolled his eyes. The lunatic’s timing couldn’t be worse. Post must’ve eavesdropped on his conversation with Thoniak. The sorcerer focused on making his voice calm and hypnotic. “David, be reasonable. There will be several hearts available when this is all over. Do you really think the Slayer will come alone?”
The idea hadn’t occurred to Post, and he stopped and thought about it for a bit. “Hmm. You think the Slayer will bring back-up?”
“It’s a near certainty.” The hell monster’s grip was becoming uncomfortable.
“You might be right,” Post said reluctantly, then nodded at the monster. It began to lower Travers to the ground.
“I’m glad you can see reason,” Travers said sarcastically as his feet touched the dirt floor. “I was beginning to wonder.”
“I”m not crazy, you know.”
“Of course not.” Only completely crackers, the ex-Councilman thought.
“I’m not! If Gwen. . .” The sound of his ex-wife’s name caused Post to shiver, and he became glassy-eyed and rigid. The monster kept its grip steady, waiting for its master’s next command.
“David! This is no time to go catatonic. . .”
“NO!” Post whirled, his trance-like state gone instantly. “I’m not catatonic! I’m not crazy! It was all Gwen’s doing!”
“David, you must calm yourself. . .”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“David, now is not the time. . .”
“You do! You think it’s all very amusing, don’t you, you great filthy sod? I’ll show you. . . I’m a far better sorcerer than you. . .”
Post began chanting, forming a ball of vibrant energy between his hands. His hair began to stand away from his head, reacting to the static in the air.
“Oh, for. . . Post! Stop this! We’ve no time for theatrics! The Watcher. . .”
“. . .Is drugged. He isn’t going anywhere, you weasel. And neither are you!” The younger man launched the energy bolt at his erstwhile partner, missing completely. The baby hell monster howled pitifully before melting into a rank puddle of black goo.
Travers almost laughed out loud at Post’s incompetence. “You truly are a fool, if you think your parlor tricks have any effect on me! It’s time you learned your place!” He threw his hand out, and Post felt a giant, invisible fist impact his jaw. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he’d been smacked like a disrespectful child. His fury grew until his vision was tinged in red.
They began to trade insults, psychic blows and lightning bolts, causing the earth to shake and debris to rain down upon them.
********
A hundred yards away, Buffy braced herself against the earthquake. She was definitely getting warm.
********
In a side chamber set up as a sacrificial altar, Giles coughed weakly as dirt spattered down onto his face, waking him. “Augh. . . God, please. . . at least let me fall off and land on my stomach. . . I’m getting tired of getting muck in my eyes.” Actually, he was just plain tired. . . couldn’t seem to stay awake. . .
He fell back into the drug-induced coma despite his best efforts.
********
“You ingrate! You stunted juvenile delinquent! You traitor!” Travers ducked flying energy and the occasional dislodged rock to fire back at his tormentor with all of his power.
“You old fool! Sagging, fetid old warlock! Meglomaniacal faker!”
“Cretin!”
“Soddin’ old geezer!”
“Reprobate!”
“Wanker!”
Buffy stepped into the cave, surveying the sight. The two sorcerers were battling each other, oblivious to her presence. The room was scorched, smoke from a dozen magic-created fireballs hanging in the air.
“I can’t believe this. I make an entrance, and nobody even notices. What’s this underworld coming to?” She threw her head up and shouted, “HEY!”
The two enraged men froze, then turned to stare at the tiny blonde, her fists resting on her hips like a mother catching her children doing something naughty.
She shook her head. “Didn’t your mother tell you to play nice?”
With a cry of rage, Travers forgot about Post and drew himself up to his full height. He screamed the last word of the summoning spell, and the cave wall began to waver and dissolve into a passageway to Hell.
Post was impressed, despite his hatred of his evil partner. It was a clever trick, completing all but the last word of the spell. . . it made for a quick conjuring, all right, so long as the proper safeguards were in place. The younger man sidestepped as demonic footsteps began to echo into the chamber, coming from the hole in the wall. Things were about to get interesting.
He didn’t have time to decide whether to fight or flee, because the Slayer whirled and backhanded him into the wall. He saw stars, sliding down to a sitting position. That gave him a rather distorted view of the action in front of him.
Apparently, Travers had miscalculated. . . again. The doorway was only large enough for one demon at a time to come through. Post snorted in disgust. . . the man was powerful, but exceedingly stupid! ‘If only I could concentrate,’ he thought, ‘I might be able to correct his mistake.’ His head was ringing too loudly for that at the moment. He decided to watch for a bit until the ringing stopped.
“Hey, looks like a party!” The tiny blonde grinned as the first demon, an arachnoid with massive jaws, emerged from the hole, barely having room to get through. She whipped her crossbow from behind her back and nailed the creature between the eyes. It died with a rough scream, falling into a heap at the entrance, effectively blocking the way. Buffy grinned as she leisurely reloaded.
Travers, realizing he hadn’t finished his own protection spell, began to frantically gather his spell ingredients. He began an incantation that would allow him control over the advancing hellspawn, but Buffy made the point moot as she casually strode over to him and punched him in the nose.
Suddenly, he was as vulnerable as the rest of the world. Why hadn’t he completed the spell? He was too angry at Post to concentrate. His rage had betrayed him!
She stood over him, smirking, as he stared up at her from the floor. “Whatsamatter, Quentin? You forget something? Lose your recipe? Misplace a bitter herb or two?” She raised her voice and called, “I need this guy tied up. Any volunteers?”
Wesley’s patient voice answered her. “Once again, it falls to me to restrain the madman. I suppose it’s my lot in life.” The young Watcher appeared at the door, holding a sizable coil of strong rope. “Oh, dear, I forgot to bring a gag. I suppose my tie will have to do. . . again.”
“Where’s Faith?”
“With Xander and Willow. She didn’t want to leave them unguarded.”
“Good idea. Nothing here I can’t handle. So far.”
Wesley knelt and began to bind Travers’ hands behind his back. He could hear the sound of Buffy taking apart another demon as it tried to crawl over the giant spider, and wondered how long it would be before Faith and the others arrived.
********
“C’mon, you guys, we’re gonna miss all the fun!”
Xander, from his bent position, tried to catch his breath. “We’re just human, Faith. . . can’t run any faster. . . especially carrying half. . . of Giles’ armory with us!”
Willow was faring a little better, but not much. “Yeah. . . what he said.”
Faith rolled her eyes and gave a heavy sigh as she easily shouldered a backpack that was at least twice as heavy as the ones the ordinary humans were carrying. “If I didn’t have to baby-sit, I’d already be there.” She whirled and staked an unfortunate vampire just as he strode around the corner. “This place is crawling with vamps. You wouldn’t last two seconds without me.”
“And we appreciate it. . . believe me we do.” Xander straightened slightly. “Okay. . . I can see again. The gray fog of oxygen deprivation has lifted.”
The three of them resumed their jog down the tunnel. As they approached a branching of passages, Faith could hear the sounds of demons screaming. “Oh, man, B started without me!” She took off so fast that Xander barely had time to establish which corridor she’d taken.
“Come on, Will, we gotta stick together. . .”
Willow held her best friend’s hand as they tried to follow the over-eager Slayer. “So much for baby-sitting. . .”
“Remind me to tell Buffy. . . leave Faith off your parents’ night out rotation list. . .”
“Definitely!”
They were concentrating on tracking Faith and almost ran headlong into a huge, bug-shaped creature that was scuttling towards them at surprising speed. Willow clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her instinctive shriek. . . she hated bugs with a passion. . . almost as much as she hated frogs. Xander pulled her into a side passage, hoping it was too narrow for the giant insect to negotiate. They clung to each other, panting, as the horror moved past them as if they weren’t there.
