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Previously : Buffy and Spike are accompanying Willow to Washington DC where she hopes to be reunited with her boyfriend, Sam Seaborn, Deputy Communications Director for President Bartlet. They hope to arrive in DC in time to hear the President speak in Rosslyn, Virginia. Halfway to DC, Willow starts acting bizarre, as though something is wrong.
In Rosslyn, as the President and his staff are leaving the event, multiple gunshots are fired from a building across the street, leaving Willow in the midst of a magically induced seizure with the knowledge that someone has been hit.
A/N : As promised, here it is. Didn't leave you guys hanging for all that long…those who haven't forgotten and are still interested. Anyone who's just now stumbled over this and thinks I'm quirky or insane to mesh the fandoms together, but similarly find yourselves irrevocably drawn to my little world out of curiosity or the desire to see me fall on my face, I highly recommend that you refer to the fic that precedes this entitled, Grey Gardens of Shadowed Rapture. Everything that happens in this Book, as well as Book III when I get to that, is a result of what happened in that story.
Much of the dialogue from this chapter and the following chapter are taken directly from the season premiere of The West Wing: Season 2. In fact, all snippets of dialogue from both shows of the applicable seasons are subject to usage when it's needed or in the event that I am extremely lazy. Anyone who points out that I use dialogue from the shows throughout the story will be directed to this note, and I will offer no apologies.
Book II is going to delve deeper into The West Wing world. I have absolutely no intention of going into detail of the specific politics that are involved in each episode. That would be tedious for me, and very boring for the few that actually decide to read this thing. However, as President Bartlet is a Democrat, and thankfully very liberal, there is every chance that my own similar political beliefs will leak through and offend those who are rightists or of the more conservative sway. I will try to remain as neutral as possible. I will also try not to get too caught up in it, as my interest lie more with the BtVS cast as it is, and how they will effect the lives of the Senior Staffers…and vice versa.
Thanks to everyone for the wonderful support in the previous book. I had absolutely no idea that people were actually going to read it. Those who stick around for this one, I appreciate it highly and hope not to disappoint you. I'm very excited about this project, and hope to keep the followers of the previous book interested with the twists I have in store for this one.
Thanks to Megan, Kimmie, and Kat for betaing. I would be lost without you ladies.
Best to all,
Holly
The motorcade sped down the highway on the wings of sirens and flashing lights.
"Get her again."
"She wasn't hit, sir-"
"Get her on the radio, please."
Special Agent Ron Butterfield released a deep sigh. There was nothing fair about the world when he was the one designated to tell the man that he couldn't talk to his daughter just minutes after shots had rained fire on a crowd she'd been in. But making the President comfortable was not part of his job description; his job right now was to get him in the White House as soon as possible, not appease his concerns as a man. The President, as far as the Secret Service was concerned, was the office first and a father second.
That didn't mean he had to like it.
"Sir, she can't talk right now."
"Why can't she talk?"
A sigh. "She's vomiting in the car."
The President's eyes went wide and he lifted himself off the seat to steal a glance at the cars following them. Some indiscernible objection tumbled past his lips-the growing anxiety on his shoulders nearing a state that was seconds away from taking a physical manifestation.
"It happens, sir, we'll get-"
"Why is she vomiting?"
The answer was obvious, but Butterfield was a professional. The girl had just been fired upon. The President was worried about his daughter, yet he needed to be put inside the White House before any of these fears could be addressed. "It happens, it could be shock-"
"Ron-"
"She might've gotten an elbow in the side of-"
"Is Gina with her?"
"Gina put her in the car."
"She's not with her."
"She's got two other agents in the car-she's got Mike and Fred, sir-they're gonna have her back at the White House."
A look of pure irritation flashed across the President's face. "Why isn't Gina in the car?"
"Gina put Zoey in the car then stayed behind for the ID Agent. Mr. President, please."
That seemed to do the trick for the moment. The President released a long sigh, his head collapsing against the back of the seat as the night settled in around them. The nonreality of their reality. As though the bullets echoed still, even within the most protected vehicle in the world.
"Is anybody dead back there?" he asked a minute later, his voice tight.
If Butterfield lived a thousand years, he never wanted to hear the President sound like that again. Never wanted to have to face this question again. Never wanted to face a night where the face of his department was dominant over his face as a man. As a father who would be screaming were his children out of his sight at a moment like this.
"We don't know," he replied honestly, shifting to release pressure on his wounded hand. "We don't think so."
The move brought attention to the blood leaking through his skin and the hasty bandage he had made in the excitement of getting the President in the car. Another faux pas. The President's eyes went wide with concern, and he jerked upward immediately. "What happened to your hand?"
There was no way to delay the obvious conclusion. "I got hit."
"Oh God." The President turned to the driver of the motorcade, panic rising in his voice. "Coop, turn around! We gotta get to the hospital."
This was precisely the reason Butterfield had tried to conceal his wound to begin with.
"We have to get you in the White House."
"We're going to the hospital!"
"I need to put you in the White House, Mr. President. This isn't something we discuss."
The irritation was back with a vengeance. "My daughter is throwing up in the floor of the car behind us. You're losing blood by the liter, not to mention god-only-knows how many broken bones you have in your hand-" Something was wrong. Butterfield's eyes went wide, his ears tuning out the extent of the President's tirade as he caught a drop of crimson spilling out the corner of the man's mouth. "-but let's make sure I'm tucked in bed before-"
God, he hadn't checked him for wounds when they got in the car. He hadn't checked.
"Mr. President!" Butterfield engaged his wounded hand to stop the man from moving, his good one shuffling through the body check. Behind the neck, over the shoulders, and finally on the inside of the President's coat, where his skin collided with blood.
Oh God.
"GW!" he screamed to the driver, the car performing the fastest U-Turn he reckoned it had ever endured. "Move! Move! Move! Move!"
The President was hit. Oh God, the President was hit.
And he hadn't said a word.
*~*~*
The continuous spiral of red and blue was blinding against the dark night sky. There were camera crews being denied admittance, even within that few minutes spanning the President's exit from the building and the sprinkle of fire that had ensued. The scream of sirens seemed to grow louder even as the cars remained where they were, blocking every possible corner of the street and streets around them. A helicopter flying overhead, drowning out all strands of reality.
"I'm really fine," CJ was telling the medic, her voice muffled with either shock or tears. "I hit my head on the ground. Somebody pulled me down."
"Are you CJ Cregg?" the medic replied routinely.
"Yeah."
"Can you tell me what day it is?"
"It's still Monday." He was pleased with that and went on into some spiel about how she did indeed appear fine. CJ wasn't paying attention, her thoughts haunted with the weight of one possibility. "Is the President dead?"
"I wouldn't know anything about that," the medic said, packing up and moving along to the next person to check. CJ released a long sigh and stood, her legs quivering. The scene around her like something she had seen a thousand times in movies and the like-nothing comparable with actuality.
Not until tonight.
The window of a police car was shot out. That same window that someone had pushed her down under. She had come that close to meeting the nasty end of a bullet.
"Are you all right?"
CJ whirled around. Oh thank God. Sam.
"What?"
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, where's the President?"
Sam heaved a deep breath, concern not lifting from his eyes. "He's on his way back to the White House; so's Zoey. They just put Leo in a car." He touched her arm, bringing her back to herself as the night threatened to carry her away again. "Are you all right?"
She shook her head miserably. "Somebody pushed me down," she said.
And that someone had saved her life.
Sam nodded, turning to the image of Gina Toscano running past him. Zoey's special agent. God, maybe she would know something. "Gina!"
"I can't talk right now," she replied hurriedly, making her way over to the newest arrival on the scene. The agent she was to report to; everything she had seen prior to the shooting. "Gina Toscano. Are you the ID Agent?" He muttered something in confirmation. "Two shooters in that window and we got them from the roof, but there was a signal."
"There was somebody on the ground?"
"White male. Maybe twenty, twenty-five. Five ten."
"What else?"
"He was wearing a baseball cap."
"What kind of cap?"
She stalled at that. That was the one thing in the horrible seconds before she saw the gun in the window that she didn't remember. The one thing aside a thousand other instincts that her gut had twisted; warned her about. The girl was in the car. That knowledge, at the time, had been all that mattered.
Still, the agent didn't look pleased when she couldn't help him.
*~*~*
"Josh?"
Toby released a deep sigh and shook his head, unwilling to admit how hard he was trembling. It seemed he had been searching for Josh for hours now; his head still pounded with the echo of screams and bullets, but that didn't matter. He needed to find Josh. Everyone else had checked out; they needed to get to the White House.
There was Charlie. Perhaps he could help.
"Hey Charlie. Are you okay?"
It seemed such a foolish thing to ask after a shooting, but he needed to know. He needed to be sure that everyone was okay.
"Yeah." The reply was crisp and shaken, not entirely truthful, but Toby hadn't expected any more.
"Have you seen Josh?"
"He got in the car with Leo."
A sigh. "No, he didn't. Shanahan got in with Leo. Josh didn't get in the car."
God, this night was a nightmare. He nodded briefly to Charlie and muttered something under his breath about staying where he was, whirled around to the steps he would never look at quite the same. A sigh of relief escaped his chest-the same he didn't know he had been holding. Suddenly it was all right: he knew where everyone was.
Josh was sitting with his back to him against the concrete exterior.
"Josh!" Toby all but sprinted toward him. "Didn't you hear me shouting for you? I didn't know where the hell you…"
Another second and he was in front of his friend-his friend who sat against the ledge. His back upright; a glossed, lost look covering his eyes. How in the world had they not noticed him before? He was sitting there, breathing deeply, not reacting. Not seeing anyone. His hands soaked in blood, covering the shot in his chest. And Toby nearly fell to the ground.
He had never believed in pure panic before. Not before now. Not for this indescribable feeling rising in his throat. Oh God. Josh was shot.
"I need a…" His voice rose octaves, a tight, unutterable sensation cluttering his insides. "I need a doctor!" Josh was shot. He was sitting there, looking at him but not seeing him, because he had been shot. God, there was so much blood. "I need help!"
CJ and Sam seemed a world away. Toby fell to his knees and caught his friend as he slid from the concrete, cradling his head in his arms.
The shots were just the beginning. Their night had only now begun.
*~*~*
It was a miracle they got on the ground at all. Were it not for the flight attendants' panicking, there was every possibility that the plane from St. Louis that housed the witch, the god, and the vampire would never have officially landed. Not with Washington DC shut down in a matter of seconds. The fact that they were already in landing preparation was merely a technicality.
"We have to get her to a hospital."
It was the third time in ten seconds that Buffy had forced herself to ignore the otherwise logical solution. Her best friend was resisting the help of a stretcher rather, trying to rise to her feet of her own accord. The words, "He's been shot," tumbled through her lips every other breath. Her skin was paler-more so than usual. Her eyes were black with an overload of sensory. And suddenly the trials of the past few weeks felt like child's play. For the certainty in Willow's voice, the sheer force of the terror behind it, the Slayer was about ready to declare war on the PTB.
They couldn't have been thrust from one hell and into another so quickly. It wasn't fair. She and Spike had just settled down in Sunnydale. Just organized the last of their furniture. They were supposed to meet the President tonight. Willow was supposed to see Sam, whom she hadn't once failed to mention in conversation since they parted ways two weeks before. It wasn't fair.
"God, Buffy," Spike murmured, shades of concern that now seemed so natural on him clouding his eyes. "Her heart…she…" He shook his head, releasing a low breath. "I've never…"
"It's Sam," Buffy whispered furtively. "Sam was hit."
One of the medics that had been ushered immediately to the plane following landing was looking at her skeptically. Through the pass of the last few minutes, every time someone had attempted to touch the Witch in order to get her on the stretcher, the offending party had either been shocked or blown into the aisles. For the stares they were receiving, they didn't care. They might as well have been the only people in the city.
The vampire met his Slayer's eyes gravely. "We gotta get her to a hospital."
That was it, then. That simple sentence composed of seven simple words. The same words, the same advice, that had been reiterated from every other mouth on their flight except for the two closest to her. As if by suggestion alone, Willow's quakes rumbled slowly to a halt and her eyes shot open once again. Wide, black still, but burning with comprehension. With knowledge. With something beyond anything that had come close to touching her until now.
Until that moment.
Until a face peered through the clouds in her mind, revealing himself to her slowly. A face that went with the sensation wracking her body. The same she had felt ever since that night at Longwood, sitting in the circle, holding his hand as the words from ancient rite spilled through her lips.
Since he was there with her as she banished a god.
Since he was a part of the three.
"Willow!"
The redhead turned to Buffy in a flash. As though she hadn't been lying in a fit for what seemed like hours. As though her eyes weren't still clouded with the aftermath of magic that was flooding her veins. No end in sight. "We have to get to the hospital," she said. "We have to get there."
"Willow-"
"It's not Sam. I can't feel Sam."
"What do you mean you can't feel him?"
"I mean he's okay. He's terrified but I…I can't feel pain. He's okay. He wasn't shot."
Spike was staring at her blankly. "This might be a stupid question, but weren' you havin' a seizure a minute ago?"
"If it wasn't Sam-"
"It's Josh. Josh was hit. He was hit in the chest." A long, trembling sigh rolled off her shoulders. And suddenly, she was lost. Her eyes far away. Her mind with someone else. Feeling the impression of another's pain. The weight of it crushing beneath her fingers. "Oh God. There's so much blood."
"Red-"
"We have to get to the hospital."
The Slayer stared at her vacantly. "Willow, you-"
"This isn't up for discussion. I have to get there. Now."
Willow was suddenly on her feet, storming through people who scattered almost instinctively. Tossing the medics a cold glance of warning if they thought of getting in her way. And soon she was out of sight, leaving her friends to stare after her numbly.
"Spike?"
The vampire's hand clamped around his mate's, and he nodded fiercely. "Come on."
"She can't be serious. They'll never let us out of the airport if-"
A roll of thunder that sounded strangely captured inside the adjoining terminal cracked through the air. Spike tossed her a wry glance.
"Somehow I don' see that bein' a problem."
"If there's been a shooting-"
"Red battled her way around an ancient god who had the balls to possess not one, but two Slayers, luv. You really think a couple feds an' some guns are gonna stand in her way? Her boyfriend was jus' shot at." He was picking up the pace; following the strain of empty expressions in pursuit of the redheaded witch. "She's gonna tear the town apart if she doesn' get to him."
"Spike…"
"Come on."
In seconds, it had turned into one of those nights where the blessings would come if they lived through it.
"If she tries to get past Secret Service, they'll shoot at her."
The vampire tossed her a dry glance. "Then you better hope you're fast enough to get there before she wipes them out."
"Would she?"
"I would. If it were you, I would in a heartbeat."
"But Willow-"
"Has a soul? Heard that story before, luv. Doesn' play well with the golden oldies. An' more so…" Spike arched a brow. "What if it was me?"
Buffy froze in the dawning of new realization.
"We have to get there before she does."
"'S what I've been sayin'."
"She'll destroy them."
A small jest. One in the night that knew no humor. He wanted it, now. Wanted to hear it, even if he knew it without being told. "How you figure?"
"I would."
"Thought so."
Sirens sounded all around the airport and only grew louder as they burst into the city. It might as well have been daylight; no one was asleep.
And they had a witch to catch.
*~*~*
The First Lady had just spoken with Dr. Lee about her husband's medical condition. Leo didn't need to see her to confirm that. And he wouldn't presume to know how a multiple sclerosis patient's life might be affected by a gunshot wound-he simply knew to trust Abbey in that she knew what she was doing.
Stress and fever are inducers for the attacks. Other than his initial anger-fueled astonishment from the conversation a few months ago with the man he considered his best friend, he didn't remember much of anything else. Only that playing chess with the President to double check his reactionary skills was something to put on a quiet day's agenda.
Not that they had many quiet days.
There wasn't anything to do but wait now. Zoey had arrived and the President had finally stopped barking at everyone about his need to see his daughter. Now he was under general anesthesia and would be for several hours.
Gina was standing against a wall, a blank look clouding her eyes.
"You all right?" he asked her.
"Yeah."
"Was there someone on the ground?"
He knew the answer was yes. It was better if she began talking about it. Ever since she had arrived, a sort of self-resentful look had been about her. An expression that he knew well. It was the same he had faced every day for a period of eternity. Watching his life fall through the cracks and under the weight of an addiction that had nearly cost him everything.
"There was a signal," Gina replied. "I couldn't give them a description."
"Did they close the airports?"
She nodded. "And Union Station. We've got troopers on the bridges and three hundred field agents working Rosslyn. I can't tell them what they're looking for."
The persistently familiar wail of a siren sounded in the distance. Leo's eyes remained on Gina's face. "You got the girl in the car," he told her. And that, as far as her job went, was all that mattered.
"It's right in front of my face."
"Look…"
The hall was blasted with sirens the next second, a sudden surge of traffic following a rush of paramedics and nurses racing to the admittance hall with panic that seemed to be immune to all attempts to calm it. Tonight was a night for panic.
A loud scream of a nurse sealed that thought with words that Leo would relive for months to come, guarded well under a façade of patrol. "Gunshot wound! No exit!"
A man was being wheeled in on a gurney. CJ and Toby were beside him.
Oh God.
"It's Josh!" CJ cried.
Oh God.
Leo's blood went cold. "Josh! What happened?"
"He was behind us," Toby replied hurriedly. The Chief of Staff had never seen the man's eyes that haunted.
Doctors were speaking in jargon. Leo couldn't tear his gaze away from his surrogate son's face.
Then there was Sam. Sam bounding up toward his friend in a blind panic. "Josh! I'm here!"
"I shouldn't be at this meeting," Josh replied, speaking groggy words into the surface of an oxygen mask as the world fell apart around him.
"Trauma One's ready," a nurse declared.
"I need a chest tube tray, Thirty-Two French."
Josh was still talking. His eyes were nowhere. He saw none of them. For the moment, he lived in a world that no longer existed. "Senator…"
"Tell me what's happening!" Leo yelled.
"I don't have time!" the doctor barked back.
"I shouldn't be at this meeting," Josh said again, his voice fading. And Sam was beside him, watching him with intent. "I need to get to New Hampshire!"
"You went to New Hampshire," Sam told him. As though he could hear, or comprehend anything around him. Needing to reassure him of that. They had gone to New Hampshire. "We both did. You came and got me."
The medical team was preparing to lift him onto an operating table.
"On my count," the doctor said. "One. Two. Three."
Josh was gone, then. No longer speaking of New Hampshire or meetings. Overwhelmed as the medical team worked above him.
"Josh, a bullet collapsed your lung. We're putting in a tube to re-expand it," the doctor explained.
Explained without being heard.
There was nothing. The night fell around him.
A haven for new sinners.
The void within the waiting room was endless. Four walls, white. Bland and cold. To sit for one minute was to sit for years. Waiting for the doctor to come in and let them know what was happening. Waiting as people passed on both sides of the doors-one that led to the entrance, one that led to the emergency room. Every shadow that walked by taunting them with the promise of news.
Only now the doctor was with them, and the wait was over.
For now. And he bore no news; only suggestion.
"We can't make you very comfortable here," he was saying, "and Josh's procedure is likely to take twelve to fourteen hours. So-"
There was a sudden rustling from the other door-the one that led to the foyer of the hospital with nurses and secret service and reporters. It was Donna. Her hair pulled back, her eyes worried but relieved. It was almost amazing that they had forgotten to call Donna in the midst of all this. Donna, who was closer to Josh than anyone.
Sam sighed. The notion that she had heard about it from the television or from Mrs. Landingham-when it could have been one of them-did not sit right. Nor did the knowledge of what they had to tell her now.
"I'm sorry," she said, glancing apologetically to the doctor. "They told me I should come back here. I'm sorry." She sighed with a weak smile, hands finding her hips. "Is there word on the President?"
CJ turned to her and nodded. "The President's going to be fine."
Her face fell with relief. "Oh thank God." She sighed again, tension rolling off her shoulders. "Oh thank God, that's the best news I've ever heard. I got here as soon as I could. I had a hard time getting in. I had-I had to find an agent who knew me, and I was shaking. I was just…I didn't know-"
"Donna," Toby said shortly, interrupting her respite. "Josh was hit."
That was it. Sam watched her eyes darken, her face fall. Dazed. As though Toby had suddenly spoken in Greek, far beyond her realm of understanding.
"Hit with what?" she asked, confusion buried in denial, her voice shaking.
Toby glanced down. "He was shot-in the chest."
"He's in surgery right now," CJ added.
A beat. All eyes were on Donna, but she saw none of them. "I don't understand," she said, hysteria teetering in her tone but controlled. Somehow controlled. "I don't understand. Is…is it serious?"
"Yes," Toby replied. He was employing that special voice of his that attempted to guard his weaker sentiments. Sam had heard him use it before, but could not remember where. Only that it meant the man was wracked with something that he couldn't deal with, and needed the protection of something higher to keep himself guised. "It's critical. The bullet collapsed his lung and damaged a major artery."
The full effect finally crashed down, and emotion swarmed Donna's eyes. Tears brimmed but not shed, her hand covering her mouth to keep her cry from escaping.
"I was just saying," the doctor continued softly, "we can't make you very comfortable here, and the procedure's likely to take twelve to fourteen hours. We won't know anything until morning. I'm sure there are things you're supposed to be attending to right now, so if you like we can stay in contact with your homes and offices throughout the night."
It was doubtful anyone heard him. Donna collapsed into the chair opposite CJ, a blank look on her face. Drawing it all in.
Josh was shot.
Sam closed his eyes and licked his lips, settling back. The entire day was one large nightmare; he kept waiting to wake up. Counting back seconds in the hope that the hours would rewind. That they would be back at Rosslyn, and he would know something. Sense something. In the midst of all that bliss of the night-Toby's brother was all right. The pilot was all right. And Willow was coming to visit him.
Oh God, Willow.
"Willow," he murmured suddenly, feeling awful that in the midst of the stress-in the knowledge that his best friend could die-he had forgotten that the woman he loved had likely been in town for hours. Or had been forced to land elsewhere since the planes were grounded as the search for the signalman spanned the East Coast. "God, she must be worried sick."
"I rather doubt she's the only one," Toby said.
It was a fortunate mention. For the next second, Sam's mind was throbbing, his temples pulsing, his ears ringing-the shock of the blast so great he fell from his chair, hands grasping the sides of his head as he howled in pain.
People around him were shouting, but he heard only one. A scream so loud, so full of terror that it drowned out all around him.
"SAM!"
God, he knew that voice.
"Sam! Sam!" That was Donna, hovering over him in a panic. "Sam, God, you can't do this to me now!"
He heard her, wanted to reassure her, but the other voice came again. Stronger. More panicked. "SAM!"
"Willow!" he gasped, barely aware of the blood trickling from his nose. "Willow, she's…she's outside. She's…ahhh!" It came again. Even stronger. "God, she's…she needs to get in. She's…someone go get Willow!"
The medical staff was rushing inward, but Toby had taken to explaining that Sam just had a headache while CJ and Charlie stared at them like they were insane. No one made a move to adhere to his outburst; focused rather on the fact that he had had an outburst and was currently writhing on the floor.
The Deputy Communications Director grumbled deep in his throat and fought to his feet, praying the call didn't come again. One more, and he felt his head might explode. "Willow's here," he gasped again, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. "She's here and she can't get in."
CJ's eyes were wide. "Sam-"
He was gone the next second, rushing through the communal door. Thinking at her as hard as he could that he was coming. He didn't know how he knew which entrance she was at, but didn't think to question it; nor did he second-guess his fortune that she didn't blast him with another wave. All he knew was that Willow was here and he had to get to her. Had to get her inside now.
He needed to see her. Needed Donna to see her. Hoped Buffy and Spike were with her, because Donna would need them, too. Right now more than ever. Right now while Josh was being cut open.
He nearly stumbled over himself when he finally saw her. Outside the hospital, standing beside two familiar blondes as they tried to keep her from blasting him again. Standing there as a secret service agent tried to calmly explain that she couldn't get in without clearance. Her eyes were black. God, her eyes were black.
Black. That night at Longwood, her eyes had been black. And before, standing at the edge of a writhing Slayer's bed as a god threatened to steal her from the arms of the most tormented man he had ever seen.
"Willow!"
Those black eyes found him immediately, and washed dry with relief. "Sam!"
The secret service agent that was trying to restrain her paused in confusion.
"Mr. Seaborn?"
"Mike, she's fine," he said, nodding to Buffy and Spike behind her. "So are those two. Let them in."
"Mr. Seaborn-"
"You heard the bloke," Spike snarled, grasping the Slayer's hand tightly. "Move aside."
Willow did not need to be told twice. The minute the agent stepped aside, the redhead had leapt into her boyfriend's arms, allowing the tears that had been bubbling since the first shots were fired to fall free. "Oh God!" she gasped, clutching him as close as she could. "I was so worried."
"It's okay."
It really wasn't. He knew that. He just needed to say it.
"How's Josh?" Buffy demanded breathlessly.
"You know about Josh? I didn't know that had made it to the press yet."
Spike snickered. "It din't. Li'l Red here has a higher channel than the one you blokes carry. She had a fit the minute it happened."
"Willow?"
"It was building up way before then," Buffy jumped in, ignoring the stern look her friend was giving her. "For the last hour before we landed, she was all feverish."
The redhead glared at them. "I'm fine. It was…it was a thing. How's Josh?"
"Willow?"
"'m thinkin' this isn't the best place to catch up." Spike nodded to his mate, and they began simultaneously edging the couple back into the hospital. Away from the cameras and screaming citizens who wanted to see their President. "On inside, right?"
It was strange how the vampire seemed to be the calm one in this scenario. The Deputy Communications Director was terribly shaken, and now overwhelmed by the woman he loved in his arms. Just a couple weeks since he had last seen her had suddenly turned to years with a spray of bullets. This night itself had gone on forever.
Sam led them back to the room where the Senior Staffers were waiting for updates on either Josh or the President, holding onto Willow fiercely enough to suggest the world would tear her away if he loosened his grip. The surreal sparks surrounding them sustained admirably; Buffy and Spike followed, out of place and more than a little uncomfortable. As though tonight was for those on the inside alone, and of everyone back home, Willow was the only one who could claim such privilege. Despite all that had passed, there was none other so close to any of them.
So close that she would suffer a mystical seizure when one of them was injured.
That notion quickly fell to the wayside. For the minute they crossed the threshold, the minute Donna looked up, she burst into tears and leapt to her feet. "Spike!" The vampire blinked stupidly as the blonde lurched into his arms, sobbing harshly against his shoulder. "It's Josh," she cried. "Josh was shot. He's-"
The vampire cast the Slayer a sheepish look, but she smiled weakly and shrugged. It was no secret that Donna held Spike in high esteem, and had gone to great lengths to be there for him when she was sick in Natchez. He stood awkwardly for a few seconds, looking at the room over the blonde's shoulder, his arms outright before finally settling to comfort her. "'S all right, pet," he murmured. "Wanker's got a thick head. Don' wager he'll go under without a fight." He met the Communication Director's heavy eyes and flashed an uncomfortable smile. "'Lo, Toby."
He nodded. "Spike."
"Spike?" CJ arched a brow. "You're Spike?"
Sam grinned weakly. "You couldn't tell?" A pause. "Donna, are you just taking advantage of the fact that he doesn't breathe?"
Donna snapped back at that and pulled away from him reluctantly. "Sorry," she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I didn't…" She glanced to Buffy. "Sorry."
The Slayer offered a warm smile. "Hey. I think the circumstances allow a little gratuitous hugging." And at that, she stepped forward to take the woman into her arms. The sight was almost comical-Donna dwarfed her in height. "It's good to see you."
A sniffle. "You, too."
Spike wrapped an arm around Buffy's middle when they pulled apart again, turning a mindful eye to the room. "So," he asked, voice ringing out inelegantly against the cold silence that filled the air. There were notably five people here that he did not know, though CJ was no stranger to anyone who watched CSPAN. The First Lady and Zoey Bartlet were another two never far from the spotlight. It was a strange sensation-Spike had met famous faces before and walked away unaffected. Perhaps it was the personal strings that tugged at him now; he knew people involved. Josh, the enormous wanker, was dying in the next room. It made everything sublimely surreal. "How'd the speech go?"
The Slayer looked at him strangely, and he offered a helpless shrug.
"Sam," CJ said slowly. "Maybe some introductions are in order."
"Oh, right. Sorry." He nudged Willow, whom anyone would have known simply for the way the man had raved about her in the weeks subsequent to the incident in Natchez. Envisioning a thousand plus ways that he would introduce her to his friends. How he would arrange the meeting with the President so that everyone might know what she had done to save their lives. Tonight was still dreamlike. A scene from a horror movie he had never cared to watch. Sitting in the George Washington Memorial Hospital waiting room, not knowing whether or not his best friend would make it through the night. "CJ, Charlie, Zoey, Mrs. Landingham…Mrs. Bartlet…this is Willow Rosenberg."
The redhead in his arms smiled weakly and nodded at them in turn. And, as though by suggestion alone, Donna cried out again and lurched herself into her friend's embrace, effectively tearing her away from Sam completely. "God. I'm so sorry for all of this."
Willow glanced to her boyfriend helplessly, the last of the black fading from her eyes. "Don't be silly," she berated, voice gentle and smooth. Direct contradiction to the way her heart pounded.
"We wanted tonight to go so well for you."
"Donna," Toby mused from the back, temperate. "She does need to breathe."
"Oh, right." She glanced down, embarrassed but not overly self-conscious, and forced herself back to her seat.
Sam smiled at her as best he could, and quickly turned to the vampire and the Slayer, eager to keep his mind occupied. The longer the truth remained away from the spotlight, the longer he could keep reality from crashing inward. "This is Buffy Summers, and Spike." He gestured to them. "Everyone, Buffy and Spike."
"What, we don't get a roll-call?"
Buffy nudged her mate and flushed, turning to the room that was studying them as though they were specimen in a lab. "Is there…we don't really have much information to go on. Will kind of broke into convulsions when it happened-"
"Started a bit before it did, too. She was feelin' sickly the entire flight."
Donna blinked at her in concern. "Willow?"
The Witch shook her head dismissively. "They're overstating how serious it was. Really-"
"She keeled over jus' as the plane was landin'," Spike continued, ignoring the glare he received. "She went into some trance before, but when the plane was landin', she collapsed an' started gaspin', 'He's been shot,' a thousand bloody times over. Before that, she kept mutterin' about somethin' bein' wrong."
"This is more stuff that you haven't told me about, right?" CJ asked. "Some Natchez-related thing?"
Donna was staring at the redhead as though she was the second-coming. "You knew that Josh was shot?"
"I…well…" Willow glanced up, shrugging uncomfortably. "Yes. I felt it."
"That's not all she felt-"
"You guys aren't really helping, you know." The Witch turned to Sam, her eyes now completely clear. No more blackness from before, though now he understood where that had come from. Whatever had happened on the plane had taken her over so entirely. It also accounted for the expedience in her ability to get through so much security. With Spike and Buffy, he had come to expect it. Willow, though…despite her uncanny capacity to navigate magic, she was still just…Willow.
There was only twice before tonight that said capacity was demonstrated in a way that terrified him. Those instances, similarly, had been shoved as far back as his mind would allow.
"How is the President?" the redhead asked suddenly. "I know…I didn't…" She met Abbey Bartlet's eyes and flushed. "I…didn't feel him. I couldn't, I just-"
The First Lady looked at her for a long minute. There was almost an unspoken pact between those that didn't know the group well to not ask questions. "He's going to be fine."
"The bullet didn't hit anything," Toby confirmed. "There was visible entry and exit…he's just under general anesthesia right now."
"Josh's procedure is going to take about fifteen hours," Mrs. Bartlet continued. "If you like, I will speak to Ron Butterfield to make sure the secret service doesn't stop you from getting back. I'm sure you are all very tired and-"
Willow shook her head. "I'm staying here."
Buffy and Spike exchanged a look. The redhead had just interrupted the First Lady. She had to be out of it.
"We do need to see 'bout our things," the vampire offered quietly. "Red took off like a bloody bat outta hell once the seizure stopped."
"Could you stop using that word?"
"Ummm, lemme think. No."
"Sam and Toby have to get back to the White House," CJ said. "Leo…the Chief of Staff is meeting with leadership right now. And I have…some things to get done while Josh is in surgery."
"I'll be back soon," Sam added. "We just-"
Willow nodded. "Yeah. I'm staying here…if that's all right with everyone."
Donna's eyes widened in agreement, and she patted the vacant seat next to her with enthusiasm. "Sit. Please. Spike, Buffy…you too."