After the sound of chitin scraping against rock had faded, they stared at each other in amazement.
“It wasn’t interested in us, was it? It was trying to get away,” Willow theorized.
“Or maybe it was on a mission.”
“Oh, no. . . I really liked my idea better.” Willow shivered.
“I bet Buff and Faith are kicking some serious demon booty right now.”
“Yeah, but how did that thing escape? It wasn’t all that fast. . . well, not as fast as a Slayer, anyway.”
“Beats me. I think we need to move on, though. . . much as I hate getting closer to the door that thing came out of!”
They started down the tunnel again, certain they were going in the right direction. They simply followed the scuff marks in the dirt floor where the hellbeetle had dragged its heavy abdomen along.
********
Buffy ducked a leaping demon that resembled a kangaroo, allowing it to impact against the wall behind her. “Somebody down there believes in variety,” she quipped as she staked a tall lanky demon that was trying to wrap its long arms around her. She was holding her own, but barely. She’d let a few of the creatures by her despite her best efforts. They didn’t seem all that interested in her, really. They just tried to get past her, which was starting to make her worry. With every new wave of hellbeasts, the gash in the earth grew wider and wider. Pretty soon, there’d be room for something really nasty to come out.
“Buffy! I think I can close the rift! That is, if our man Travers has his grimoire handy.” Wesley straightened suddenly as a vicious punch from Buffy sent a hapless demon spinning towards him. He sidestepped, holding Travers’ spell book high to avoid wrinkling the pages, then drove his foot down sharply, breaking the creature’s neck with a loud snap. “And, by the way, the man you knocked down earlier is attempting to flee.”
David Post had finally recovered from Buffy’s blow, and was crawling toward the passageway. Buffy was about to grab him, when a glistening tentacle beat her to it. This hell monster wasn’t a baby.
Post screamed horribly as he was pulled back towards the doorway to the underworld, his hands trying unsuccessfully to find a purchase on the crumbling dirt floor. His loophole in the protection spell had backfired. . . he’d been too busy fighting with Travers to realize that he’d left himself vulnerable to the same kind of monster. He hadn’t conjured it, therefore, he had no control over it!
“Slayer! Help me! Please!”
Buffy zig-zagged between two fire demons, grabbing her battle ax and raising it high. It took three slashes to sever the appendage, the last one delayed by a few seconds as she defended herself against a trio of demon soldiers wearing pseudo-Nazi uniforms. When she finished the job, she turned to Post, then her face fell.
“Oh, no. . .”
The man’s chest had been severely crushed by the death-spasms of the tentacle creature. The oily black thing she’d severed lay twitching, its grip loosened, but the man was dying anyway. The sound of his fighting for breath was awful. . . no one could survive having his chest caved in like that. She fought back tears for the man, despite what he had done to her. His soul would be lost forever, and there was nothing she, or anyone on earth, could do about it.
“Oh, God. . . I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough. . .”
“Buffy! It’s not your fault! You can’t save everyone! Remember that!” Wesley’s Watcher voice reached her ears, and she straightened. “Look out! Another column is approaching!”
There was still work to be done. If she couldn’t help Post, she still had others to protect. Just as she moved to engage the next wave of demons, she felt a familiar presence move beside her.
“Hey, B. Mind if I cut in?” Faith was grinning like a child in a toy store. “Oooo, look! You saved me some! Thanks!” With supernatural speed, the younger Slayer tore into the demons, aiming a leaping kick at the closest one. They tumbled to the ground like dominoes.
“Am I ever glad to see you!” Buffy admitted, a bit breathless. She felled a bear-like monster by breaking both its kneecaps simultaneously. “I hate hogging all the glory.”
“Yeah, right. You just hate gettin’ dirty.”
They fought for a few minutes, perfectly attuned to each other’s styles. The Bond’s connection between them, while not as strong the Watcher/Slayer version, still allowed them to accommodate each other’s movements with little effort. They were able to eliminate all the visible demons without allowing a single one to escape.
“That was fun. Did we get ‘em all?” Faith tossed her dark hair back nonchalantly.
“I think a few of them got away while I was by myself. Not many. There was a big, black beetle-thing and a couple of green slimy ones that were too slick to hold, and maybe a hellhound or two. Nothing a routine patrol or two can’t handle.”
“Cool.” Faith rotated her shoulders and waited for the next batch of demons to pop out of the oven. The cavern continued to widen as they watched.
Now that she had a moment to think, Buffy began to search for Giles using the Bond. She’d felt. . . something. . . while she fought, but didn’t have time to concentrate on it. Now she was pouring all her emotional power into a searching signal that penetrated the walls, the earth, through rock and hidden passageways. . . homing in on the faint trace of. . .
Passion flared instantly, following the lines of psychic communication like a spark follows a lit fuse. Wesley’s head snapped up as Buffy locked onto the mental scent of her husband, and Faith flinched visibly.
“Oh, my! That’s quite a rush!” Wes blurted, then colored slightly in embarrassment.
“Yeah, I felt it, too.” Faith looked surprised and a bit uncomfortable at the intimacy of the feeling.
Buffy turned wordlessly, following the trace into the dark corridor.
“That’s okay, B. . . you go right ahead and find Tweed Man. . . I’ll stay and play nursemaid for the good, the bad, and the really, really ugly. . .” She grinned as shapes started to move into the gaping hole that Travers had created. “Speaking of really, really ugly. . . here they are!”
Buffy moved down the dark corridor as if it were daylight in the park. He was here. . . maybe around the next bend. . . she could feel him fighting to awaken more fully. She began to run, and nearly trampled Xander and Willow as she rounded a curve. She slid to a stop and steadied them absently, her eyes fixed on a point beyond Willow’s shoulder.
“Buffy! Is the fighting over? We were coming to help!”
“Not over. . . looking for Giles. . . Faith’s fighting.” Even her voice sounded distant.
“Are you okay? Because a non-functioning Buffy is not a good thing right now,” Xander said earnestly.
“I can feel Giles. Have to find him. . .” Buffy started around her stunned friends, then paused, blinking. Her face cleared for a moment, and she said with urgency, “Willow, Wesley is trying to close a portal to the underworld. He might need help.” She turned and resumed her blank expression, searching for the tiny sensations that would lead her to her mate.
“Oh. . . okay, we’re on it, Buff. You go find Giles and get back here quick, okay? I don’t like us being all divided like this.” Willow’s voice trembled slightly.
Buffy turned back to them, smiling. “We’re not.” Then she was gone.
Xander shivered suddenly, hiding it with a shrug. “Was that of the ‘weirder than usual’ variety of Buffy conversations?”
“Oh, yeah. . . let’s go, Wes needs my help.” Willow actually sounded eager.
“Yeah, and Faith might need mine.”
Willow snorted loudly, and Xander said defensively, “It could happen!”
“Yeah, right.”
They began to look around the passageway. Rocky corridors branched off in three directions from where they were standing. They hadn’t even noticed which way they’d come. Finally Xander threw up his hands. “Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants. . . is it tunnel number one, number two, orrrrrr. . . number three?”
********
It was never a good idea to regain consciousness with a whacking great headache. Still, Giles seemed to do so with astonishing regularity, and only slightly less so since his retirement. As he fought nausea and pain on his way to awareness, the emptiness he’d felt when he lost contact with Buffy begin to lessen. He stopped trying to force his dampered senses to the surface, concentrating instead on the inner tug on his heart. Unexpected joy blossomed as he made contact with the source of the tug.
“Buf. . .” His cracked voice couldn’t manage the second syllable.
She was coming for him, despite his warning. Despite the danger. . . despite the dark magic.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Awareness faded, and he was engulfed in senselessness once more.