The blondes exchanged another look.
"I believe you're wanted here," Abbey said. "That's fine. The White House will make sure your assets are returned to you. I think it's…I think it's safe to say that none of us are at our best tonight."
Which was why they weren't asking questions.
"Besides," the First Lady continued, "if I know my husband, he'll want to speak to someone who understands Latin when he's less groggy."
Spike quirked a smile. "Told you, did he?"
"Not so much that I understand why you're here or what happened those two weeks everyone was conspicuously absent in some remote southern town, but he can't keep quiet when Latin's involved." Abbey glanced around, her eyes still hazed a little with tears of worry that had not quite shed. "As for the rest, it is a pleasant distraction. I don't think anyone here is going to bother you for answers tonight."
"I had this entire speech planned," Sam murmured. "Introducing you to the President…and CJ and everyone here."
Buffy and Spike shared one last glance. It was bizarre. It was admittedly bizarre. They were strangers in a different land. In a world where reality was the nonreality, and the riddles being spoken talked themselves into circles. CJ, Abbey…everyone here that didn't know them knew enough to not challenge their presence. And tonight, they wouldn't ask questions. Not about Willow and her seizure, her seeming knowledge of Josh's injury a good hour prior to arrival. Nor would they inquire about the presence of two who were wholly unrelated to everyone here; all except Donna, who needed them now that she had allowed her emotions out.
When they sat, there were no more words. Buffy's head found Spike's shoulder, their hands entwined as the night crashed around them. Donna sitting across from them. Grateful but silent. Charlie rose finally and mentioned something about the Residence to get some of the President's things. Abbey Bartlet remained in her corner with her daughter, and the President's men left reluctantly to go back to work.
The country wouldn't sleep, not even when her native son was dying. When her leader was shot.
Strangers in a waiting room, left to the will of time.
And they waited.
Buffy started from where she had been dancing on that thin line between sleep and wakefulness. She flashed Spike an apologetic glance and smiled softly at the tender look on his face. He'd gone to get drinks just a few minutes before, but her fatigue had drowned out time so that it felt that hours had passed since she had seen him.
"They were out of sweetener," he said gently, sliding into the seat beside her. "Brought you cream."
"You're the best," she replied, stretching slightly.
"I keep tellin' you this. It shouldn't be a bloody surprise." He grinned and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "Though, by last count, it's you that reminds me nightly."
"Perv."
"Yeh, Ms. Kettle. Callin' me a liar?"
She flushed and leaned into him. "I'm too sleepy to argue with you."
"Likely story." He grinned unrepentantly, the sparkle in his eyes fading a bit as a doctor and two nurses stormed hurriedly down the corridor, striking a terrible reminder as to where they were. "I'm guessin' there hasn't been any news since five minutes ago."
"No." Buffy cast a long glance in the direction of the waiting room. For whatever reason, sitting in there with Josh's closest friends, even with everything they had been through together, hadn't felt right. Willow was still with Donna, of course. Of all the Scoobies, the Witch was most definitely the one closest to the Senior Staffers. It was right that she wait with them.
Donna had asked them to stay. Buffy simply didn't feel right. It was a private time, and not even what had happened in Natchez could complete the bridge between their worlds. Thus Spike had led her outside when he sensed she was uncomfortable. She felt bad for dragging him away when it was more than obvious that the woman in the waiting room needed support.
Spike had told her she was silly to think anyone else, regardless of the circumstance, could matter to him, and had insisted that they pass the time in solitude.
"CJ's doing another briefing here in a few minutes," Buffy said. "I'm too lazy to get up right now."
"'S okay, baby." He squeezed her tighter and brushed another kiss over her temple. "We'll know soon enough."
"She looked horrible at the last one."
"Well, granted, she was jus' shot at."
"More than that. From all the 'watching of the news' that Will's made us do…" She broke off with a deep sigh, her throat too dry for tears. "Tonight doesn't feel real."
Spike nodded wearily. "Know what you mean. I've lived a bleedin' long time, sweetheart, an' I've never seen anythin' like this."
"How is it that we can stand on the Longwood lawn and banish gods and what else, but enter the sort of reality that the rest of the world is used to and I…" She shook her head. "I don't know what to do. I want to go out and go hunt the baddies…do something to make this right. I don't want to be waiting in a hospital. It feels so…"
"Normal?"
"Yes. Which makes it really, really strange."
He grinned at the implied irony, but nodded his agreement. "I'd be lyin' if I said I thought I'd be spendin' a lot of time in hospitals when I was turned." He shrugged easily. "These people are important to you."
"And you."
Spike scowled. "Not so."
"It's okay, sweetie," she reassured him, patting his hand which only made his scowl deepen even as his eyes danced at her mirth. "Secret's safe with me."
"Yeh. That's likely."
"Donna," she pointed out.
Spike shrugged easily. "I like her," he admitted, "an' I wouldn't wanna do anythin' to hurt her, much as it ruins my rep." Buffy rolled her eyes, inspiring his grin to broaden. "But I wouldn't be here, even for her, if it weren't for you an' your relationship with them. 'Sides, the only way I got to know Donna was for the way she sat with me when I was worryin' my head over you."
She smiled and brushed a gentle kiss across his lips. "She was with you when you needed someone."
"I needed you. She kept me from losin' my head. Kept me talkin' so I din't worry myself to a bloody second death."
"She needs Josh now. I guess we're here to make sure she doesn't lose her head."
"An' by we, you mean Red, right?"
"We're here, too…if she needs us."
That uneasy feeling settled over her again. There was a certain line of difference between sitting in a bed and breakfast in some remote southern town and sitting in the waiting room of a hospital after an attempted assassination. Perhaps that was just her perception, though. Their time in Natchez was jaded with memories of both euphoric bliss and some of the most horrifying trials she had ever undergone. She had eaten bread pudding with Donna that first day when the Scoobies had tried familiarizing themselves with their surroundings, but other than that, most of her time had been spent with Spike. It was the man at her side that had gotten to know the Senior Staffers through the grapevine of support that they had offered when she was sick. And despite all else, what Spike had told her, keeping him from where he wanted to be wasn't fair. Especially in conditions like these.
Buffy licked her lips and nodded at the door. "Sweetie," she said softly, her insides warming at the soft glow of adoration that reflected from his eyes at the unbidden use of a pet name. "If you want to go in there, I'll be okay. It's-"
Spike silenced her with a kiss. "Stayin' right here," he murmured. "You're not gettin' rid of me that easily, pet."
"Well, that's reassuring."
"You're the only person here that I love. An' like you said, if Donna needs us, she'll come out." He tossed a quick glance to the waiting room. "I think she needs some time." A deep breath rolled off his shoulders. "An' I think you should be ready."
"Ready?"
"There's a chance Red won' wanna come back with us."
Buffy licked her lips and tucked her legs under her, taking a sip of her coffee. "Why?"
"Think of everythin' that happened here tonight, luv. The girl had to wrestle through the bleedin' airport security, secret service, an' all that rubbish to get here. She wasn' with her guy when he needed her." He shrugged. "Think it's rather obvious. If it was you, nothin' in the world could keep me away."
"If it was you, I'd never have gone back to Sunnydale to begin with."
Spike smiled warmly. "I know, baby. Me either."
"It was the right thing to do, though. With as much as she's been talking the past couple weeks; it would've been hell on earth if she had gone back with them."
"Maybe."
The Slayer's eyes narrowed. "Maybe? Spike, we watched coverage of their landing in DC. Josh even had his own little cheering section. The President drove out to greet them. Tell me it wouldn't have looked bad if a nineteen year old pagan had gotten off the plane with them and mentioned, oh, by the way, I'm doing the Deputy…whatever."
"If Sam had tried, he could've made it work."
"How?"
"Well, I dunno, by bloody askin' her?"
A frown crossed her face. "I don't think…they hadn't known each other that long-"
"Yeh. An' been together less than that. Need I remind you what terms we were on when we got to Natchez?"
"That's different."
"How so?"
Buffy's eyes widened and she gestured emphatically. "It's us. We're us. And we're different…besides, we had the thing before the Natchez thing that already had me all drooly over you. Willow met Sam while we were there."
Spike grinned. "Yeh. An' she loves the wanker, doesn' she? We had to listen to them exchanging li'l gigglies and spoken sonnets in the airport before we left, remember? 'F I were in Sam's shoes, I would've gotten on my knees an' begged her to come home with me."
"If you were in Sam's shoes, you wouldn't be working at the White House."
"Think so?"
"And you wouldn't be going out with Willow."
The vampire eyed her wryly, running his appreciative gaze down her body. How he could find her remotely attractive now, running on less than three hours of sleep, jetlag, and what felt like years away from a shower, was beyond her. Only that she had the most adoring boyfriend in the world and she was a lucky god to have him. "Well," he drawled, "that much is a bloody given."
Buffy flushed, which felt strange under the circumstances, not to mention the wealth of what they had shared. She felt her insides couldn't stop shaking. That sick feeling that had been rumbling in her stomach since Willow's panic attack on the plane had yet to dissolve. The night stunk of death and made her feel about as helpless as she had ever felt. Even when Giles had worked with the Council to remove her powers for her eighteenth birthday rite, she had been able to get stuff accomplished. There were no bad guys that she could go after. No demons to slay. The monsters that had fired on her friends tonight were human. If Josh died, it would be a crime of man against man.
That in itself was something she was almost sure Spike wanted to point out, as an ever-persistent activist for equal demon rights…or something. She was grateful and a little proud that he had yet to mention it.
"I know we just arrived," she said a minute later, voice sounding distant even to her own ears. "But we can't stay. Not like this."
Spike took her hand and squeezed gently. "I know, baby," he replied. "There's no tellin' when they'll open up the airports, though. We might be grounded for a while."
"They will after the signal man is caught."
"We can't know when that'll be."
Buffy shrugged. "I figure it'll either be now or never. This kid's…from what I heard from Toby…the kid's a, well, kid. Fifteen years old or so. God, maybe even younger. Either he'll disappear into some arcade or he'll be found right off the bat. Get cocky and clumsy or…something."
"You're underestimatin' your own country's ability to find a prat that doesn' even have his driver's license yet?"
"This is the same country that decided it would be a good idea to start kidnapping vampires and fitting them with government chips, remember?"
"Point taken. I'm jus' sayin', this thing wasn't orchestrated by criminal masterminds. Couple kids bustin' caps? There's no way the bloke'll get far."
She hoped he was right. This sensation of uselessness was making her feel as weak as she ever had. Even before she was called. Not being able to help someone was about the worst feeling in the world. The sooner this was over, the better.
For so many reasons.
"We can't go anywhere until Curly is out of surgery anyway," Spike said softly.
"I know. I wouldn't even if…" She shook her head. "I just…it makes more sense to me when I'm…Josh was shot and we couldn't do anything."
"I know."
"He was shot. I mean, he's an arrogant jackass, but he…he helped us save the world. He…he was shot. The last time we saw him, he was fine." She began to break at that, tears from nowhere bubbling over the surface. A torrent of emotion that had been lingering in the back of her mind. That knowledge that never strayed from the spotlight. "Just a few hours ago, we were on our way to see him and…and he was fine."
The next thing she knew, Spike had practically hauled her into his lap, carefully setting her cooling coffee aside and urging her head to pillow at his shoulder. "Shhh," he murmured gently, brushing a kiss across her brow. "These things happen, pet."
"People get shot at?"
"Well, yeh."
"I like Sunnydale. They don't have guns."
He chuckled and kissed her again. "Well, that's not true."
"Which?"
"Either. Demons jus' typically like knives or what all. Jus' seems more intimidatin' than a gun." He ran a comforting hand across her head, tugging lovingly on her sloppy ponytail. "'Sides, we were in SunnyD for a total of two bloody weeks an' you were itchin' to get out."
"So?"
"So, if this hadn't happened, you'd be havin' a right good ole time. People get shot at, sweetling, an' people who're in office are bloody easy targets. Trust me, I've seen a few of these. Even heard tale when Lincoln was killed." He shrugged when she looked up in surprise. "Word reached us even across the bloody world, without the use of the telly, even."
"There was actually light in the world prior to TV?"
"I prefer to call it the Dark Ages." Spike released another sigh and rested his cheek atop her crown, squeezing her tighter. "It can't be too much longer now," he said. "These doctors are entrusted with the bloody President."
"Yeah. But the President…his…the First Lady said it was a superficial wound. Josh…"
"I know."
"I just-"
He kissed her again, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact. "I know. 'S okay, sweetheart."
His voice told her a different story, but she decided not to pursue it. Instead, Buffy nodded against his shirt and snuggled into him, battling the wearing fatigue that threatened to cart her away completely.
It already seemed they had been waiting for years. That fortitude she so relied on was gone. That safeguard she had as the Slayer.
Spike was with her, though. It was hard to remember a time when he hadn't been. He was holding her now. Keeping her grounded when she needed someone to hold onto. Holding her in the midst of a long wait when no one knew how things would look at the other end of the tunnel.
Holding her to her reality as the world's crashed around them.
*~*~*
"It was what?"
Sam released a long sigh as he rose to his feet, reluctantly releasing Willow's hand and tossing a glance to Donna. He had just come from the back where the President was recuperating after surgery. The family had been notified first; then Sam, whose job was to relay everything back to the White House, though he couldn't help himself from stopping to tell those who were waiting for word on Josh. It seemed cruel and unusual, especially when Donna looked to be seconds away from breaking. "CJ will be announcing it in her briefing," he said. "Right now, it's only us."
"Yeah, but-"
"It was Charlie." Donna looked up at that, her eyes wide. The Deputy Communications Director cleared his throat and redirected his gaze to a more comforting spot on the floor. "Charlie and Zoey. The shooters were a part of an organization called West Virginia White Pride. They were shooting because of Zoey…and Charlie."
Willow stared at him a minute longer, her eyes filling with tears. Tears that had no sure target; it was just a night for crying. "Oh my God."
"They tried to kill the President because Zoey and Charlie are adults and…don't care about stupid things like skin color?" Donna asked, numb. "They shot Josh because Charlie's black?"
Sam bit his lip. "No."
"No? But-"
"It wasn't the President they were after. They were there to…" An uncomfortable pause settled through the room. Sam shifted after a second before casting the two a regretful glance. "I have to go," he said. "CJ needs some help with the language, and Toby's about to crucify himself over this thing."
"What thing?" the redhead asked.
"Why there wasn't a tent over the President when he left the building." At her blank look, he shrugged again. Brushing off any candor that would suggest that keeping what he was about to tell her to himself. Tonight was not about rules, especially among those who loved each other. "Right after the President was sworn in, Toby and I sat in on a meeting where we decided it was more…something or…something if he didn't walk out under a tent. So Toby wrote a memo and the President signed it. And now people are asking questions."
"Oh."
"Secret service doesn't comment on procedure," Mrs. Landingham said wisely from the back of the room.
"I know," Sam replied. "And Toby knows. It's just…we did this thing and now-"
"It wasn't your fault, Sam," Donna admonished.
"I-"
Willow clutched at his hand tightly. "Sam, it wasn't your fault. Or Toby's."
A pause. "I know. But my best friend is just inches away from dying…and if we hadn't-"
"It wasn't your fault," Mrs. Landingham said. "The President won't like to hear you've been talking like this, Sam. You don't want me to get you into trouble, do you?"
At that, a grin tickled his lips. "No, ma'am."
"Good. Now get going."
He nodded and brushed a kiss over Willow's lips. "I'll be back soon."
"Don't worry about me. We're fine." She seized Donna's hand and squeezed. "We're both fine. We'll…it's just…"
Another sharp nod. "I'll be back soon," he said again. Then he was gone, and it was just the three of them in the waiting room. Charlie and Zoey were with the First Lady and the President. Leo was back at the White House as was Toby and CJ, and now Sam. There was some talk of movement in Iraq and Willow knew she had heard some news program discussing the twenty-fifth amendment and who was in charge of the country right now.
There was so much policy involved. It made Willow's stomach ache.
"Are Buffy and Spike still here?" Donna asked softly.
"Yeah. They're just outside, I think. I can feel them." She licked her lips. "I know this is…they're probably talking about this, and it makes sense. Staying right now…with what's happened…they'll need to get back to Sunnydale." A deep breath rolled off her lips. "Donna…before we left, I put in an application to Georgetown University."
The blonde froze, staring at her. "What?"