* * * * *
There were three vampires guarding a cave entrance just ahead, and Buffy stopped in the shadow of a rocky outcropping to watch them. She was certain Giles was in that cave. He was out cold again, and badly hurt. Only the fact that he was unconscious spared her from his agony. She took a slow, deep breath as she fought down a burst of panic, calming her racing heart until she felt in control again. She didn’t want to lose the fight with Travers’ pathetic minions when she was this close to freeing her husband.
She carefully tossed a pebble at the feet of one of the vamps. He looked stupid enough to fall for that old trick.
He was. “Hey, what was that? Did you guys hear something?”
“Aw, you’re hearing things, Leon.” The largest of the three shrugged his beefy shoulders. He must’ve been a line backer for somebody’s football team before he was turned.
“No, really. . . I think there’s something out there.”
The skinny vamp snorted. “So, go see what it is, doofus.”
Leon snarled, then stomped off in Buffy’s direction.
‘This is too easy,’ she thought, moving soundlessly after the doomed creature.
Before the other two could get suspicious, a second pebble fell at Beefy Vamp’s feet.
“Hey! Did you hear that?”
Skinny Vamp sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. Next time, I’m gonna demand the guys I work with have more brain than brawn.”
“If you’re so sure there’s nothing out there, shrimp, why don’t you go check it out?” Beefy loomed over Skinny, showing his fangs.
“Because, idiot, I don’t care what’s out there. I was told to stay here and guard this cave. I’m not lookin’ to be staked by that wizard because I left my post.”
“You’re just chicken.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Am not!”
“Are, too!”
Buffy almost started giggling from behind her rock.
Skinny threw up his hands. “All right, all right. I’ll go check it out. I’m not chicken. At least I won’t get lost in the tunnels like Leon did.”
Beefy strained to see down the tunnel. “Are you sure he got lost? Maybe something got him.”
“He got lost coming down here, remember? He wandered around for three days.”
Beefy gave Skinny a shove. “Go check it out, and hurry. The wizard should be here any minute to start the ceremony.”
Skinny slouched down the dark tunnel, muttering angrily.
After dusting vamp number two, Buffy counted to one hundred in her head, then tossed another pebble at Beefy’s feet. The vamp tensed instantly, going into a defensive stance. He wasn’t prepared for the sight of a slender, attractive blonde wandering up to him, looking for all the world like she was going to the mall instead of clambering around in a dark cave.
Beefy squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. He might have been dead, but he knew a babe when he saw one. “Hey, cutie. You lost?”
Buffy gave him a sweet smile. “No, big boy, I’d say I just found what I’m looking for.”
He grinned lecherously and took a step towards her. “So, what’s a nice girl like you. . .”
She whipped her hand from behind her back and staked him before he could finish. “Darn. Now I’ll never know what line he was gonna use. Oh, well. . . I’ve probably heard it a dozen times.”
She followed the flickering lamp light into the twisting entryway, hair rising on the back of her head as she realized it was probably a dead end. If Giles wasn’t here, she could be trapped. No way out.
She hadn’t gone too far when she heard labored breathing coming from deep inside the cavern. “Rupert!”
Shafts of pain lanced at her through their mental link. He was beginning to wake up again. She fought the sensation, controlling it until it was only a sickening throb in the back of her mind. She ran the rest of the way, her heart hammering wildly.
********
Joyce felt a little strange about answering the doorbell in her daughter’s house. She left Marcus with Wilton and went to the front, peeping through the security lens to see who she would be admitting. She recognized the silver-haired man wearing a clerical collar. . . Father Denning!
She threw open the door with a soft cry. “Father Denning! Oh, I’m very glad to see you!”
“Hello, Mrs. Bernard, God be with you during this trial. I wish we were meeting again under more pleasant circumstances.”
“I know, but please, come in. We’re just waiting for word. . .”
Denning followed her to the living room and nodded at Wilton, not offering his hand since the man was holding Marcus. He then seated himself across from them. “Where is Buffy?”
“She. . .” Joyce’s voice caught. “. . .went to find Rupert. I tried to tell her it was too dangerous, but she never listens to her mother. . .”
“Oh, dear God,” Denning breathed. “Has she sensed him somehow?”
“I think so. She told us they were going to the desert south of town.”
“Southwest,” Wilton corrected in a soft voice.
Joyce nodded. “She’s gonna get herself killed, too, and then there’ll be nobody left for the baby.” She said the words so calmly they almost didn’t register with Denning.
“Buffy seems to know what she’s doing,” Denning stated emphatically. “But, you said. . . ‘they’?”
“She has Faith and Wesley with her. And Xander, and Willow.”
He nodded. “The Slayer and Watcher. . . and her loyal friends. They are all very brave.” A smile danced across his face as he added, “And, of course, God goes with her wherever she goes.”
Joyce nodded again, sniffling a bit. “I hope God does better with her than he did with Rupert. . . no blasphemy intended, Father.”
“God’s not afraid of honesty, Mrs. Bernard.”
Wilton commented, “Buffy also said something about her ex-boyfriend being in town to help, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. Angel will help, too. . . at least, after dark, he will.”
Denning’s eyes narrowed. “Angel? The vampire with a soul?”
“Well, yes. Do you know him?” Joyce seemed surprised.
A grim smile crooked across the priest’s face. “Only from the confessional.”
At that, both Joyce and Wilton looked startled.
Denning held up a hand. “I know, it sounds strange, and I couldn’t offer him any sort of absolution. I have no idea what the Church’s policy is on vampires with souls, and I was a little hesitant to ask. He came by one night. . . just wanted to talk. So he talked and I listened.”
“Then, you know he was in love with Buffy.”
Denning nodded, knowing Angel’s feelings for the Slayer weren’t a secret. “Yes.” He didn’t correct her verb tense, but he personally doubted Angel’s feelings were relegated to the past. He thought about the horrible things Angel had confessed. . . knowing the priest would never repeat them.
“That was such a confusing time, when I found out about Buffy being the Slayer. I didn’t know what to do. . . I made some really stupid decisions, said some hurtful things. . . but she finally forgave me.”
“She’s a forgiving person.” Denning took in the tired faces of the two people in front of him, wondering what he could do or say that would comfort them in the face of the unknown. Suddenly, he stood to his feet. “I’m not too familiar with Rupert and Buffy’s kitchen, but would either of you care for some tea?”
Joyce stood smoothly. “I am. Familiar with the kitchen, I mean. You sit, I’ll boil water. It’ll give me something to do.”
She gazed out the small window as the water began to heat, watching the last vestiges of light disappear from the night sky. She let her eyes go unfocused for a moment, and it was then that she saw movement on the street.
Something was coming towards the house. Not someone. Something.
“Wilton!”
The urgency in her voice drove both men to their feet, Wilton still cradling Marcus in his arms. The baby began to whimper.
Denning ran to the kitchen, with Wilton right behind him, and saw the blonde woman staring at something outside. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. . . but it looks evil.”
Denning closed his eyes briefly, saying a prayer for guidance. Yes, there it was, a malevolent presence was approaching. His eyes snapped open. “It is evil, Mrs. Bernard. Step away from the window, please.”
She obeyed stiffly, and Denning focused his attention on the thing he did best. . . praying.
********
Deep inside the earth southwest of Sunnydale, the demons kept on coming.
“You’d think Hell would be runnin’ short by now!” Faith decapitated two burly monsters with a single arc of her bloody sword.
“There is an endless supply. . . unfortunately,” Wesley answered as he managed to sink his sword up to the hilt into an arachnid’s thorax. “Dear God! What a stench!” He leaped backwards to avoid getting rancid black blood on his white shirt, then eased forward to retrieve his soiled blade.
Faith laughed at his fastidiousness in the face of grave danger, imagining him holding a pressed and monogrammed handkerchief to his nose as he fought. The next instant, she was too busy kicking the next demon’s face in to watch her Watcher.
A billow of black cloth caught Faith’s eye, and she dispatched her opponent quickly, turning to meet the challenge from behind. She pulled her blow as she recognized the man. . . no, vampire. . .
“Angel! Long time no see!”
“Faith.” He used an impressive, spring-loaded staking device hidden in his coat sleeve to take out a demon, his face expressionless.
“Angel! Good of you to join us.” Wesley ducked the armored fist of a creature that looked to Faith like a cross between Conan the Barbarian and a warthog. “You certainly got here in a hurry. We’re quite a ways from the road, and it hasn’t been dark for long.”
Angel broke the neck of the creature that was attacking the Watcher. “I took the sewers, and listened.”
“For what?” Faith couldn’t resist asking as she spun with her sword.
“Fighting.” He sidestepped a falling monster. . . or, at least half of it.
“Ah, I see.” Wes ducked another blow, this time from an enormous battle ax. “Your help is greatly appreciated.”
“No problem.” Angel dived into the fray, spinning, kicking and punching so fast that his motions were a blur. Despite their combined efforts, the horde began to advance, and Wesley realized that they would soon need to abandon the cave and fall back.
Angel realized it, as well, and said, “Wes, a strategic retreat would probably work right now.”
“Retreat? No way, Fang Boy!”
“Faith!” Wesley snapped, his Watcher voice getting her full attention. “We need to fall back.”
“Do your spell, Watcher-Man! Me and Darkman here can hold ‘em.”
“I’ve already attempted the spell,” Wesley gasped as he traded blows with something slender, orange and slimy. “It didn’t work.”
Travers, who had been watching the fight in relative calm, suddenly realized something, and his eyes grew wide and terrified above the makeshift gag that kept him quiet. He began to shout, as best he could with his mouth covered. He twisted and fought desperately until he was able to dislodge the gag.
“Pryce! The demons have no directive! They’re free to kill everything in their path, then move to the next available target!” He pictured the town above them with horror. . . all those innocents. . . a Watcher was supposed to protect the innocent! He was still cloaked in the protection spell, but the others. . .
Angel and Faith paused in their combat, dancing out of the way of the latest hellbeast, a creature with tentacles instead of arms. The Slayer shot him a look of complete contempt. “You really screwed up, didn’t you, chubby? I always knew you were nothing but a loser!”
Travers was too frightened to argue with her. “I have to close the portal, or it will continue to expand! The demon army will keep coming!”
Wesley gritted his teeth as he realized what the former Watcher was saying. “You’re an idiot, Travers! You forgot to complete the incantation, didn’t you?”
“I can correct it! I can stop them!” the little sorcerer cried.
“Then do it!” Angel pulled him up and snapped the rope binding him like it was twine. “And no tricks, or. . .” He vamped out, snarling, and Travers went pasty-faced at the sight, despite the magical armor of protection he wore.
Ignoring his broken nose, Travers began to chant, gathering his scattered herbs and paraphernalia for the counter-spell.
********
“Rupert!”
He lay on a rock slab, covered with a black cloth and looking horribly pale. He tried to raise his head to see her, but the chains covering his forehead held him firmly in place. “Buffy,” he whispered weakly. The Bond was literally singing in his veins, the joy at their being reunited overshadowing his pain.
She yanked the covering away and gasped, “Oh, babe. . .” He was slashed in a dozen places. . . more, probably, that she couldn’t see right away. He looked like one solid bruise. What was left of his shirt clung to him in tatters. His forehead and cheeks were encrusted with blood, as was his chest and abdomen. She could feel his pain through their shared connection. . . so intense that it was impossible to tell what his specific injuries were. She began to cry again.
“Shhhh. . . no time for that,” he said lovingly, his voice strengthening her. She bounded to his side and began pulling the chains apart, breaking the massive links with adrenaline-reinforced ease. She winced each time a loop of metal fell away and revealed the state of the skin underneath. When he was finally free, she fell across him, hugging him as gently as her agitated state would allow. She kissed his swollen lips gingerly and put her arms under his neck, intending to help him sit.
“Can you move everything? Is anything broken?”
“I don’t know. . . don’t think I have any broken bones, but I will be well and truly sore tomorrow.”
Buffy began to grin. “That’s my sweetie, tough as nails. Can you walk?”
“I don’t know. I can try.” He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. “Buffy? Marcus. . .”
“He’s okay. He’s with Mom and Wilton.”
“We have to protect him. . . Travers intends to take him. . .”
“We will. Right now, Travers has other things to worry about. . . there’s a hole in Hell, and it’s leaking.”
She supported him carefully as he slid his feet to the earthen floor. He groaned and winced several times as the tears on his back reopened, but he was soon upright, swaying in her grasp.
“If I have to, I can carry you,” she said, her voice thick with worry.
Her touch seemed to revive him, and he straightened with wary confidence. “That shouldn’t be necessary.” His head swam, but he managed to sound lucid when he asked, “Did you say there was a hole in Hell?”
“Yeah. There’s this huge. . . doorway-thing back in another cave. . . and demons are pouring out of it like crazy. It might be a good idea to fix that.”
“A portal. . . the lunatic’s opened a portal. . . chances are he’s got no idea how to control it,” Giles said with disgust.
“Gee, he’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys, isn’t he?”
Behind them, Buffy suddenly heard heavy breathing and approaching footsteps. She propped Giles against the wall in a shallow indentation that offered a small bit of protection, and whirled into a fighting stance. She relaxed when she recognized Xander and Willow. “What are you guys doing way over here? I thought you were following Faith!”
“We were!” Xander panted. “When we left you, we lost her trail. . .”
“Then we lost us,” Willow finished.
“Well, come on. You can catch your breath on the way back. Giles can’t move very fast anyway.”
“Giles? You found him?” Willow squealed.
“What’s left of him,” a dry voice answered. He pushed away from his hidden spot in the wall and was immediately enveloped in a relieved hug by his two young friends. “Ow, ow. . . easy, watch the ribs. . .”
They released him instantly, apologizing, and the four of them began to move slowly down the tunnel. Ahead of them, they could hear a dying demon’s scream.
********
“Can demons call demons?”
“What?” Denning looked up from his rosary, confused by Joyce’s question.
“Can demons call demons,” she repeated patiently, her eyes glued to the window despite Denning’s repeated warnings to stay away.
“I suppose they can.” He looked down. . . was that seven or eight repetitions?
“Then one of them just did.” Joyce’s voice was calm and steady, as if she were commenting on the weather. “There’s a bunch of Ninja-looking things, and a horde of Nazi soldiers that look like they’d just been dug up. Oh, and something in the back that looks like a walking mountain. It even has trees growing out of it.”
He didn’t really want to look, so he went back to his protection prayer. A dozen of those, then a dozen prayers for help from St. Algernon, the patron of all helpless victims, then he’d have to improvise.
“They’re almost here. Shouldn’t we be doing something?”
Denning wanted to grab her and shout, ‘Pray, woman, pray!’ Curiosity finally won out, and looked up and out. He was instantly sorry he had.
“Oh, dear Jesus. . . please help us. . .” The heartfelt words tumbled out before he could stop them. He swallowed, bowed his head, and returned to the Victim’s Prayer.
“Um. . . Father Denning?”
Obviously Joyce didn’t know that interrupting a desperate prayer to St. Algernon borderlined on rudeness. “Yes?”
“Did you just. . . um. . . call something?”
“What?” Confusion seemed to be a common state for him tonight.
She pointed outside. “Something else just appeared. It’s big, it’s white, and it’s got wings.”