"I…I love Sam. And being away from him for just…it was awful. But tonight? I couldn't get to him when I wanted to. I couldn't…I couldn't be here when…" She shuddered and shook her head. "I never want to feel like this again."
"You're coming to Georgetown?"
She nodded. "If I get accepted."
"Willow?" A slow, steady grin had sprouted across the blonde's face, rolling back the worry that had settled there. Lifting her up in ways it seemed nothing could tonight. "Oh, this is so fantastic. I can't…oh, thank you."
Before she knew what was happening, Donna had tugged her into her arms. "Thank you," she said again.
Willow smiled in spite of herself. "I'm glad you're glad."
"I'm more than glad. Why didn't you say anything to Sam?"
"I didn't want to say I was moving and then…especially tonight. It seemed…" She shook her head. "I haven't even told Buffy yet. Or Giles. Or, hell, even my parents. I have no idea how they'll react to this." A pause. "And honestly? I don't know how I'll react to it…when it actually happens. Right now it's just a decision. When I'm actually in the process of packing it up and leaving…Buffy and Xander are my best friends in the world. It's going to hurt like hell to be without them. I dunno…there's every chance I'll go running back after two weeks."
Sad thing was, she wasn't joking. She felt better leaving Buffy on the Hellmouth than she did leaving Sam in DC. Buffy could take care of herself; Sam could in theory, but he wasn't superman. Buffy was a god. She would be there for centuries. She wouldn't be taken out by a bullet. And she had Spike.
Xander…God, she didn't want to leave Xander. That would hurt more than anything. But Xander also had Anya. Willow had her friends, yes, but she didn't have Sam. And despite the circumstances, she felt more complete now-sitting in the waiting room of GW Memorial-than she had since the trials in Natchez had ended.
That plus the happiness in Donna's eyes, jaded as it was, was more than worth it. If nothing else, this moment sold her completely. Making a woman who was on the edge of losing the man she loved smile in the midst of it all…that was an amazing feeling.
But nothing could quite top the rush that seized her veins when the back door opened, Abbey Bartlet stepping in. Her worried demeanor did not betray her cool, quiet grace. There was something in her eyes, though. Something that spoke for everything even before the words touched the air.
Three small words that meant everything.
"Josh is awake."
A/N: These few chapters up until Chapter 13 (according to my outline) will be divided between Sunnydale and Washington, DC. It's not important in any sense other than it will read almost as two different stories until the characters are reunited. Naturally, when in Sunnydale, there will be word on the happenings of DC and vice versa; I just wanted to avoid confusion at the shot-reverse-shot that will ensue until the plot ties everyone together once more.
There was a certain something in the air that was thoroughly Sunnydale. Nothing that anyone could describe with any measure of accuracy; just a quality that was there. That would reassure anyone who knew the Hellmouth that they were home. That the normal, demon-inspired evilness was well at work, and the reality that the rest of the world deemed true was far away from reckoning.
Spike flashed her a cocky grin, wiping his hands free of dust from the newest vampire to be reintroduced to the earth. "Well, baby," he drawled. "Was it good for you?"
Buffy's eyes narrowed, lowering her stake slowly. "It was too easy," she pouted.
"Leaves a girl all…unsatisfied, right?"
At that, a slow grin crossed her lips. "You got a solution, Big Bad?" she retorted, taking a coy step in his direction. "Another vampire out here that'll give me a challenge?"
He ran his tongue over his teeth, his eyes sparkling. "Depends on what kinda challenge tickles your fancy."
Her gaze dropped speculatively to his crotch. "Shouldn't this be a joint decision?" she asked rhetorically. "What sort of challenge are you… up for?"
"You're a dirty girl."
"Wanna clean me?"
Spike smirked and seized her by the wrist, tugging her into his arms and capturing her mouth, his tongue dancing erotically with hers. Kissing him was always a breathtaking experience; the wealth of feeling that he poured into each stroke of his sinful lips both aroused her like nothing else and filled her insides with a sense of love and security that she thought she would never have as the Slayer.
"Mmmm," he murmured into her mouth; naughty, wandering hands cupping her breasts. "You taste divine."
Buffy grinned, wrapping her arms around his throat. "So do you."
"You wanna…" He waggled his brows, enjoying her flush.
"Here?"
"Why not?"
She made a face that wasn't nearly as put off as she would have liked. "Not in to voyeurism, thanks."
Spike arched a brow, one hand abandoning her breast to slip under the waistband of her slacks, moaning into her mouth at the warm, slippery flesh that awaited his touch. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," he murmured.
"Uhhh…"
"'m sure there's a nook around here somewhere-"
"I talked with Toby today!"
The vampire against her froze, his thumb poised over her clit. "Y'know," he said. "I din't figure you'd be in the position to remember names by this point."
"Got your attention, huh?"
He smirked again, head rising to meet her eyes. He gave her sensitive nubbin a twist, wrangling a long mewl from her lips before he removed his hand completely, licking the dew off with an erotic moan of approval. "What'd the wanker have to say?" he asked, enjoying the glossy lust that had commanded her eyes.
"He wanted to know if there was any way to talk to Willow so that she would talk to Josh so that he could get to Josh and ask him about a thing."
Spike rumbled his amusement. "Donna's still not lettin' anyone in to see him?"
"No one but Willow, and that's only because she's not on the President's staff."
He shrugged at that. "Seems fair to me. The bloke's recoverin' from a gunshot wound that nearly killed him. These ponces actually want him focusin' on work?"
"Evidently."
"Mhmm. An' you felt this was important enough to interrupt our more…pleasurable pursuits?" With a devilish grin, he leaned in again, nibbling seductively on her neck right over the claim mark; indulging the small jolts of bliss that shot through them both at contact. "I'll make a voyeur of you yet."
"Nahhh…"
He grinned. "Real convincin', aren't you?"
"I'm not a voyeur."
"Won' take much," he said, tweaking a nipple through her shirt. "I got an eternity to try, but…" His hand was coming dangerously close to slipping into her wet heat again, fingers mapping a pattern along the waistband of her pants. She was practically panting against him. "With responses like these, I don' think it'll take more than a couple of minutes."
"Perv."
"You love it."
"That's totally beside the point."
"See, here's the part where I don' believe you."
There was an interruption, then. A presence that hadn't been there before. As though it materialized simply for the purpose of finding them as they enjoyed their relationship and the bloom of the rose that wouldn't wear off for the next sixteen centuries, if ever.
"This is no way to address one made for the hunt, William." The two pulled apart at that, turning simultaneously to the man standing prominently against the shadows. The man was very pale, very thin; very much a vampire with an accent that of the same make as John Carpenter's wet dreams. "Especially one with…such power."
Spike's eyes narrowed. "Bollocks."
"Spike?"
"Drac."
Buffy's face fell slack, her disbelieving eyes landing on the vampire in question. "Seriously? That's Dracula?"
The man at her side grasped her hand protectively and nodded. "Yeh, that's him. Wanker still owes me eleven pounds, too." He arched his brows expectantly at the vampire in question. "Vlad. So…well, no it's not nice to see you. Why are you here, exactly?"
"Why I came does not concern you, William," the count retorted, his eyes never leaving Buffy. "I am here for the Chosen One. The one called Buffy Summers."
Spike's eyes flared possessively. "'F that's so, mate, I'm afraid you made the trip for nothin'."
The Slayer's gaze widened. "You've heard of me?" she asked the dark vampire. "Me?"
"Naturally," Dracula replied, ignoring her mate coolly. "You're known throughout the world."
"Naw." A pause. "Really?"
"Buffy…" Spike squeezed her hand warningly. "Sweetling, look at me."
She did. Her eyes were clear. "What?"
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay. Wanker has ways of makin' you do things. Some sorta whacked out mind control. Gave Dru a few pointers once or twice. Jus' makin' sure you're still with me."
"I'm still here." She nodded at the other vampire. "What I wanna know is why he's here."
Dracula's brows arched neutrally. "Why would I come here if not for you, Ms. Summers? For the sun? I came here to meet the renowned…killer."
Buffy was not impressed. "I prefer the term slayer, if you don't mind. Killer just sounds so…"
"Naked?"
"That's enough!" Spike snarled, stalking forward. "The lady's not interested in whatever you're tryin' to pass off, mate. Now kindly pack it up an' get the bleedin' hell outta our town, savvy?"
"My interests do not lie with you, William. You may leave."
"Yeh. That's happenin'."
Dracula's eyes darkened and he looked back to the Slayer. "And you let this one claim you?" he asked. "I was hopeful that that much was an unfortunate rumor."
A fresh rush of irritation surged through her veins and she stepped forward defensively. "Well, you can kiss the chance of my asking for an autograph goodbye," she retorted. "You're treading on dangerous ground, Your Royal Snootiness. Spike is my mate and he's right; you're in my town. Get to the point and get out, or I'll arrange an introduction between you and Mr. Pointy."
Spike tossed her a grin.
"I came here to meet the legend, naturally."
"Good. We've met. Now get out."
A wry smile crossed the darker vampire's face. "You're magnificent," he praised.
"Well, we agree on that much, Vlad," Spike growled. "An' she's smart, which is more than I can say for the floozies that've fallen for this Prince of Darkness act before. Plus, if you're here to seduce her, 'm afraid you're too late. The chit's completely heads over for me."
"I do not understand," Dracula said, frowning. "She is not responding to my thrall."
"Thrall?" the other vampire retorted incredulously. "'S that what you're callin' it nowadays?"
Buffy frowned. "He has thrall?"
"He has a thing where he thinks he does," Spike replied, turning back to the other vampire with a smug sense of satisfaction. "See what I mean, mate? Way too quick for the likes of you."
Dracula tossed him an irritated glance before glancing once more to the Slayer. "This one," he said dramatically, gesturing to the younger vampire, "is not worthy of you. Not worthy of your taste. Your power. Your…legend."
Spike's azure eyes flared and he snarled viciously and prowled forward. "You bloody righteous-"
Buffy leapt forward and caught her mate by the wrist, tugging him back to her. After everything they had gone through in Natchez, she was inclined to think Spike was worthy of everything; his loving her a gift she still felt a little unworthy of, herself. He had already given her so much.
"Here's the thing," she said, flexing her shoulders a bit. "Spike and I? Kinda of the claimed. And really, not that the tall, dark, and devastatingly annoying look doesn't work for you, 'cause really-it does, but my dance card is kind of filled from now until the next forever. You said you came here to meet me? Consider me met. Now turn around, get out of town, or again with the introducing you to Mr. Pointy."
Dracula did not look impressed. "Slayers present no threat to me," he retorted confidently. "Have not for centuries."
"Well, first." The next second, she was right in front of him, popping him squarely in the nose. "Not just a Slayer, bucko. Status has been upped to the god-like nature." The count's head snapped back, his eyes flashed yellow and his fangs extended. Unaffected, Buffy whipped out her stake and grinned ironically. "And second, well, I'd close my eyes if I were you."
Before she could administer the killing blow, however, Dracula was gone. His body dissolved into an ethereal mist and disappeared altogether, welcoming artificial light into the cemetery where he had been. Buffy and Spike turned at the same moment, surprised and a little annoyed. Feeding on each other's emotions in a manner that was already natural. The Count was gone but they were still not alone. The cemetery was suddenly occupied by a dozen or so men in camouflage, carrying guns and tazers. And all seemingly very interested in the two blondes that had formerly been speaking with the notorious Vlad the Impaler.
The Initiative.
"What is this?" Buffy whined. "International Interrupt Buffy and Spike Week?"
The vampire at her side grinned wryly. "Seems so, luv."
So strange. The past few months were compact with so many different things; the last time she had been in contact with the Initiative, she had no idea who they were or what they wanted. Only that they were the cause of Spike's handicap. A handicap the Scoobies hadn't known the full extent of until they met people in the hierarchy of the government.
Buffy also knew that Riley Finn, the guy she had been trying to get interested in before they left, was a part of the Initiative. Which meant he likely knew Spike. Which meant he was a threat.
They were all threats. To her. Her mate. If they recognized Spike…
Well, they wouldn't get that far. She would introduce them to the dark side of the Slayer before she let them come within throwing distance of her lover.
"Buffy," Spike murmured, reaching for her hand. There was a high note in his voice that she hadn't heard before. "Guess I don' need to tell you…"
"Nope. Got that memo. Don't worry-not gonna let them touch you." She flashed him a weak smile, flushing at the sudden glow of love that warmed his eyes at her fierce defense. "And here we thought it was gonna be a slow night."
"No such luck, sweetling." He squeezed her hand. "Jus' for the record, not gonna let them touch you, either. Don' care how much it sodding hurts."
The commandos were masked and not looking to make with the introductions. Buffy had the uncomfortable feeling that if these guys wanted to get serious, she would find out just how far rooted her god powers were. And that was something she was not prepared for.
Even so, when their approach did not slow, she broke and settled into a firm stance to take whatever they threw at her. "Okay, boys," she drawled. "You wanna tussle-I'll give it to you."
The commando nearest to her stopped abruptly but did not say anything.
"If it's Dracula you're looking for," she continued, taking a cautious glance at their surroundings. There were just enough operatives to give her a run for her money, but she would throw down whatever was necessary to make sure she and Spike got home tonight. "You just missed him. Did this funky disappearing act. But, hey, if you let me and my hubby go, I'll make sure I dust him extra dead for you."
"Hubby?" Spike murmured, arching a cool brow.
"Any objections, sweetie?"
"None whatsoever. Jus' makin' sure my hearin' wasn't failin' me."
She smiled grimly and turned back to the commandos who had stilled and were studying her as though she was some deranged experiment gone wrong. "Okay," she said. "Small talk aside, one of you guys wouldn't happen to be Riley Finn, would you?"
That caused a small rustle. The commandos started glancing uneasily to one another, not speaking but definitely unnerved. The one nearest to her simply stared, and she knew without having to know that he was the one she had just named. Same height. Same overbearing presence, even with months between their last meeting and a mask over his face. That was Riley.
"Ummm, did I mention that I know about the Initiative?" she asked. "And that I'm the Slayer and I have friends who work for the White House?"
That was it. One of the commandos behind her broke and decided to join the world of the vocal. "Agent Finn?"
"I got this, Forrest. Take the others and scout out the direction in which the hostile disappeared."
"He didn't go in a direction," Buffy argued. "He just poofed."
"We'll find him," came the gruff reply.
"Not if he doesn' wanna be found, you won't," Spike muttered, smiling grimly at his lover when she shot him a pointed look. "Jus' sayin', pet. These wankers don' know the Count like I do."
Either the others didn't hear him or they didn't care. They had moved on in the next few minutes. All except one.
The man standing before her was one she hadn't thought of in months. A man she had once been semi-serious about in that if-it-gets-serious-all-the-better way. A man she hadn't thought of since Spike shimmied his way into her heart. Since that night in the Bronze forever ago, when she began falling in love with him.
Despite the absence of the other commandos, she sensed Spike's tension heighten rather than improve. They had not spoken of the non-Angel men of her past, and now, a shining reminder was standing right before them. No matter that it had been weeks since she last saw Riley-weeks that seemed more like months. Not to mention that her thoughts about the Initiative operative had ended almost immediately after their last meeting. So much had happened-so much was still happening. She was an example of what would be present forever. Riley was a passing face on the road to eternity.
It amazed her that she had ever seen the man as a person she could date happily.
"Buffy," he said, drawing away his facial coverings. "I didn't know you were back in town."
She extended her arms and shrugged. "Here I am. In townish."
His eyes waned suspiciously to the platinum vampire at her side. "Who's this?"
The Slayer squeezed Spike's hand once more in reassurance before he could lash out something in defense. "This is my boyfriend," she said, stepping onto safer ground. "Spike, Riley. Riley, Spike."
"Spike?" the other man echoed dubiously. "The one you were marrying but not really?"
"Yeah. But that was before he was my boyfriend."
"A slot that's not openin' for the next bloody eternity, mate," said boyfriend snarled possessively.
Riley frowned. "Do I know you?"
Buffy laughed loudly at that, big and fake; before the man at her side could stalk forward or implode into bumpies or do something else to give them away. "Oh, no," she replied. "Spike's…ummm…Giles. Relative of Giles. Son or…son." She ignored the pointed glance she received in turn for that. "He came in from England around the time that I told you we were getting married…then I actually met him and now we're all with the pre-wedded bliss."
The hostility vacated the vampire's eyes at that. Instead, he turned back to her, running his tongue over his teeth. "I'll bloody well say," he purred in agreement.
"Well…I feel awkward and…we'll just stick with awkward." Riley's frown deepened and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "I didn't…how do you know about the Initiative?"
Buffy shrugged. "Like I said, I have friends in high places."
"The White House? I'm fairly certain I heard you say the White House."
"Well, you heard right. The White House. Know the guys there almost all the way up." She licked her lips. "We met them in Natchez."
"Natchez?"
She nodded, wincing as the conversation drew on. It was like watching herself through someone else's eyes, reiterating everything she already knew for the sake of posterity. There was absolutely no reason Riley needed to know any of this. "Went there a couple months ago. Right after…right after I told you I was getting married. We got back and then Willow got an invitation to go see her boyfriend in DC and then-"
"Willow's boyfriend?"
"Sam Seaborn."
"Deputy somethin' or other," Spike muttered, kicking at the ground. "High up there in the pecking order of the politics an' the…" He looked up when he sensed both pairs of eyes on him with growing incredulity. "I din't say anythin'."
Riley stared at him for a minute longer before glancing back to Buffy. "You and Willow just disappeared," he said. "Walsh did things to your grade that you don't want to know about. And-"
"Willow transferred to Georgetown," the Slayer retorted. "Walsh isn't a professor anymore, from what I've heard. And anyway, what I was doing in Natchez took precedence over going to school."
"Buffy-"
"I know about you, okay? I know that the Initiative chases after vampires and sticks things in the heads of demons and whatnot. I got that from Josh-"
"Josh?"
"Lyman. Another deputy something or other."
"The bloke that was shot," Spike clarified, his body still tense. His eyes on the ground. He was holding onto Buffy's hand as though the world depended on their connection. And when she got him alone again, she intended to eradicate all those fears and insecurities.
For now, though, they had appearances to keep up. The last thing they needed was the Initiative sniffing around Spike and his chipped self or her and her still-cooling god powers. "Yeah," she agreed. "Josh was the one that was shot. He found out some…stuff…then he told us about the Initiative. But it was Angel that told me about you."
Spike growled lightly at that.
"Angel? That vampire that came up here and-"
"Yeah. That vampire." Buffy's hands came up neutrally. "Look. I don't…I just wanted to say…as far as professional demon hunters go, you don't get more so than me. We're not going to be friends on the field. I just wanted you to know that I know you and what your division's up to. More over, I know people who have an ear to the President. So…just…know that, okay?"
"Buffy-"
"No. We're done here." She tugged on Spike's hand. "Kill Dracula. Don't kill Dracula. If you do, it's no skin off my nose. If you don't, I will. And my way will be a lot cleaner than yours."
"Buffy-"
The vampire at her side growled once more, eyes glimmering dangerously near yellow. If Riley noticed, he did not reveal his surprise. Perhaps that meant there was none; she didn't know. All she knew was she needed to get Spike out before he completely lost his temper.
When she was sure they were alone, walking briskly back to their apartment, Buffy pulled him to a rough standstill, cupped his face and kissed him fiercely. Pouring all her reassurance and love into his mouth. Whimpering when he grasped her back, attacking her with his tongue. Murmuring sweet nothings against her lips, tasting her with a sense of liberation that she doubted she would ever tire of.
"Thank you," she whispered when they pulled apart, breathing harshly.
"For what?"
"Not losing it."
"Came bloody close."
"I would have, too. You didn't lose it." She smiled and kissed him again. "We just gotta be more careful in the future, okay?"
"I don' like the idea of you out with that wanker, baby."
"Well, thankfully, that's not going to be a problem." A sigh rolled off her shoulders. "I don't know if he knows. About you or anything…"
Spike shook his head. "He recognized me, sweetling. Doesn' know from where, but it won' take him forever to piece it together."
"It could."
"It won't." He glanced down, his body trembling with an emotion she could not name, could not sense even through the claim. A broad mixture of love and apprehension, diffidence and fortitude. "Things are gonna get bloody messy, luv. If it's not Captain Cardboard, it'll be somethin' else." He paused. "There's somethin' in the air. Don' you feel it?"
She couldn't deny it. There was something. A premonition of something else that was brewing; something rooted in the earth of Sunnydale. A feeling she knew more for habit than understanding what it meant. Something was coming. She felt it as richly as she ever had.
"Yeah," she replied. "There is something." She wrapped an arm around his middle, hugging him back to her. "Let's go home. We can at least finish up the…voyeurism before the thing gets here?"
The worry in Spike's eyes shrinking for the lustful sheen she adored so much. He grinned leeringly and neared, gaze dropping to her mouth. "Voyeuristically?" he asked, running a hand down her arm. "Here? Now?"
Somehow she managed to wheedle a hand between them, pushing him back before he could distract her with more sinful kissage. "There," she corrected, nodding her head in the direction of their apartment. "In a few minutes."
"Not very voyeuristic, baby."
"I have every faith in your ability to make it so." She grinned and blew him a kiss. "Race you back."
She was gone too quick to catch Spike's devilish grin before he bounded after her.
And chased her all the way back to the apartment.
A/N: I mentioned in my initial disclaimer that there would be chapters
that included lines from episode transcripts of either show. This is likely
going to be the best example of that--this is the transitional chapter of the
fic where Willow is growing accustomed to life in Washington, so it
appropriately takes place during the transitional episode of TWW where everyone
is trying to get over the shooting.
This is also the chapter where she
finally meets the President.
After the two casts are fully reunited and
the canonized story of TWW breaks, there will be very little stealing from
transcripts. I just haven't found reason to break from TWW canon yet; their
professional lives have changed very little in relation to Buffy, Spike, and
Willow's lives having changed considerably. Plus, I really wanted to include the
speech made by the President. *evil grin*
"Why can't you talk to her?"
Sam quirked his head, eyes narrowing as
he caught the projected bouncy ball as Toby took aim at his head. "It's not that
simple."
"Strange, because it seems to be just that simple."
"It's not."
"She's your girlfriend."
"Yes."
"It's not easy to talk to your girlfriend?" Toby looked at him
expectantly, catching the ball with ease as it sailed home. "Is that a sign of a
healthy relationship?"
The Deputy Communications Director released a
sigh, shifting his weight between his legs. "She's just moving into the dorms.
She's barely gotten settled. I don't even think she's bought her books yet. The
last thing she needs is me haggling her between running around at school and
helping Donna take care of Josh. I'm lucky if I get an hour with her right now
at the end of the day."
"We need Josh on this."
"I know."
"Josh would want to be in on this."
"I know."
"In fact,
Josh is asking me to find a way to get him in on this. Your girlfriend is the
only one of us who has access and is not blonde and biased." Toby shook his head
irately. "Just give her some briefing memos. I can work the rest out over the
phone, but he needs to see some numbers."
"Willow isn't going to go
behind Donna's back."
"Why not?"
"Because she's Willow and she
won't do that, especially when Donna's aim is to keep Josh healthy as opposed to
in the emergency room because of a politically induced aneurysm."
"Well,
Sam, she's your girlfriend, so you're gonna have to find a way. Smuggle it into
her schoolbooks. Guilt her. Withhold sex. I don't care how you do it, I just
want it done." Toby bounced the ball against the glass separating his office
from his Deputy's. "We need Josh on this and with the goddamned Gestapo that's
watching him now, Willow is our best bet at getting him-"
A very perky
redhead popped her head into the room, eyes bright and expectant. "Getting who
what?" she asked, grinning as her boyfriend squeaked and jumped. "Sorry, but you
guys weren't exactly being quiet."
"Willow!"
Her grin broadened.
"You forgot we had a lunch date, didn't you?"
Sam cleared his throat and
stepped forward authoritatively. "Hi."
"Hi."
"We have a lunch."
"Yes. Yes we do, indeed." She eyed his superior skeptically, offering a
small wave. "Hey, Toby."
"Willow."
"What's going on?"
The men exchanged glances. "Ummm," Sam said, drawing in a deep breath.
"Toby and I have been talking and we think it might be a really good idea if you
give Josh some briefing-"
"No."
"You understand they're just
memos, not actual, you know, reports and files."
She shrugged. "And yet
my answer remains the same."
"Look, Josh is the Deputy Chief of Staff-"
"Oh really? Thanks for that, Toby."
"-and despite all else, we
need his input on this."
"He needs to get better or else he won't be
giving you much input on anything."
He just looked at her. "He won't die
by offering his opinion that is, despite several notable flaws, considered one
of the best in the field. I need Josh on this."
"Well, you need to ask
Donna."
Toby was seconds away from either whining or screaming; either
way, it was some cheap entertainment. "Donna won't listen to reason!"
"Then you shouldn't expect anything less of me. I'm all without…reason."
Willow glanced to Sam helplessly, and he smiled his 'you're so adorable' smile,
which did a lot for making her feel better. "Donna's already testy that Josh got
all…testy about the thing with CJ and the psychics from Cal Tech-"
"Physicists," the men corrected automatically.
"What is it with
women and not being able to tell the difference between psychics and
physicists?" Toby muttered.
"Yeah. Make women jokes. That's gonna
convince me to help you."
"Willow-"
"Sorry I can't stay here and
argue, but I have class this afternoon and now I'm here to steal my boyfriend
for lunch. But feel free to keep on fuming." Without warning, she coiled a hand
around Sam's elbow and all but yanked him out of Toby's office, the door
shutting behind them before either could be hit by a wayward bouncy ball.
"You shouldn't have done that," he berated.
"Probably not," she
agreed, shoving him across his own threshold and similarly closing the door
behind them. "But then, I couldn't do this."
Before Sam knew what hit
him, he had his arms full of a very warm and kissable redhead, his back against
the wooden frame and his mouth very engaged. Surprise lasted only a second-these
little trysts were what he lived on between working hours and late night phone
calls. It was still too dangerous to try to see her in public; he couldn't visit
her without it making headlines, and it was usually much too late by the time he
got off work for her to come over.
It was hard, but she had known that
going in. There were no early nights or long weekends when one worked for the
President.
Things would get better. As soon as she was settled, they
would get more than just stolen minutes.
Right now, though, his very
willing girlfriend was in his arms, her tongue wrestling with his, and it was
suddenly very easy to forget that he was just yards away from the Oval Office.
The familiar sound of a bouncy ball striking the window reverberated
through the room, bringing reality back with an unpleasant bang. "You two know I
can see you, right?" came Toby's muffled yell.
Willow murmured in
complaint as she pulled away. "Party pooper."
"Well, yes, but…" Drawing
in a breath, Sam grasped his girlfriend by the shoulders and forced some space
between them. "We can't do this here."
"I know. I was just…" She pouted.
"I wanted smoochies."
"We have that much in common," he replied with a
smile, starting for his desk. "What do you want for lunch?"
"What are my
options?"
"Pretty much anything." He shrugged. "I'd recommend the tuna,
but that's just me." He collapsed wearily into his chair, smiling slightly. "Did
you know the word acalculia means the inability to perform arithmetic
functions?"
Willow arched a brow as she took a seat appropriately across
from him, tossing her head back. "Nope. That's a new one."
"The
President asked us today in a meeting. He wanted to answer his own question."
"And you answered it for him."
"Yes, but he got over it."
She smiled. He was so adorable. Her own little genius. "How is the
President?" she asked. "You guys have an 81% approval rating right now…that has
to feel pretty good."
"It's soft."
"No!" she retorted mockingly.
Sam sighed. "You have any idea how many times I've had this conversation
today?"
"Sorry."
"Oh, I'm not bothered about it. I am bothered
by the fact that we can't take advantage of the fact that everyone feels sorry
for us right now without it looking like we're taking advantage of the fact that
everyone feels sorry for us right now."
She arched a brow. "You can't?"
"Well, we can, but it's going to backfire. We have a chance at taking
back the House right now, and we're going to use our soft poll numbers to do it.
It's not going to look good, but Toby doesn't care right now and since I work
for Toby, I suppose I shouldn't care either." Another sigh rolled off his
shoulders. "And the President's in a thing about some old rival of his running
for school board in Manchester."
"Why?"
"Really? I think he's
bored."
Willow bit her lip. "You think the President's bored?"
"Well, that or he's repressing some anger over the fact that the kid he
thinks of as a son was targeted in a shooting that resulted in Josh nearly dying
and himself sustaining injury. All because Charlie is black and happens to be
dating his daughter." Sam paused and looked at her sheepishly. "Or he's bored."
"That's more likely," she agreed. "So I guess that answers my question."
He looked at her quizzically.
"How's the President?"
"You know, if you really wanted to know, I could take you down the
hallway and you could ask him yourself."
"Ah, but you see, there's the
part where I draw the line."
"Willow-"
"I'm a very apt line
drawer, my friend."
"As you have demonstrated admirably." Sam gave her
his patented loving look. "Willow, you don't have to be nervous about meeting
the President."
"Easy for you to say."
"A few weeks ago, you
were willing if not eager-"
"A few weeks ago, Josh wasn't lying in bed
recovering from a gunshot wound. A few weeks ago, I was still living in
Sunnydale and if the President didn't like me when he met me, it wouldn't
matter." She paused under his incredulous glance. "Well, okay. It would matter.
But I…things changed, Sam."
"How?"
She stared at him.
"You're still Willow," he said. "He's still the President. He wanted to
meet you before and he still does."
"Well…" She slumped a bit, worrying
her lip between her teeth. "That's beside the point. Don't you have a lunch to
order?"
"Yes. Tuna?"
"Turkey."
"Chips?"
"Original."
"Rippled or not rippled?"
"Rippled."
He smiled, picked up the phone and placed the order. Afterward, he had
seemingly dropped his quest to have her meet the President before the day was
over, settled back with a slight sigh. "I have a meeting with Tom Jordan after
lunch."
"Okay. Who's Tom Jordan?"
"Hopefully a candidate to
replace Grant Samuels in a district we very much need a Democrat in."
"Are there districts where you don't?"
The smile melted easily
into a smirk. "Touché." A pause. "How are Buffy and Spike getting along?"
"Good. Great, actually, from what she's told me."
"When was the
last time you talked to her?"
"Last night. She's been patrolling a lot
and waiting for Giles to get back from England with word on Faith. Make sure
she's properly restrained and stuff." A long breath hissed through her lips.
"She woke up. Did I tell you? She finally woke up about two days ago. I think I
forgot to tell you. Maybe I thought I told you because I was thinking of telling
you, and therefore thought I already had." She frowned, ignoring the call of his
eyes. "She woke up and she's pretty pissed off. Her strength is unthinkable but
the Watcher's Council thinks they have her under control for now. If she ever
figures out that she's all godlike and whatnot…" A shudder. "I don't wanna think
about it."
"This because of me?"
"It's because she's a nasty
psychopath who, by the way, wasn't exactly without the strength thing before and
ran amok in Natchez when…" Her shoulders slumped, her words failing to convince
her own ears. "Well, yeah, and you."
"I think I've proven on multiple
occasions that I am very much over what Faith did to me."
"Yes, and it's
not that I'm…" Her cheeks tinted prettily. "I just don't like the idea of Faith,
who's not the most balanced of the balanced, running around with god powers."
"It's not ideal, but it's not like we can do anything about it now."
When the worry failed to leave her eyes, Sam rose diplomatically from his chair
and rounded the corner of his desk before resting on the edge right in front of
her. "It'll be okay, Willow."
She flashed him a forced grateful smile,
her own confidence far placed from the security resonating through his voice.
Anyone with the abilities Faith had was a danger, whether to herself or to
others. She had the power to do great good, of course, but the Slayer was not
notorious for acting for the will of others.
Someone as imbalanced as
Faith was already dangerous. Someone with such power…she didn't want to think of
it. And could only hope that Sam was right. That things would work out, and all
would be well.
It didn't seem to matter much one way or another at the
present. She couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't do much outside what she
was doing now. Sitting in her boyfriend's office, waiting for lunch to come.
Discussing the upcoming midterm elections while her mind danced around the paper
she had due at the end of the week.
Getting accustomed to a life a
continent away from where her blood belonged. Accustomed to a life that was
still too large for her small shoes to fill.
That too would take time.
She was here now. She was where she wanted to be.
And she would not look
back.
*~*~*
Election night crept up on them before they knew what to do with
themselves. The past few weeks had been a roller coaster of different emotions.