“It’s got WHAT?” Wilton’s voice came from the cupboard under the stairs, where he’d taken Marcus. It seemed to be the safest area in the house. . . at least there weren’t any outside walls or windows.
Denning abandoned his prayers and joined Joyce in staring through the glass. He gaped at the sight for a few seconds, then said, in an awestricken voice, “Wings. And a sword.”
“A big sword.”
Denning nodded dumbly. He’d seen a lot of things in his time near the Hellmouth, but he’d never seen a regular old angel, much less a twenty-foot-tall, white-robed, golden-armor-wearing one . He began a prayer of thanks in a hushed whisper, completely forgetting about form and repetitions.
Lightning flashed as the angel’s sword met the advancing demons.
********
Buffy was almost carrying her husband by the time they reached the battle scene. His legs trembled as he stumbled along. Xander supported him from the other side. His hand, resting on the ex-Watcher’s waist, suddenly slipped, and the young man realized Giles was still bleeding. He wanted to warn Buffy, but he had a feeling she already knew.
Willow led the way cautiously, peering around bends and corners to be sure there weren’t any more bug-demons to contend with. When they came to the cavern entrance, a fresh shower of dirt and rock greeted them as a basso howl emerged from the cave.
Buffy left Giles leaning against Xander and stuck her head into the doorway. There was a huge, armor-plated monster stuck in the crumbling mouth of the portal. It was bellowing as it fought to tear itself free, and from the looks of the cracking rock around the beast, it wouldn’t be long before it achieved its goal.
She looked around for Faith. She was wiping her sword with Travers’ spell-casting robe. For a split second, Buffy wondered if the younger Slayer had killed the sorcerer for being annoying. She heard the excommunicated Watcher swearing from behind his makeshift worktable, and relaxed a bit. He was still alive. . . and still annoying.
Angel grunted, whether in pain or annoyance, Buffy couldn’t tell. “Didn’t work, did it, Travers?”
Travers continued to swear. The demons were ignoring him. He had no idea why.
Angel shrugged at Faith with a slight grin on his handsome face. “Never trust a evil sorcerer.”
The armored beast suddenly wrenched its shoulders free of the sides of the opening, and roared its triumph. Buffy, Angel and Faith immediately snapped to attention and raced to meet the intruder. Their coordinated attack ended in Buffy being tossed across the cavern and Faith nursing a cracked jaw a few feet from her. Angel received a blow to the side, but remained standing, albeit at a safer distance than before.
“This thing is really strong. We need firepower.” Faith proceeded to pull a sawed-off shotgun from her bag.
Buffy threw a glance at Wesley, who was still trying to read Travers’ grimoire. “You let her carry guns? How come I never got to carry guns?”
The armored beast narrowly missed gutting the blonde with a clawed hand, and Faith let loose both barrels just as the creature shifted its weight to swing again. The pellets found their mark, but the beast didn’t seem the slightest bit inconvenienced.
“It wasn’t a question of ‘let’, actually. . .” Wes looked up, looked sheepish, then startled. “Buffy, look out!”
Faith swore and reloaded as Buffy danced just out of claw tip reach. The second blast hit the beast directly in the face, and its eyes disappeared in a splash of golden ick. Apparently, the thing didn’t need eyesight, because it caught Buffy on the backswing and sent her tumbling into the tunnel. Angel moved in to distract the thing, barely able to stay away from its claws.
“Wes! Conjure up somethin’ quick, or we’re all toast!” Faith tried blasting a massive leg, hoping it would slow the creature, suddenly realizing there were more demons coming out from behind the behemoth. “Sorry, Angel. . . toast and dust. . .”
Buffy picked herself up off the dirty floor and would have launched herself back into the room, but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her. “Buffy. . . the Bond. It’s the only way.” She looked up into beloved green eyes, groggy and filled with pain, yes, but still determined.
“But Faith. . .”
“We must hurry!” Giles grabbed her hand and pushed away from Xander, standing under his own power. They began to concentrate, feeling the familiar tingle of awareness as it grew into a flame. The walls of the cave seemed to melt into fog, and the fog enveloped them. Xander’s shouts and Willow’s fearful face faded into the distance.
Each time it grows stronger, like our faith in each other, and in the Power that called us.
I wish I had as much faith as you.
You don’t need my faith. You have your own. God has never let us down.
I. . . It isn’t easy. I’m not used to believing in anything but me. And you.
You will. It’s there.
I love you.
And I love you.
Oh! That’s the key. . .
“Yes,” they intoned in unison. To the two friends standing close by, Buffy and Giles seemed to be in a trance. They began, slowly, to move towards the cave, their hands firmly linked.
Xander stared at them as they began to glow faintly in the darkness. “Will? Tell me you know what’s going on, because I’m getting some really weird vibes right now.” The light winked out as his friends disappeared into the doorway.
“Sorry, Xand. I have no idea. Buffy said something about the Bond. . .” She started towards the cave, her face showing shock as she bounced off an invisible barrier. “Hey! I can’t go in!”
“And you’re calling this a BAD?” Xander cowered to one side as a blue-skinned demon sailed past them and impacted against the far wall.
“If I can’t get in, how did they get in?”
“Walked, looked like to me.”
She tried to push against the unseen force, but it held firm. “Oh, no!” She pressed her face against the barrier like a child looking through a store window. “Buffy, I can’t get in!” She beat against the force field until Xander grabbed her from behind. He held her back against himself as he reached out a hand and wiggled it at the entrance of the cave. It encountered nothing.
“Must just be for those of the Witchy persuasion.”
* * * * *
Wilton, Joyce and Father Denning watched with open mouths as the Guardian defended the house against unspeakable creatures. Wilton, still cradling Marcus, tried several times to say something, but there weren’t any words adequate to the occasion. It was too dark to see much, but what they did see bordered on hallucination. Joyce, for one, was glad of the darkness; in flashes of lightning and bursts of energy, she’d seen things that would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life. She didn’t need a clearer view.
There was a sudden lull in the action, and the angelic figure resumed his at-attention stance, sword held in front of him. She could just see the glowing tip showing just past his shoulder as his wings folded back onto themselves until they blended into the shimmering fabric of his robe.
“Oh, my God. . .” Joyce breathed.
“You said it, hon,” Wilton agreed in a whisper.
“Amen.” Denning crossed himself fervently.
Marcus hiccupped and sighed, then snuggled back into Wilton’s neck. He’d slept through the whole thing.
The Guardian turned and looked at the trio of humans as they gaped through the little window. With a gentle smile, he bowed deeply, then disappeared.
********
Faith and a rather nondescript demon with a sword were going at it great guns when Buffy and Giles entered the cavern. Wesley was behind the creature, trying to get to his Slayer’s side. Travers was firing energy bolts from his hands at the rift, trying to slow the stream of demons as they got close to the surface. His magic had little effect, coming as it was from the same source as the monsters themselves. At best, he managed to make them sneeze and shake their heads.
Travers looked up as the Bonded pair stopped and braced themselves, still holding hands. A flash of clarity suddenly overwhelmed him. The very people he had fought, conspired against, and tried to kill countless times were about to save his miserable life. He stopped his ineffective pyrotechnics and sat down, his back against the cold rock wall of the cave.
Faith finished her sparring partner off with a swift beheading and ran to Wesley’s side. They imitated the Giles’ stance, grabbing hands and facing the portal. Power gathered around the four of them, raising a wind that scattered the sorcerer’s herbs around the room. Buffy turned her head and looked up at Giles, smiling at the look of love he gave her in return. Faith grinned and yanked Wesley over until she could reach Buffy, nodding at her sister-Slayer as they linked their hands.
“You two. Makin’ with the goo-goo eyes again. . . don’t you ever run down?”
Buffy’s smile broadened. “Nope.”