Toby was doing everything possible to find a way to investigate the organization
that the shooters were affiliated with by comfortably bypassing the Bill of
Rights. The President was losing his head in trying to defeat Elliot Roush-a man
that he had once campaigned against and won for a Congressional seat-in a local
election for the school board in the district all three of the Bartlet daughters
had graduated from. Charlie was withdrawn from Zoey, assuming the full weight of
the shooting on his shoulders; torn with guilt at the fact that he had nearly
gotten his surrogate father killed because he was dating the President's
daughter. Sam's star candidate, Tom Jordan-whom he had personally brought into
running-was at a loss for White House support because of a scandal involving him
and his possible racist agenda when it came to prosecuting against black
defendants. And ever since the issue was brought up to her, CJ had been
privately investigating the very real possibility of psychological effects in
the aftermath of what had happened at Rosslyn.
In the time between,
Willow had settled into a comfortable routine at Georgetown and was enjoying her
classes immensely. Her relationship with Sam was as wonderful as ever-even
though his nights were often compromised for work, and they still had to be
careful on when and where it was appropriate to be together. Especially now when
the House could be taken back by Democrats and the President was seconds away
from losing himself over a school board election.
That didn't take away
the other aspects of their move; the redhead had just gotten off the phone with
Buffy who told her that she had just met the actual Count Dracula and that the
Initiative was still well and kicking in Sunnydale. And she wondered when her
life stopped being surreal and became real. She was standing in the
communications department of the White House just outside Sam's office;
suddenly, fighting vampires and saving the world seemed so far away from where
she was that it was hard to remember anything else.
Missing Sunnydale
was something she had never foreseen. She had expected the second thoughts in
leaving her friends. There were nights when she thought she would go mad without
having Buffy there with her. Without having Xander just a few miles from her
dorm. Hell, she even missed Anya.
She missed them terribly. With as much
as she loved Washington, there was very tangibly no place like home.
"All twelve are still too close to call," Sam told her as he raced into
his office. Then louder, to everyone else in the room, "I want to see everyone
on telephones."
The redhead froze and glanced up, grinning in spite of
herself. Though her call was personal, everyone in the room, herself included,
had a phone in hand.
Sam paused. "Okay. Good. Just like that."
Her grin broadened. It was the midterm elections and he was running
around with such urgency that one would think the Bartlet administration's
entire legacy depended on taking back the House. He was cute and endearingly
rushed, his own agenda notwithstanding. The past few weeks had been hell on him.
His guilt at withdrawing support from Tom Jordan's campaign after talking the
man into running was something that the man himself would never know. Something
that remained only within the perimeters of the White House and in late night
discussions with his girlfriend.
"You should get to the reception," he
told her swiftly, pecking an affection kiss on her cheek. "The crab puffs are
going fast."
"Do I like crab puffs?"
"You'll love these." He
disappeared into his office the next second, and Willow's attention was
immediately reclaimed by the persistent voice at the other end of the line. Her
veins resurged with that homesick feeling that she resented more than she could
have fathomed.
"So, you're doing well?" Buffy asked. "You're liking DC?
Sam's not being a mook and holding you hostage or anything?"
She
laughed. "No. Not hostage. I've actually just settled down. Donna's been making
me keep guard of Josh whenever she's not there. I think she actually thinks Toby
and CJ are planning a secret infiltration of his house to talk to him in person
on this policy stuff."
"Policy stuff?"
"I'd start explaining,
but you'd get bored very quickly."
Her friend offered a mock scoff.
"Willow! Already sounding condescending."
The redhead rolled her eyes.
"I didn't mean it like that and you know it. It bores me sometimes. Besides…US
policy or hellmouthy demons? Really, you're up to your ears in things that are
of interest."
"Don't forget world famous vamps hitting on me in front of
my very protective boyfriend." There was some indiscernible Cockney yelling in
the background. "I know, sweetie!" A pause as she heard Buffy redirect her
attention once more. "Spike was just reminding me that Dracula's a
self-satisfied wanker who places too much confidence in his nonexistence
sex appeal."
"Someone sounds threatened," Willow jested.
"Oh,
no. He's right. Drac seemed very surprised that I wasn't falling to my knees in
reverence. Besides…" The Witch could almost see the smile on her friend's face.
"Spike's incredibly sexy when he's possessive and jealous." More shouting and
something that sounded suspiciously like a collision followed by a thud. "No,
honey, I-ahhh!" There was giggling and some guttural sounds that the redhead did
not want to place, and she hurried out a quick goodbye before hanging up.
Buffy was happy. Honestly, Willow couldn't remember a time when her
friend had been genuinely happy. Not with Angel and certainly not anytime
thereafter. While she would not pretend to understand how a soulless vampire
could make the Slayer as blissfully content and loved as her friend was, she
decided it was none of her business and as long as Buffy was happy, all the
better for her.
Her eyes rose to Sam's office and a frown settled across
her face. She hadn't even noticed Tom and his wife inside, so watching them
leave in a huff was not exactly encouraging. Especially considering that tonight
was election night and they were supposed to win.
Sam was desolate,
standing in his dark office, a helpless look clouding his eyes.
"Sam?"
"They're not happy."
"I'm sorry. If I'd known they were in
there-"
He shook his head. "I knew they were coming over. It's okay. I
just…I got them into this. I was told to get them into this."
"You did
what you were told," she agreed, hooking an arm around his waist. "Want some
crab puffs?"
A slow grin spread across his lips and he nodded, brushing
a kiss across her temple. "You know how to make everything better," he said.
"Let's stop in there, then I need to…" He trailed off with a frown, a strange
emotion creeping into his eyes.
"What?"
"I got this thing."
"Okay…"
"Let me grab something and then we'll swing by the thing
to make sure CJ's not losing her head."
"And grab some crab puffs?"
His grin returned brilliantly. "Yes indeed."
They made the stop
in the foyer where CJ offhandedly told them that Jenna Jacobs was in attendance
among the other radio personalities that had been invited to the reception. Sam
smuggled a small paper plate with two crab puffs and watched his girlfriend with
barely concealed delight as she took her first bite. They disposed of the plate
within a minute or so before he clasped Willow's hand and led her down a foreign
hallway that soon adjoined to the part of the White House she was familiar with.
"Who's Jenna Jacobs?"
Sam tossed her a pointed glance. "You've
heard of Dr. Laura? Rush Limbaugh?"
"Yes."
"Well, she's not as
well known as those two, but she is a rough combination of their personalities."
Willow winced. "Ouch."
"Yeah." He brought her to a stop in a
small office area that was shut off by a closed door that she imagined led to
more of the workplace. What he was looking for, she didn't know. Only that Mrs.
Landingham was sitting at one of the desks, a woman Willow had seen perhaps
twice since the endless night spent in the hospital. Sam greeted her
appropriately.
"Hello Sam," the old woman replied.
"Does he have
a minute?"
Willow was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
"He's in with Toby. You can go in if you like."
"Sam," the
redhead said warningly.
He flashed her a completely innocent glance. "I
just have to drop off this thing," he said. "We'll go back to the party in a
second."
"Sam, I swear-"
He wasn't listening to her. He had
knocked on the door and was tugging her through into the most notorious room in
the United States, where Toby's familiar eyes caught her just seconds before the
presence of a man she had only seen through the television. A man whose legacy
was in the process of being formed. A man she had been dying to meet for weeks.
A man she was terrified of disappointing without the luxury of knowing him.
Sam Seaborn had just joined the ranks of the walking dead. She was going
to kill him.
"Excuse me, Mr. President," her boyfriend said. "Good
evening."
"Hey Sam," the President replied, eying her warily. "Who's
that quivering behind you? Surely not the notorious Ms. Rosenberg to whom I owe
the entirety of my continued tyrannical reign?"
The Deputy
Communications Director smiled brilliantly. "Yes sir."
Willow's face
flamed. Yeah, Sam was pretty much dead.
"She seems afraid of me." The
President frowned at that. "I trust you told her all those rumors about the
dungeon were completely fictitious."
Sam and Toby glanced at her
expectantly, and she realized belatedly that she was the new focal point of
whatever conversation had been going on before they interrupted. There was a dry
sensation in the back of her throat. She was standing in the Oval Office of the
White House, and the President of the United States was prompting her to speak.
"I…ummm…I…" She tossed a glare in Sam's direction. "I…it's an honor
to…meet you, Mr. President."
The President exchanged an amused glance
with Toby. "Yes," he replied in good jest. "I imagine it would be. Really, Ms.
Rosenberg, there's no need to be so jittery. Rather, I have been trying to get
Sam to trick you in here ever since I felt well enough to receive visitors. Or,
should I say, since Leo got off my back about overextending myself. Evidently, a
person recovering from surgery shouldn't do anything strenuous, but he thought I
was up to running the country."
Willow smiled weakly. "Yes sir."
Then something unexpected happened. The President neared and took her
hand as a father would, smiling warmly into her eyes, giving her both a sense of
familiarity and further nervousness. "A much belated thank you," he said
sincerely, "for everything you did in Natchez."
"Oh…I…ummm. It was
nothing, Mr. President."
"Not the way Sam tells it, but I hear he likes
to embellish." The President winked like a little boy and turned to the man at
her side. "Did you have a reason for seeing me, Sam, or were you just determined
to terrify your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend?"
He shook his head. "That was
just a good opportunity," he replied. "Actually, I wasn't sure whether you'd be
stopping by the Talk Radio reception. I scratched out a few remarks for you."
The President nodded and took the notes. "Let me look at them while we
walk." He turned to the Communications Director. "Toby, go with us to this radio
thing."
The man looked appalled. "Oh God, really sir?"
"There'll
be crab puffs," the President said. Willow was beginning to wonder if there was
some unheard of crab puff fetish among those who worked in the West Wing. "New
England crab puffs, by the way. Made in New England."
"Actually, it's
Alaskan crab," her boyfriend corrected.
Toby all but groaned aloud at
that. "Sam."
The President's face fell, void of all merriment. "There's
Alaskan crab in this White House?"
"He wouldn't have known the
difference," the Communications Director protested after the event.
The
President wasn't moved. "Have you tried them?"
Sam fumbled adorably and
Willow had to glance down before she betrayed him with a grin. "I…yes,
reluctantly. I think it was clear the way I ate the crab puffs that it was a
gesture of protest."
"Were they good?"
A long sigh escaped her
boyfriend's throat. "Extraordinarily good and going very fast."
The
President nodded, convinced. "Let's get there." He started past them and paused
to pat Willow very deliberately on the shoulder. "That's you, too, Ms.
Rosenberg. Follow me, if you will."
She found herself in a dream, being
led through the White House at the request and direction of the President of the
United States. That title running through her mind every few seconds as though
she expected herself to jolt back to reality. The President of the United
States. President Bartlet. Sam walking beside her, looking entirely too pleased
with himself.
"You're a jerk," she muttered as they stepped into the
foyer, following CJ's introduction.
"Yes, but you're happy to have met
him without knowing you were going to meet him, right?"
"Still. Jerk."
He shot her a devious look that was both natural and foreign to his
usually soft features. "I'll make it up to you later," he promised, and promptly
turned her attention back to where the President was starting to address the
radio personalities as the modest round of applause died down.
"Thank
you. Thank you, very much. Thanks a lot. I wish I could spend more than a few
minutes with you but the polls don't close in the east for another hour and
there are plenty of election results left to falsify."
That earned some
chuckles. Willow found herself beaming. She was standing in the White House next
to the Deputy Communications Director, whom she happened to be sleeping with,
and the President was addressing a small company of guests. CJ hadn't yet
hurried up to bustle her away, so she felt safe that the press wouldn't catch
her and point her out specifically as a companion to anyone in the room. It was
one of the few times that she had felt completely at ease with her surroundings
while standing so close to the click of cameras.
For whatever reason,
she doubted anyone would pay much attention to her while the President was in
the room.
"You know," the President continued, "with so many people
participating in the political and social debate through call in shows, it's a
good idea to be reminded…" A lengthy pause. He frowned and glanced at something
that Willow could not see. "…it's a good idea to be reminded of the awesome
impact…the awesome impact…"
He shifted and moved away, giving up trying
to follow through on his thought. Willow was able to see what had distracted
him; there was a woman sitting in the room, holding a small paper plate and
watching him with interest.
"I'm sorry," the President said, "um, you're
Dr. Jenna Jacobs, right?"
Willow and Sam exchanged a glance.
The
woman smiled proudly. "Yes, sir."
The President nodded. "It's good to
have you here." It was obvious from the tone of his voice, however, that either
he was not entirely convinced of that, or his reason for verifying her identity
was buried for some other purpose.
"Thank you," she replied.
And
that appeared to be the end of that. The President seemed to remember that he
was the focus of attention and glanced back to the room, picking up where he had
left off. "The awesome impact of the airwaves and how that translates into the
furthering of our national discussions but obviously also how it can…how it
can…"
The President glanced back to Jenna Jacobs and sighed. There would
not be any address to the radio correspondents until he got past the fact that
she was in attendance. Why, Willow had no idea. But her interest was definitely
piqued.
"Forgive me, Dr. Jacobs," the President said. "Are you an MD?"
"PhD," the woman replied eagerly.
"A PhD?"
"Yes, sir."
That seemed to interest the President immensely. "In Psychology?"
"No, sir."
"Theology?"
"No."
"Social work?"
Dr. Jacobs shifted, evidently growing uncomfortable. "I have a PhD in
English Literature."
The President nodded. "I'm asking, 'cause on your
show, people call in for advice and you go by the name of Dr. Jacobs on your
show. And I didn't know if maybe your listeners were confused by that, and
assumed you had advanced training in Psychology, Theology, or health care."
A barely discernible look of indignation crossed the woman's face. "I
don't believe they are confused, no sir."
"Good." A pause. "I like your
show. I like how you call homosexuality an abomination."
Willow's eyes
about popped out of her head.
Dr. Jacobs wasn't even trying to mask her
incense anymore. She shifted again. "I don't say homosexuality is an
abomination, Mr. President. The Bible does."
"Yes it does," the
President agreed. "Leviticus."
"18:22."
"Chapter and verse." He
seemed proud. "I wanted to ask you a couple of questions while I had you here.
I'm interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in
Exodus 21:7-" There were a few chuckles in the back. All Willow could do was
stare. "She's a Georgetown sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, and always clears
the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be?" He paused
as though to allow her time to answer, but started speaking again before she
could get a word in. "While thinking about that, can I ask another? My Chief of
Staff, Leo McGarry, insists on working on the Sabbath." A dramatic pause.
"Exodus 35:2 clearly says he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to
kill him myself or is it okay to call the police? Here's one that's really
important, 'cause we've got a lot of sports fans in this town. Touching the skin
of a dead pig makes us unclean, Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves,
can the Washington Redskins still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can West Point?
Does the whole town really have to be together to stone my brother, John, for
planting different crops side by side? Can I burn my mother in a small family
gathering for wearing garments made from two different threads?"
Dr.
Jacobs fidgeted again, unbearably uncomfortable.
"Think about those
questions, would you?" the President asked. "One last thing. While you may be
mistaking this for your monthly meeting of the Ignorant Tightass Club, in this
building, when the President stands, nobody sits."
That was when it hit
her. The entire room was standing. Dr. Jenna Jacobs was not. Willow felt a
trembling breath rush out of her body, recalling how Sam had mentioned the
President was still coming off his obsession with a former political enemy in
the following of his recovery, and that he hadn't been himself since the
shooting. Something that she could well understand.
The clicks and
flashes of cameras were suddenly blinding. Dr. Jacobs was still sitting, but
finally clamored to her feet. And without breaking eye contact with her, the
President called for Toby over his shoulder.
"Yes, Mr. President."
"That's how I beat him."
Willow had absolutely no idea what that
meant, but the reference was clear. And that was it. The President turned to
leave the room and his staffers followed, all except Sam who she saw was
approaching Jenna Jacobs meaningfully.
"I'm just…" He began before
plucking something off her plate. "I'm gonna take that crab puff."
When
he turned back to face her, Willow saw his eyes were twinkling. As though to
tell her she had just witnessed something remarkable. She smiled back at him
gratefully, and muffled a chuckle when he popped the purloined crab puff into
his mouth.
Something remarkable indeed.
*~*~*
Two hours later, Willow was seated on the steps outside Josh's
building, casting Sam a weary glance as he listened from the curb for the
election results. Toby, CJ, Donna, and Josh were with her, drinking beer and
making snide comments at the bottle of coke they had given her in lieu of her
age. It wasn't because they thought she was too young or not mature enough, they
said; rather, it would be bad enough to get busted. It would be worse if the
nature of her relationship with Sam came out as a result. It would be a public
relations nightmare if she were drinking.