Giles chuckled, then turned as a fresh wave of demons spilled into the room. The gash in the rock wall was about twenty feet wide and at least ten feet tall, and the monsters that were emerging had to bend almost double to come through it. As the first one straightened, its head brushed against the roof of the cave, some twenty feet above. Giles estimated, his never-truly-dormant Watcher instinct calculating rapidly, that the creatures probably weighed close to six hundred pounds each. The floor shook as they advanced into the long room. Giles felt no fear, only urgency, and he mentally gave the signal to his wife and his friends. . . ‘Now!’
Travers could only stare. Surely the Slayers and Watchers would be annihilated. He felt a strange sensation well up inside him. He couldn’t identify it at first, but after a few seconds’ thought he realized it for what it was.
Regret.
It was a first for him. He had, for so many years, been convinced of the rightness of his actions, despite advice from fellow Watchers and commands from the Director himself. His descent into dark magic and evildoing had seemed perfectly justified in his warped mind. The scope of his self-deception began to dawn on him, and he could only stare at the ex-Watcher and ex-Slayer and hope that their gifts would be sufficient to rescue them all.
He realized he had some serious apologizing to do. . . and on both sides of the Atlantic.
Quentin Travers curled himself into a tight ball and tried to shrink into the shadows. . . not from fear of demons or vampires, but from pain of remorse.
The huge, glittering demonoids were stopped in their tracks as they encountered the leading edge of the power bubble. They began to roar as they were inexorably pushed back, their claws scrabbling for purchase on the rocky floor. Buffy leaned forward slightly, and the demons tumbled back into the crevasse, howling furiously.
She looked over at Giles, then turned her head to Faith and Wesley. “We’re not home free yet,” she said, in an almost cheerful voice.
“Here comes another batch,” Faith said, trying to match Buffy’s upbeat tone, “and it looks like Satan’s sending in his ugliest troops this time!”
Giles tightened his grip on Buffy, who in turn squeezed Faith’s hand.
‘Get ready. Clear your minds. . . this will be much worse than before,’ Giles’ warning was firm and confident.
Buffy had seen some hideous critters crawl out of the Hellmouth, but nothing compared to these. ‘Batlike’ was the only description that seemed to fit. . . at least, it would if bats were covered with slimy, leathery skin instead of fur, and had wings that were tipped with venomous stingers. The creatures’ eyes glowed orange-red in the lamplight, and hellish heat seemed to singe the air in front of them. They met the crystal clear leading edge of the Bond, and the battle was joined.
Travers couldn’t see through the haze of smoke and lightning produced by the meeting of Good and Evil. He heard things, though. . . screams, cries, curses, thunder. . . it was overwhelming, and he found himself covering his ears to block the sounds.
‘I caused this. I brought this into the world. . .’
He began to sob. “I’m sorry. . . I’m sorry. . .” He rocked and repeated the words as his former enemies battled to save the world.
Buffy had never felt the Bond’s power so completely. She extended a hand, mirroring Giles as he did the same, and the bat creatures screamed as they winked out of existence. More of them appeared, and she realized they needed close the rift. They turned slightly, facing the corridor to the underworld, and concentrated, letting the supernatural connection feed them the knowledge they needed. She reconnected with Faith’s hand briefly, drawing power from her sister Slayer as she prepared for the next step.
Faith, with her hands encased by Buffy on one side and Wesley on the other, felt frustration begin to build. She was action-oriented, and this concentrating made her nervous. She fidgeted until Wesley whispered, “Love, you must stop trying to act and start trying to think.”
She snapped her head towards him, eyes wide. ‘Love’, he called her. . . Their eyes met, and his sincere gaze seemed to calm her. She took a deep breath, and forced her attention back to the matters at hand. A smug, delighted smile rested on her face for some time.
Buffy suddenly released Faith’s hand, startling the younger girl with the sudden loss of power. Faith steadied herself against Wesley, clutching his arm with her tingling free hand, and watched as the Bonded pair raised their hands towards the gaping hole in the world. As if they were physically pushing the sides of the rift together, Buffy and Giles began to move their opposing hands closer together. Faith and Wesley added their determined thoughts, doing their best to help. Rock and earth groaned in protest, but the entrance began to knit itself back together, narrowing until there was only a crack. They could hear horrible screams as the monsters caught in the throat of the rift were slowly crushed. With a final grunt of effort, the pair pushed their palms together, and the crack disappeared. The wall was solid once again.
The four of them stood for a moment, breathing heavily as though they’d been running a marathon. In a way, they had.
Faith was the first to stir. “Way cool, you guys,” she said, in a softly awed voice.
“Indeed,” Wesley agreed, looking at his Slayer intensely. Such power. . . would he and Faith ever be able to tap that reservoir?
Suddenly, there was a thunderclap, and a tall, black-skinned demon with blazing red eyes appeared in a cloud of acrid smoke. Its roar rattled the earth beneath their feet, but none of the Chosen Ones even blinked.
Thoniak lifted its arm, and a huge, comically proportioned hourglass appeared on its wrist. The demon grinned evilly at the quivering sorcerer still huddled in a corner.
“Your time is up, and I expect payment, little worm.” It took a step towards Giles, eyes gleaming in anticipation. Giles casually held up a hand, and the demon froze. Astonishment covered the warty, deformed face. “What is this? They are protected! I can’t steal the Watcher’s heart if he’s protected!” It bore down on Travers, furious.
“I. . . I. . . your army. . . they wouldn’t obey my commands. . . then I couldn’t do it. . . I changed my mind. . .”
Thoniak tilted its horned head and stared at Travers. “You changed your mind? You don’t have that prerogative, FOOL!” It reached over and grabbed the startled sorcerer by the shirt. “And your petty protection spells don’t work for a Dark Prince. You should’ve read the fine print.” It tossed the man to the ground casually, a hideous smirk on his face.
“Regardless of what you say, I have changed my mind.” Travers sat up, his mind firming in its resolve despite his spinning head. “I’m not going to deliver a Watcher’s heart to you, beast. I’m not going to deliver any hearts to you at all. I denounce you, Thoniak, Prince of the Underworld, Ruler of Nothing!”
Thoniak roared again, trying to fight its way into the bubble of safety the Bond projected to get the heart it had been promised. It was like trying to walk through solid steel. All it managed to do was bruise its nose.
It turned back to Travers, slavering with fury. “It isn’t wise to renege on a pact with the Prince of the Underworld, as you will soon find out!” Its eyes fixed on the small man in sudden recognition. “Well, little worm. . . since my first choice for a Watcher’s heart has been denied me. . . I’ll just have to settle for second best. You were once a Watcher, weren’t you?”
Before either Watcher/Slayer pair could react, a long black arm reached for Travers and penetrated his chest. There was a horrific scream that was cut short, and the demon held up its bloody prize with a vengeful laugh. The heart quivered in its grasp, then was still.
Buffy screamed in horror, but it was too late. Travers’ body hit the floor with a moist thump.
“No, no. . .” A red haze of fury covered her vision, breaking Giles’ mental contact with her for a brief second.
Giles held her hand firmly when she tried to break free, whether to attack Thoniak or to rush to Travers’ side, he didn’t know. His voice rang out commandingly, “Buffy! Stay with us! You cannot help him now!”
“But, he’s dead. . .”
“By the hand of a demon he conjured to kill me! He made his choice. . . we can’t change that.”
Thoniak laughed again. “The worm chose. . . you are correct, Watcher. He promised me two hearts, and one of them was yours! I should think you’d be grateful. Now as to the second heart. . .. this one was also a party to the worm’s plan, so I’ll just take his. . .” It casually violated the laboring chest of David Post with a gleeful chuckle, as both Buffy and Giles cried out in dismay. “. . . as the rest of my payment, and be on my way. Good-bye, Chosen Ones. If we meet again, beware!”