Still, she and Sam got
appropriately jested in response. Willow didn't mind. It was all in good fun.
"Everybody should have to stay inside for three months so that they
truly appreciate the outdoors," Josh said with a wistful sigh, his eyes turning
to the sky. "I appreciate the outdoors now. I'm an outdoorsman."
Donna
and Willow exchanged an amused glance. "Josh."
"Yeah."
"I said
I'd let you outside if you'd stop talking about being an outdoorsman and if you
stopped talking about Theoretical Physics."
The Deputy Chief of Staff's
eyes sparkled at that, and he turned to CJ with glee. "Aha! You'd thought I'd
forget about it, didn't you? Banner headline, five days ago. Model for the
Unified Theory solved. Banner headline in the New York Times. You said it wasn't
going to be news."
Willow grinned. She had no idea what he was talking
about, but there was a great deal of relief in hearing him speak as she
remembered. Hearing that cocky drawl alongside his lesser-known virtues. Though
she had been helping Donna take care of him for weeks, there was a certain
degree of familiarity that could only be obtained when his closest friends were
with him.
A pang struck her at that. She missed Sunnydale terribly.
Missed Buffy. Missed Xander. She missed everyone.
"Hey!" CJ said,
ignoring Josh's comment, her eyes dropping to his clothing. "You're wearing my
pajamas."
"Yes, I am."
The Press Secretary had bought a new pair
of pajamas after Donna made a fuss about Josh's lack of appropriate sleepwear.
Willow didn't think, personally, that Josh needed any, especially since Donna
had already seen him in the buff and was solely responsible for making sure that
he was bathed when he couldn't tend to himself. Whatever had happened between
them, though, was now something that they didn't talk about. As though that
night before the near-apocalypse was written off as a moment of pure insanity
that meant nothing in the long run.
Willow knew them both well enough to
know that wasn't true. Donna was hopelessly in love with Josh, and the sooner
she admitted it for keeps, the better.
CJ gestured to Josh's pajamas.
"Take off your coat. Let's see."
He clamored to his feet and shrugged
off the coat Donna had placed over his shoulders before letting him out,
revealing the light blue pajama bottoms and top that was about three sizes too
big. The redhead stifled a chuckle. He had endured enough pajama-related jokes
inside to have her snickering again.
"Those are too big," the Press
Secretary said.
"Yes, they are," Josh agreed. "All this time I've been
working with you, did you also think I was playing power forward for the
Cleveland Cavaliers?"
"I think they look good on you."
"I think
you're all freaks," Toby said, casting Willow a narrow glance.
The
redhead grinned cynically. "Thanks for that."
"Anytime."
Sam had
finally concluded his phone call and was walking back toward them with a
somewhat stunned look on his face.
Toby glanced at him expectantly.
"What do you have?"
"You're not going to believe it."
"How'd
they go?" CJ asked.
The Deputy Communications Director drew in a deep
breath. "Twelve races, in none of them did the incumbent win. In none of them,
did the party that previously held the seat win. You know how it went?" A pause.
"Seven to five."
Josh was staring at him. "You're kidding."
"Seven Republicans and five Democrats?" CJ repeated, dumbfound.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"The House stayed the same?" The Deputy
Chief of Staff sat back. "After four months and four hundred million dollars,
everything stayed the same."
"Yup."
Josh shook his head. "Tell
me democracy doesn't have a sense of humor." He paused. "We sit here, we drink
this beer out here on the stoop, in violation about forty-seven city ordinances.
Well," a cheeky glance in the redhead's direction. "Except Willow, of course."
Sam took a seat next to her and put an encouraging arm around her
shoulder. For her part, the Witch merely shrugged and raised her coke bottle.
"Cheers."
The Deputy Chief of Staff grinned at that before returning to
his original train of thought. "I don't know, Toby, it's election night. What do
you say about a government that goes out of its way to protect even citizens
that try to destroy it?"
Toby was silent for a long minute. "God bless
America."
One by one, they echoed the same sentiment, clinking their
drinks together in symbolic approval of the work they had done. Recuperating
from an attempted assassination. Moving across the country with nothing more
than an approval letter from Georgetown University. Starting over with new
knowledge, letting the past in when it was appropriate; looking to the future.
Willow indulged a long drink of her coke, turning her eyes skyward.
She wished Buffy was with her. Buffy, Xander, Giles…hell, even Spike and
Anya. There was just no getting past the reminder that there was no place like
home, regardless of where home was.
She missed home. Not the town
itself, the people who made it home.
It would be a long while before
Washington, DC became home.
She just hoped she was strong enough to
wait.
The strange thing was, she had known all along. It was just something she
understood. Something buried there beneath the surface. She had known it the
minute it happened, the minute the change occurred, just as she knew that it was
supposed to be real. That everyone around her would believe the lie. Would
believe what she knew to be false. Would believe that the girl living in her
mother's house was really a girl, and that she was Buffy's sister.
Spike
believed the lie. So did Giles and Xander. Anya and her mother. The lie came
with a place in an eighth grade classroom. With a birth certificate and altered
family photos. With years of fabricated memories that were hidden in the guise
of reality. The lie didn't know she was a lie. The lie believed she was a girl
just as everyone else did. The lie had no memory of being anything
else.
Buffy knew about the lie. The minute it happened, she knew
something was different. Felt something was different. Remembered very clearly a
period where she was the only child coinciding now with a false history of
sisterly quibbles and screaming matches. Two sets of memories. An ingrained
knowledge that something was not the way it was supposed to be. That their world
was about to flip and spin on its alternate axis. That something terrible was
about to happen.
Her knowledge was simple. The girl living with her
mother was not her sister, only she was. She was not evil. She was not a threat.
She was merely a lie that Buffy needed to keep secret. Something that would
reveal itself with time.
It began simply enough. She awoke one morning
with the memories of a sister. She knew her sister's name, her face, her
birthday, her favorite sandwich, and a list of her pet peeves. And though she
knew it was a lie, there was no immediate sense of urgency. She was confused,
yes, but she trusted that Dawn was not the terrible thing. It was innate. Dawn
was not her sister, but she was. She remembered instances of irritation and
love. That cashmere sweater she had given Buffy for her seventeenth birthday,
and the unfortunate stains of chocolate milk that saturated the fabric within
just a few short hours. There were holidays, family get-togethers, sisterly
fights, tearful reunions, and so much more. Dawn was her sister. And she was
Buffy's responsibility. That much was startlingly clear.
There was so
much more that she needed to know. Why Dawn was suddenly here. Why she was a
part of the Summers family. And, most importantly, she needed to know if it had
anything to do with her mother's recent illness.
She needed to confide in
someone-needed to tell Spike. But first, she needed more to go on. Something
that would clue her in as to why there was suddenly a blood relative that was
both a sister and a stranger living in her mother's house.
And for that,
she had nothing to follow but her instincts. A factor of her new powers; sensing
where there was trouble took barely more than waking up in the morning.
Something big was coming. Something unlike anything they had ever faced before.
Something that, for all its variations, seemed breathtakingly
familiar.
She remembered the look on Quirinias's face on the Longwood
lawn, contorted with Faith's eyes and sputtering ancient languages as he tried
to bring upon a thousand years of chaos and torment. One of the world's oldest
gods, cursed by a coven of witches, looking for a loophole. And he had passed on
his powers to her. When she was his vessel, she'd inherited everything he had.
All the strength he possessed. And the prospect of mastering those new abilities
terrified her.
"You sure you don' want me to come with you?" Spike asked.
"I could always tell Rupert to sod off an' leave this bloody rite of passage for
when I give a damn."
"Yes, but then you would never go," Buffy replied,
squeezing his hand as he locked up their apartment. She was hesitant to have him
with her tonight; didn't know what would be revealed. She knew the truth about
Dawn; the half-truth, anyway. For whatever she found beyond that, she didn't
want Spike exposed to the reality of their nonreality. Didn't want her world to
crumble inward until it was absolutely necessary.
"I'm not seein' the
downside," he retorted, nuzzling her hair with a contented purr. "Jus' call the
Watcher up; tell him I'm busy makin' the town safe from all the li'l nasties an'
plan on rushin' home as soon as possible to shag his Slayer into the
ground."
She grinned as he slipped their house key into his pocket. It
was still strange watching the vampire become so domesticated. There were times
she could feel his restraint teetering at the very edge of reason, but he held
back. He reached to her through the claim and found solace.
"As tempting
as that is," she said cheekily, flushing at the lust clouding his eyes. "You
should get this rite thingy over with."
He pouted. "He jus' wants to poke
at me an' find out if I've sprouted anythin' unusual as a result to bein' mated
to a Slayer."
"Poking at you is my job."
A smirk at that.
"Well, if the bloke tries anythin' funny, you'll be the firs' to
know."
"Ewww."
His eyes sparkled teasingly before falling serious
once more. "You sure you're gonna be fine?"
Buffy smiled. He was adorable
when he was worried. "Sweetie, you remember that period of time before you
didn't love me and I used to patrol by myself? I was even of the regular human
persuasion then. No god powers. No supernatural vampiric claim. Just plain ole
Slayer me doing what every Slayer does."
"Yeh," he retorted sheepishly.
He hated being reminded of before, even if it did broaden an understanding of
what they had now. It seemed lifetimes in the past. "I jus'…'f you're out there
an' I'm not, I…"
"You're sweet."
"I love you."
"I love you,
too. Which I'm sure we'll convey many times tonight."
He grinned
wickedly. "Bloody right, we will.
"Which means we better get going so we
can get back here to get conveying, right?" She grinned and moved to kiss him
goodbye. "See you later."
The minute her lips brushed his, a tingle
shivered across her skin. That sort of brilliant sensation that exploded between
them with every union. It was dangerous how rapidly she could lose herself in
him. How the slightest touch could unwind her to her core. And even for the warm
familiarity of his kisses, there was something else. Something clinging to the
winds of change, and how they both felt a large presence was about to make
itself known. That their quiet haven was about to be shattered; the world
plunged once more into darkness that she had to battle with her inherent
light.
The next thing she knew, Spike had her pressed against the wall
outside their apartment door, his mouth ravaging hers, murmuring whimpers into
her throat as he ground his hardening cock against her dampened center. He felt
it, too. They fed off each other's arousal now. It was difficult to have an
impure thought without her mate sensing her naughty detour and ravaging her
senseless…not that that was a bad thing. Rather, Buffy had made an interesting
study of seeing how long it took him to find her after projecting a lewd image
into the void for him to snatch.
Their connection was startlingly close.
More so than even he had thought, given the perimeters of normal vampiric
claims. Granted, there was nothing normal about their union. She was a Slayer
turned god; he was a master vampire now hampered by a government chip that would
not outlast the eternity they had together. His capacity to love blew her away
at every turn. The wealth of feeling he poured through his touches, his
kisses-god, his eyes-was enough to shake her world apart.
He felt
something was wrong simply by being with her. Felt the desperation to cling to
their sanctuary-this little paradise they had constructed in the simple weeks of
being back. Away from Natchez and politicians. Just themselves, living in their
apartment and setting to the world as they knew how. Where gunshots didn't ring.
Where everything made sense.
They had not been back long. And so much was
different. But she was happy, and so terrified that something was on the rise to
rip that away from her.
Spike's mouth danced up her throat, his skilled
fingers splayed over her right breast, exciting her nipple through the fabric.
"Sure you don' want me to come with you?" he growled, thrusting his pelvis
forward erotically. He moved in ways that should be illegal in forty-eight
states. "Make quick work of the graveyards. Two of us
patrollin'…"
"Uhhh…"
She felt him grin against her skin, her head
thrown back against the wall. She recognized that she was in the hall of their
apartment building, that anyone could walk up the stairs or step outside their
front door at the noise. That they were in full view. In the open. That people
had been arrested for less. But she didn't care. Not now. Not with her night
shielded in uncertainty. She caught Spike's mouth in another passion-fused kiss,
cupping the bulge of his pants and stroking him through the denim.
"Jesus Christ, pet," he gasped, throwing his head back. "You drive me
outta my bloody mind with jus' a touch." He placed his own hand over hers and
thrust against her palm. "Jus' this. Gah, you make me wild." His other hand
toying with the zipper of her jeans, the metallic ring of its descent sounding
through the vacant hall, somehow above their mingled pants.
A strangled
cry tore from her throat. His thumb was pressing against her clit, lolling it in
leisurely circles. Stroking her until she felt herself abandon the earthly
helix, reach that pinnacle and fall again. His fingers parting her moist folds,
sliding into her wet cavern with smooth expertise. Her own hand abandoned him,
fingers digging into his forearms as her legs entwined around his waist. Spike
stole another kiss from her lips, pumping her slowly and watching her take her
pleasure through hooded eyes. His hand was drenched in her ambrosia; watching
her find release was one of the greatest gifts the world had to offer. Knowing
that it was for his touch that she trembled.
"Come for me, baby," he
pleaded, dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "Right here. Right now in this
bleedin' hallway. Come for me. Fuck, you're so hot. So bloody perfect." He slid
another finger into her, his thumb massaging her clit in rough, impassioned
circles. "My fiery goddess."
It was the feel of his fangs in her throat
that sent her over. The white-hot marks searing her skin exploded into a
symphony of stars, and she lurched forward to embed her teeth into his shoulder
to keep from crying out. The claim mark on his own throat beckoned her mouth for
reassertion, but she knew if she bit him there, they would never leave the
apartment building.
She would barricade them away from the world and
hope whatever was coming passed them by. Whatever was coming that threatened
this happiness she had.
Spike was still drinking absently when she
uncurled her legs from his waist, his fingers slipping out of her wet sheath.
Her small murmur of complaint was dwarfed only by the mounting need to face this
thing that was coming. Face it, kill it, and live in sin until the next
apocalypse.
He dimly realized his fangs were still in her throat the next
minute and pulled away shamefacedly, enticing another murmur of complaint that
nearly went ignored. "Sorry, sweetheart," he rumbled, lapping the small wound
closed, his lips finding her cheek with reverence. "Got carried
away."
Buffy grinned like a loon and kissed him again. "Don't apologize,"
she said. "That was wonderful."
His eyes sparkled at that. "Wonderful,
huh?"
"It's always wonderful."
His grin lasted a minute longer
before his worried eyes settled on the fresh wound at her throat. "I din't take
too much?" he asked softly, readjusting her clothing in a gentlemanly fashion
that he only revealed around her.
"Not possible."
"Baby,
I-"
Buffy placed a finger over his lips, smiling softly. "Not possible,"
she said again. "And as much as I'd love to go back inside and ride you to a
gallop-" A familiar smoldering look stormed his gaze, and she had to force some
space between them before the last strands of her discipline flew out the
window. "-I really do need to go patrol, and you really need to go on this
vision quest or whatever that Giles wants you to do."
"'S not a vision
quest. He wants to study me like a soddin' lab rat."
"Well, let him." Her
eyes sparkled. "He might find something useful."
Spike glanced at her
worriedly. "I don' want him findin' anythin'."
She smirked. "You
know what I mean."
"Hardly ever," he retorted, raising his glistening
hand to his mouth to lick off her juices, murmuring his approval as her taste
hit his tongue. "Bloody delicious, you are."
A pretty flush rose to her
cheeks. "Perv."
"You love it." He neared again dangerously. "Gonna gimme
a goodbye kiss?"
"Our goodbye kisses tend to go overboard," Buffy
replied, though she kissed him anyway. Forcing herself away from him immediately
thereafter before his taste could entice her fully away from her objective.
"I'll be back in an hour or so." She turned before his eyes could tempt her back
into his arms. Back to where she knew lay safety instead of the unknown at the
end of tonight's mystery. Unraveling the lie that had haunted her for the past
few days.
She didn't know what she would find. Hell, she didn't even know
where she was going.
Only that something in the air called to her blood.
Something wanted her to come.
"Be careful," Spike told her, nearing again
to kiss her temple. That tension that had been there just seconds ago reborn
with a vengeance. He knew something was wrong, and it frustrated the hell out of
him that he couldn't pick out what. "If you need me…well, I'll likely know
before you do."
She grinned. "Yeah."
"I love you."
"I love
you, too. And I'll be fine."