“If we meet again, you’re toast,” Buffy vowed between clenched teeth as the demonic Prince disappeared.
“Buffy!” From outside the cave, Xander’s frightened voice galvanized her back into action. She clung to Giles’ hand, supporting him as they stumbled for the cave entrance together.
In the tunnel, Xander was grappling with one of the beetle-like demons, and Willow was holding off another by mentally hurling rocks at it. Both insectoids disappeared with a hollow pop as the power of the Bond sent them back to Hell.
“Whew. . . thanks, Buff. . . Giles. . . I could never work for Terminex. I hate bugs.” He limped over and gave Willow a reassuring hug, then turned to his other friends. “Hey, G-man, you don’t look so good.”
“I’ll be fine, Xander,” Giles said confidently, then collapsed.
********
Three days later. . .
Joyce squirmed in the hard plastic visitor’s chair. She hated hospitals, and hospital chairs in particular. The hospital only had two chairs in each room, so they’d gotten two more from the lounge. None of them were comfortable. When she grimaced at her protesting derriere, Wilton patted her shoulder. They would have to go soon, or she’d have to borrow one of the wheelchairs until feeling returned to her legs and bottom.
Willow and Xander were busy trying to ‘cheer Giles up’. Actually, they were mostly arguing with each other. The older people in the room tried to keep a straight face at their banter.
“Giles sure has a lot of nurses checkin’ up on him.”
“Yeah, everybody in the ER knows him.” Willow patted the hand that didn’t have an IV in it. Giles rolled his eyes. They were talking about him like he wasn’t there. . . again.
“He’s got more friends in here than out there.”
“Xander! No he doesn’t!” Willow glared at him. “He’s got a ton of friends out there!”
“Okay, it just seems that way. I mean, there were six different nurses that came in to say hi this morning. . . um, not that I’m implying anything, just because they were all really cute. . .”
“Xan-der. . .”
The dark-haired young man turned slightly red, then apologized, “Sorry, G-man, but you get all the babes.”
“Naturally.” Giles chuckled, then said automatically, “And don’t call me that.”
“Admit it, Giles, you get more than your share of nurse-ly attention.”
Willow rolled her eyes. “They’re just friendly people, Xander. Giles is a nice person. People like to visit other people who are nice. It’s one of the perks.”
Xander shook his head thoughtfully. “No. . . it’s more than that.” He suddenly snapped his fingers. “It’s the accent. The girls go nuts over the accent.”
“Xan-der!!”
Buffy came in just then with a tray full of drinks, saving her best guy friend from being strangled by Willow and Giles both. She started distributing the Styrofoam cups like an experienced waitress. “Here, Mom, coffee with cream. Wilton, lemonade. . . Xander, Dr. Pepper. . . Willow, Sprite. . . me, ice water. Whew.” She plopped down beside her husband on the bed and sipped gratefully at the cool liquid. For a few seconds, only gulping sounds were heard.
Giles seemed disappointed, but tried to hide it. Buffy fought a smile at his deliberate silence, knowing from their connection that he wanted to demand his drink request.
Finally, she leaned over, whispering, “Your hot tea is on the way. They didn’t have Earl Grey. . . you have to settle for English Breakfast.”
“That’s fine,” he said quickly, smiling at her. “And thank you, love.” If only Marcus could be here, he would be perfectly content. The doctor was weakening under their combined assaults. . . he’d very nearly said yes the last time Buffy pouted at him about letting the toddler into the room. The best they could get out of him, however, was “We’ll see in the morning.”
It was morning, nearly eight o’clock, and the doctor hadn’t been in. Giles was growing impatient. You couldn’t hug your son from a distance, and he longed to do just that.
Bill Armstead was keeping Marcus during the day, turning him over to Joyce and Wilton at night. Buffy had been the first to recover, being the Slayer and having much lighter injuries than Giles. The instant she was released, she glued herself to her husband’s side, leaving only to check on Marcus.
Giles’ injuries had been terrible, but he’d only spent two days in ICU before being moved to a private room. Even Doctor Stevenson remarked about how well he was doing. He was getting anxious to go home and be with his son. He missed Marcus more than he could’ve imagined. He vowed to be more diligent, more protective than ever, to make sure that Marcus remained safe.
Doctor Phil Stevenson breezed in, looking cheerfully pleased as he examined Giles’ chart. “Good morning, Rupert. How are you feeling today?”
“He’s doing a lot better, Doctor Phil,” Willow chirped.
Buffy and Giles exchanged smirks.
“I see. Other than an inability to speak for himself, I gather.”
“Oh! No! He can talk! Show him, Giles, and maybe he’ll let you go home!”
Xander leaned over to Buffy and stage-whispered, “Somebody stopped for an illegal cappuccino this morning, I betcha.”
Willow stuck her tongue out at him. “It was a cafe latte, smart aleck.”
“See?”
The doctor cleared his throat, hiding a smile. “Everybody out. Much as I appreciate the comedy routine, I’m sure Rupert would rather be examined without an audience.”
Buffy waved at the hall and commanded, “You guys take a walk. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come back in.”
“But. . .” Xander cut off Willow’s protest by hauling her out of the room by the hand. Joyce and Wilton followed discreetly.
“Before you have to ask again, I’m feeling quite well. A bit sore.” Giles shifted uncomfortably, and Buffy slid off the bed to let Doctor Phil check him over. When the physician slipped the IV out of his arm, Giles breathed a sigh of relief. No more dragging that silly metal stand into the loo. . .
“Is he ready to go home yet?” Buffy couldn’t keep the hopefulness out of her voice.
“We’re getting there. That bruised hip is going to cause you some trouble for several weeks, Rupert.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“Still, you’ve made remarkable progress. Your dehydration is gone. . . you’re eating well. . .”
Giles scowled. He hated hospital food.
The doctor noticed, and grinned before continuing. “You’re up and walking with crutches. . .”
“Awkwardly.”
“Soooo. . . if you continue to improve at the current rate, you should be able to go home Friday evening.”
“Great!” Buffy said, not too enthusiastically. “What about letting Marcus come and see him? It’d make him heal faster.”
The doctor looked at the two pleading faces. He had a surprise planned for them. They’d been so adamant about letting Rupert see his son. . .
“We’ll see.”
Both sets of shoulders slumped. Doctor Phil turned to go, his eyes back on the chart in front of him. He stopped just outside the door and motioned before continuing his rounds. A satisfied grin covered his face.
“Dad-deeee! Mum-mee!” Marcus burst into the room, holding up his arms. Bill Armstead strolled in right behind the toddler, grinning widely.
Buffy scooped up the toddler and hugged him tightly. “Baby, we sure are glad to see you!”
She passed the excited child to his father, and Giles was inundated with childish hugs and kisses. Despite the impact on his sore side, the man was ecstatic. “Marcus, I’ve missed you so. Armstead! How did you manage this?”
“Actually, Willow and Doctor Stevenson cooked this one up. I merely smuggled Marcus in at the appointed time.”
“Thank you,” Buffy and Giles said, in unison, both of them beaming with gratitude.
“Daddy! I bisit you! Bee-oo gots me ice cweam! I seed de angel! I seed G’ama. . .” Marcus continued to babble as tears welled up in the ex-Watcher’s eyes. Marcus was all right. His son was all right.
Everyone filed back in, blinking back tears of their own at Giles’ happy expression. He talked earnestly to his son for several minutes, giving his full attention to the baby-talk and half-understood words that meant so much to him.
Their attention was on Marcus as he suddenly stopped talking and looked at the door. Buffy was surprised to see Cordelia enter the room. She gave them all a friendly smile. “Hey, I’m just gonna close the blinds for a minute, if that’s okay. . .” She proceeded to do just that, and everyone in the room saw why as Angel appeared, shifting his weight uncomfortably in the doorway.
Xander wasn’t thrilled to see the vampire, but he at least tried to be civil. Civility consisted of a sarcastic “Hey, Dead-boy. How’d ya manage the not-burning-to-a-crispy-crunch-in-broad-daylight thing?”
“I have a. . . tarp.”
“A tarp?”
Cordelia roller her eyes. “Black vinyl tarp. Y’know, like you put over a boat or a car? He made it into a robe-thing that keeps the sun off. He still smokes a little, which is gross, and he looks like a monk with a really sick fetish.”
Xander and Willow chortled at the inference, and Armstead looked shocked. Buffy ignored the exchange and gave her ex-lover a gentle smile. “You don’t have to lurk around the halls. Come in and say ‘hi’.”
“Thanks. Cordy didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”
“Yeah, right,” the brunette snorted. “Angel didn’t want to leave without seeing the baby. Willow spilled the beans on her little plan. Hi, Giles. How’re you doing?”
“Better every day, thank you,” Giles answered cordially.
Angel stared at Marcus, who stared right back. The vampire’s face was gentle. “Hey, Marcus.”
Marcus smiled, suddenly shy. “Hi.”
Buffy took Marcus’ hand, sending him soothing thoughts. “Marcus Everett Giles, this is Angel.”
“Angel?” Marcus looked confused.
“Remember your friend Mad? He isn’t really mad, that’s just his name. Angel isn’t really an angel, it’s just his name.”
“Hi, Angel,” Marcus said clearly, then leaned over to his father. “He not a weal angel, Daddy,” he informed Giles seriously.
Giles managed to answer with a straight face, “Yes, love, I know.”
Cordelia, Willow and Buffy both snickered, Xander laughed a bit too loudly, and the rest of them smiled.
“Smart kid. Um. . . he’s. . . he’s. . .” Angel gestured helplessly at the toddler. “He looks like both of you.”
Buffy nodded sagely. “My face, Rupert’s eyes, my natural hair color and his curls.”
“Is he strong. . . like you?”
“Yeah. Getting stronger every day. And smart, like his daddy.”
Angel nodded dumbly.
“He’s learning his ABC’s already,” Willow added. “I’m helping him.”
“Wanna hear me sing de ABC song, Angel?”
The vampire smiled sadly. “You can sing it for me next time, okay?”
Cordelia saw the doom and gloom descending, and she knew she had to get him out of there quickly. She couldn’t resist stepping over to the bedside for a minute, though. “Hey, Marcus, me and Angel have to go home. Can I have a hug before I go? I haven’t had one since you were little.”
Marcus beamed and held up his arms. Hugs were his favorite gifts, next to kisses. Cordy pulled the little body into her arms, grunting slightly. “You’re heavier than you were last time, kiddo. You must be growing!”
“I big, Coh-dee-ya,” Marcus confirmed.
“You’re really getting better at saying my name. Pretty soon you’ll say it better than Angel.” He giggled and hugged her again. She took a moment to relish the maternal warmth that holding a small child brought her. Reluctantly, she allowed him to return to his daddy’s lap.
“Look at the time! We gotta go, boss, if we wanna get back to LA tonight. I have to pack, y’know.” Cordy started dragging him out the door, but he stopped and turned back one last time.
“Um. . . it was good to see everyone. . .” Angel’s eyes focused on Buffy, but she’d looked down at Giles the instant before. The look of complete devotion on her face ripped at his undead heart. He found his voice after a couple of false tries, and said hoarsely, “. . .But I guess we gotta go.”
“Okay. Thanks again, Angel. You were a big help.” Buffy looked up and gave him a genuine smile.
Angel he knew was no longer a part of her life, but it stung, anyway. She was Giles’ now, for the rest of her life. . . or at least, for the rest of Giles’ life. ‘Giles isn’t a young man. . . if I’m patient, maybe. . .’
He gritted his teeth, horrified at his train of thought. It was definitely time to leave.
“Well, um. . . see ya ‘round, and if you ever need anything. . .”
Cordy gave him a push. “Yeah, they know, the number’s on the card. Get going.” She favored them all with a bright smile. “Bye! Call me sometime, so long as it’s not about demons or dead things!” They were out the door before anyone could reply.
Joyce watched the door swing shut with a pensive look on her face. She turned to her daughter and son-in-law and watched as they interacted with their son. Marcus sat on Giles’ lap happily, with Buffy sitting next to them, touching them both. It was a wonderful sight.
“Honey? We need to go. Wilton’s got a meeting. . .” Joyce steeled herself and looked into her daughter’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” The two most difficult sentences in the world, and she’d managed to say them both without passing out. Good work, Joyce.
Buffy smiled a completely open and forgiving smile. “It’s okay, Mom. You didn’t sign up for the weird life.”
“Neither did you,” Joyce replied softly, then sighed as Buffy sprang off the bed and enveloped her in a bear hug. “Oof, easy, honey, I’m a mere mortal.”
“No you’re not. You’re my Mom.”
Joyce untangled herself from her only child’s arms and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you. Rupert. . .”
He looked up, surprised she would include him after her earlier behavior.
“I’m sorry I doubted you. It’s not like you have anything to prove.” She met his gaze honestly, and saw his relief at her acceptance of him.
“We’re all right, then, as far as I’m concerned,” he said gallantly.
“Yes, we are.” Joyce took Wilton’s arm. He’d been silent the whole time, letting her deal with her family in her own way.
“Good-bye, Rupert, Buffy. . . bye, Marcus.” She reached down and gave her grandson a kiss and a hug. The little fellow reached for Wilton, including him in the embrace.
“Bye-bye, G;ama an’ G’ampa. I wuv you.”
“We love you, too, Marcus, honey.” The older couple left, hiding their sniffling until they reached the hall.
Willow, sensing the strong emotion in the room, decided to give her friends a bit of privacy. “So, you guys wanna go get some coffee?” She grabbed Xander and Armstead, tugging them out the door before they could protest.
Buffy watched them go with a smile. She sank back onto the narrow bed, relieved that their family was back on good terms again. “I hope they don’t give Willow any coffee. . . we’ll never get her to go home then.”
Giles chuckled as Marcus picked at his hospital gown, trying to untie the knot holding it together in front. “Speaking of going home. . . Doctor Phil mentioned Friday?”
“Yeah, I can’t wait. I hate hospitals.”
“So do I.” He reached around her waist to hug her against his side. “If you hadn’t stayed with me, I think I might’ve gone mad.” He gestured at the darkened television set. “They don’t even have BBC-USA here.”
Buffy laughed at his disgusted expression. “I stand by my man,” she teased, then bent slightly to kiss him. Marcus gave up on the knot and leaned against his father’s side, content to be with his parents again. The kiss continued for some time, uninterrupted by friends, family or hospital staff. Marcus was uncharacteristically quiet as they reveled in their mental and physical closeness.
Buffy broke the kiss to give him some air, and said softly, “I’m glad I married you. Have I ever told you that?”
He smiled happily. “Once or twice, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
“Then let me repeat myself.” She grabbed the top of the bed frame to keep her weight off his bruised side, and kissed him again.
********
Willow peered through the partially opened door at her friends. Her face relaxed into a mushy smile, and she backed up, waving Xander and Armstead to the other side of the hallway. “They’re makin’ with the smoochies. Let’s just go back to the cafeteria. I don’t think they need company right now.”
Xander rolled his eyes, and Armstead looked surprised as Willow linked her arm with his and led him away. His voice echoed behind them as he sputtered, “But. . . in a hospital wardroom? Have they no sense of decorum?”
* * *