He nodded, though he refused to let go of
her hand. Walking down the hallway and outside their building to the point where
they had to go in opposite directions. Words clogged in her throat, desperately
seeking to reassure him; sensing his frustration at even understanding why he
had a bad feeling about leaving her to patrol by herself. He kissed her again
before releasing her completely, wrapping her tongue around his. Feeling her for
everything she had to give.
She felt cold when she was alone. The road
ahead shadowed with ambiguity.
She wanted Spike with her more than
ever.
She just didn't want him to see what awaited her tonight. Not when
she couldn't see the outcome.
Not when the lie was wrapped in the
presentation of truth.
And she was the only one who knew.
Spike lit a cigarette and leaned back into Giles's favorite chair,
smirking as the Watcher's eyes fixed on the ash that threatened to smear the
fabric. "So," he drawled, blowing out a cool stream of smoke. "What's this you
need me to do? Light candles? Chant? Do the hokey bloody pokey with my hands
tied behind my back?"
Giles looked at him strangely. "What?"
The
vampire arched his brows. "I was under the impression that you wanted to poke
around my noggin. Play with blood samples or what all. Find out what makes me
so…what's the word…"
"Annoying?"
"Unique."
"Well, depending
on one's definition," the Watcher said dryly. "No, Spike, I asked you here for…a
few things, really. For reasons beyond my understanding, you have become
important to…well, I suppose the most important person in Buffy's life. She's
your…"
Spike's eyes narrowed. "My mate," he retorted, stern. "At your
bloody orders, if you remember."
"I remember."
"An' not only that.
I love her with everythin' I am. If I ever thought she'd accept me by…an' she
did, which still boggles my bloody mind." A thoughtful pause. "I'd've asked her
eventually. Asked her to be mine through eternity. Jus' happened that way
'cause…" His body stiffened, his eyes going distant at the incursion of memories
those hellish few days had given him. "It happened that way. I never thought
she'd reciprocate. Not that bloody soon."
"Neither did I," Giles
confessed dryly. "Regardless, several things have come about as a result of your
union, and I believe now is a good time to discuss them." He stopped and leveled
the vampire with a look-neither neutral nor offensive. Simply there. "Even if
Buffy was not your…mate…she is a god now. She has surpassed everything that I am
qualified to teach her. I have no jurisdiction when it comes to gods. To
continue as her Watcher would be both insulting to her and a fruitless activity.
One does not train a god by treating her like a Slayer."
"Buffy is
the Slayer, mate. You can't take that from her."
"I know. But she
knows everything there is about being the Slayer. I can teach her no more.
Anything she learns from this point onward has to be careful in taking her newly
acquired status into consideration." His eyes settled on Spike's seriously. "I
know you love her," he said, surprising them both. "I would be foolish to say
otherwise after what happened in Natchez. What I saw you do for her. What you
sacrificed. Similarly, I know she loves you. I will never pretend to understand
why. It's beyond me, frankly. The fact remains that now you two share a blood
link. You're tied to one another. Whatever she learns now has to be from someone
who…understands her. Who can feel what she feels."
Spike stared at him
blankly. "You want me to become Buffy's Watcher?"
"No. Buffy is in a
dangerous transitional phase. She is between Slayer and god-not fully one or the
other. Her mind acts as a Slayer's, ignoring that her body is now equipped for
so much more. She has the strength, the ability, to take on everything that
Quirinias had. More so, I believe, since she had that strength to begin with."
Giles sighed. "She needs someone who understands her. Until she grows into her
powers, she is a liability to herself. Her Slayer mind will not allow her to
grasp the knowledge of what she has become. I know she fears her powers
overwhelming her, but she is contentious of it…and she has you to serve as her
anchor." Another small pause. "Spike, you're now the closest person in the world
to her. You will be until the end of the world. Like I said, you feel what she
feels…but you do not carry the burden she carries. The answer will be clearer to
you. She will make it through, I have no doubt…but what happens in the delicate
time between knowing who she is will be detrimental in deciding who she becomes.
That's why I can't teach her. Can't influence her. Can't sit her down and tell
her to be a Slayer when it's now her nature to be a god. But until she learns to
utilize her abilities-until she accepts what she is-she will be
vulnerable."
"Vulnerable?" Spike choked the word, even if he knew it was
the truth. "She's a bleedin' god."
The Watcher shook his head. "Yes. But
if she chooses to ignore that, she will be susceptible to a number of things.
She can use her strength but…you can't be something without both the
physical and the mental. It simply does not work. You have to help her. I
cannot. No one can. If you love her, you will help her."
"I love her more
than you can conceive."
"I know. So you will help her."
"Of course
I'll help her. I'm her…" The vampire released a trembling sigh. "I won't lose
her, Rupert. I bloody swear it."
Giles smiled softly. "I know. And that's
why I'm leaving." He held his hand up at the astonished look to cross the
blonde's face. "In order for her to take the first step in her transformation,
she must stop looking to me as her instructor. She has to stop depending on me.
Therefore, I am leaving next week for England…where I will hope to assist Faith
in her rehabilitation."
Spike arched a cool brow. "You're not worried
about Faith the Slayer-turned-god bein' confused over watcherly
supervision?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's not my intention
that Faith ever learn to use her abilities. Buffy has potential. Faith could
with assistance, but not now. In order for her to assume her new status,
she must first become comfortable with the one she abandoned two years ago."
Giles glanced down. "Buffy…she won't understand. Not at first. But she has you,
so I am not worried."
Such acceptance was nothing the vampire had ever
thought to receive from the Watcher. Implicit trust where his Slayer was
concerned. Something precious. A bond between two men who understood each other
even if they weren't friends. Two men who loved a girl in very different ways,
and would do anything to protect her.
Giles was being honest with him.
Trusting him. It was only fair to do the same in turn.
"I-ummm." Spike
glanced down sheepishly. "I have somethin' else."
"Oh?"
"'S got me
kinda…ever since Buffy an' I...well, ever since she became a god an' we claimed
each other, I've been…different."
The Watcher's brows arched. "I would
imagine so," he agreed. "Vampiric claims are amazingly potent. I don't believe
any vampire truly has an idea of how strong they are until they have been mated
for a few decades. The rite is sacred, rooted from the time when the hierarchy
of demons sought out mates that equaled their power. Made a whole of two halves.
Over time, the art became associated with sexual desire and sentimental
feelings, eventually passed on to humans for the ceremony known today as
marriage. It's a common misconception that marriage is derived from the world's
ancient religions, when in fact the world's ancient religions are derived from
demonhood. Again, over time, when the physical compatibility and the emotional
ties were equal to each other, claims have an even deeper impact. Mates who feel
the love and emotional ties that I believe you and Buffy share will feed on one
another's feelings, fears, even primal instincts. Buffy might become more
aggressive since it's your demon's nature to react to most scenarios with
violence. Similarly, since it's Buffy's nature to show compassion, your demon
could become even more demure than it was in the days that led up to the ritual
itself. You're now the Yin and the Yang, Spike. You the darker half with the
spot of white, Buffy the white half with the drop of black. That black taints
her enough to make her more aggressive appropriately-fogging the line of right
and wrong so that her bias toward humanity is not so
compelling."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning if Buffy were to come in contact
with someone who she needed to kill, someone human who deserved such a death,
that her ethics would be clouded with your demon's sense of logic."
A
flash of anger crossed the vampire's eyes. "You're sayin' I've made her a
killer."
"Not at all," Giles said, holding up a neutral hand. "I'm saying
that you've…helped her, in some respects. A Slayer's life is essentially a
challenge of ethics. Some follow the line of right and wrong so faithfully that
they put the world at risk for the refusal to take human life. Now that Buffy
has surpassed morality, the line is even more ambiguous. I imagine as you two go
through eternity together, she will be presented with the burden of taking human
life or saving the world…be it in the near or distant future. I also imagine it
will happen more than once. The drop of black that you've provided her white
will be able to make the long-term effects more…bearable for her. You, likewise,
will be challenged by her ethics when your chip goes out. It creates a balance,
feeding you with her strengths and her with yours to complete the weaknesses in
the whole."
Spike shook his head. "I'm a demon. You know it. I've never
said I was anythin' else. I tried to become a man because of her. Our claim had
nothin' to do with that."
"I don't think it did. But as you said, you
are a demon. And sooner or later, the demon within the man will try to
escape. It's your claim with Buffy that will help ground you. That will,
essentially, part the clouds and show you the…right path." He offered a half
smile. "It's what will make you two such a powerful force. After time when her
powers hone and you become accustomed to being one half instead of one being."
Giles sighed and shook his head. "It's a fascinating ritual. The claim between
you two is one of the most powerful forces entrenched in the world. It can't be
used for anything malignant…at least not by either one of you. If someone were
to capture and torture you, Buffy would feel it. And…vice versa. It also serves
as a powerful honing device. If Buffy was in trouble, you would feel it, and you
could follow the claim to find her. As far as I know, it's the only
non-technological force on the planet that can be felt continents
apart."
The vampire let out a deep breath. It unnerved him that he had
solidified a claim with Buffy without knowing everything. Not that it would have
affected his decision-rather, everything that Giles was telling him only
emphasized what he felt. His happiness that he had something so precious with
her. So rare, from how it sounded. However, he had never given Buffy the chance
to learn the specifics. Hell, even he didn't know the specifics. In the Order,
Angelus had never spoken of vampiric claims, nor had Drusilla. What he knew of
them came from stolen moment in one of London's endless libraries, researching
everything he could on his newly acquired status before his family members
discovered where he was.
Shades of William in his past. Spike sighed and
cringed inwardly. The sniveling wanker was long dead and stuffed somewhere deep
inside his psyche, but there were parts of him that would remain alive forever.
And admittedly, sometimes he felt a pang of longing for the familiar smell of
books, pages crisp with age. Felt the need for knowledge offered by the geniuses
mankind could inspire.
All he had learned about claims was that it was
essentially marriage for demons, and that the bond was eternal; unbreakable.
Highly powerful and more than sacred. That was it. No specifics. Just the
Cliff's Notes version of what it meant. He knew enough to be awed that Buffy
would ever reciprocate feelings as profound as his were for her. The entire
history of the claim, the powers it induced other than the obvious…it made
everything more significant. More so than he could have
imagined.
Amazingly, just the knowledge made him love her more. Something
he had thought was impossible.
Her whispered promise that they would
expand on their tryst in the hallway came back to him, and he was suddenly very
eager to get home. He wanted to hold her with this knowledge warming him. Hold
her as his holy grail. Hold her as everything he could ever hope to touch. The
bit of Heaven that had fallen from the skies and sought refuge in his arms.
"There's somethin' else," Spike said slowly, choosing his words with
caution. "I'm…I'm gettin' stronger."
"Yes, I would imagine-"
"No.
You don' understand. I'm gettin' stronger. Not jus' because of the claim.
'S somethin' else. Somethin'…I feel it. Not jus' in how easy I put down the
baddies. I feel it in my blood." He glanced down. "I don' know why. Well, I know
it has somethin' to do with me an' Buffy, an' likely ties into the claim. But
I've never heard anythin' about adaptin' this sort of strength. I feel I
could take on the armies of Rome an' walk away without a bloody scratch." He
nodded at the dumbstruck look on Giles's face. "Yeh. Any ideas,
Professor?"
The look in the Watcher's eyes was not encouraging.
"Does…have you spoken about this with
Buffy?"
"No."
"No?"
"I don' wanna worry her."
"Then
you admit that it's cause for worry."
Spike snickered. "I admit nothin'.
I don' know what it means, I don' know if it's cause for worry an' since I don'
want Buffy frettin' over me, I figure I'll keep my mouth shut until I know what
the hell it is I'd tell her."
"How about what you just told
me?"
"How about you take some of my blood, run some tests, an' get back
to me in six to eight weeks?"
"Spike, if you're going to make this work,
you can't keep secrets from Buffy."
The vampire's eyes flared with
indignation. "I don't wanna worry her! When did that become a soddin' federal
crime? Likely, 's nothin'. A side effect of bein' mated to a Slayer turned god.
An' until I know what, there's no reason to have her focusin' on me when
there's, oh say, the world to tend to."
Giles shook his head, releasing a
long sigh. "You don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?" The words were not
spoken so much as barked.
"As mates, as two halves of that whole, you
are each other's world. With or without the love you share, the claim
itself asserts that your world is her world. Hers is yours. You can't keep
something like this from her."
"An' I don't intend to," Spike snarled.
"I jus' wanna know what I'm tellin' her before I tell her. An' frankly, old man,
as someone who's jus' told me that you're steppin' down as the guidance
counselor, I don' see where you have the authority to tell me what brand of cigs
to buy, much less how to treat my relationship. I'm not tellin' her now
because I love her too much to jeopardize what's important to her by
bringin' somethin' up this bloody trivial."
"We don't know that
it's trivial."
"An' until we know what it is, that's what we'll call it."
He held out his wrist, shaking his features into the familiar game face. "Go get
a vial. We'll do this my way or I'll find another Watcher to pass on my ancient
and mated blood to. What was it Wes said? Somethin' about bein' just a phone
call away?"
Giles stared at him for a long minute, then rose to his feet
and strode to his cupboard. "You play dirty pool."
"You expect anythin'
less? Vampire, remember?"
A snicker. "How could I forget?"
Spike
smirked and sank his fangs into his own flesh, licking his lips as he pulled
back. He had half the proffered vial filled by the time a foreign yet familiar
knot twisted his stomach, his eyes going wide and a terrible sense of foreboding
settling over his perception.
Something was
wrong.
"Spike?"
A sharp gasp seized his throat. "'S Buffy. I gotta
get to her."
"What?"
"She's in trouble."
The woman was blonde, young, and quite possibly insane. Of the
clinical nature. Her hair was accentuated by a cheap bleach job, her perm either
purposefully bad so that it was good or just bad. She was wearing a dress and
heels that made the old patrol outfits Buffy wore in the days of Angel kissage
look sensible. Oh, and she had the strength to stop a locomotive with a flick of
the wrist.
Granted, it had not been all that long since some vamp wannabe
had smashed her face against a nice hard slab of cement, but the space between
had granted her powers that generally helped her avoid this sort of
confrontation. Buffy whirled around before the insane woman could advance any
further, her hand shooting out to stop the fist flying at full speed for her
jaw. The strength behind the arm was phenomenally powerful; she could tell the
woman was surprised that her quarry had the ability to put up any resistance at
all.
"Okay," the woman said. "Who the hell are you, and what are you
on?"
Buffy shrugged conversationally. "What? Don't you know?" She landed
a powerful punch that sent the woman searing across the room, nearly stumbling
over herself in surprise rather than impact. "I mean, you're in my town with the
super strength, and not that it doesn't look good on you but-" The woman leapt
forward and lashed for her face again, angry this time. And just as easily, the
Slayer captured her fist without a blink. "-two superchicks with superpowers in
the same town? Been there, done that. Doesn't end well. And since this is my
town, the polite thing to do would be-"
"I don't remember ordering a
welcome wagon," the blonde snarled, slapping her palm over Buffy's mouth. Her
fingers dug into her cheeks, the rage behind her eyes nearly manifesting into a
force in itself. "What are you? Some hacked up Slayer wannabe?"
Buffy's
legs shot forward and connected with the woman's chest, freeing them both and
sending them spiraling to opposite ends of the room. The very vacant warehouse
room that looked to have last been inhabited by some doomed corporation that
didn't realize they signed on for demon contracts and the like when they rented
the lease.
"Wrong. I am the Slayer."
The woman looked
skeptical, wiping her mouth disdainfully. "Please. You think you're talking to
some fifteen hundred year old newbie here? The Slayer is human. Human and
wondrously breakable."
"Not anymore."
"Well, you don't smell
like a vampire."
"Not. Try looking up god. Should make for some
interesting reading."
The woman stared at her incredulously, then
snorted. "Oh please! That's so my line!" Even so, a flicker of doubt crossed her
face, and Buffy sensed something in the midst of her seemingly groundbreaking
revolution had gone horribly wrong.
She didn't know how she knew; she
just did.
"A brand new baby god?" the woman mused thoughtfully. "You
know, I've always wanted to know just how much it would take to make one of the
younger models cry." She kicked off her highheels without blinking. "Hey! You
wanna find out?"
"You can't-"
"Really?" Suddenly, the blonde
psychopath was right in front of her, eyes sparkling dangerously. Her fingers
were poised at either side of Buffy's head, and from nowhere, a searing pain
sprouted in the pit of her stomach. Drawing out as something split her cranium
in two, and a horrible siren of agony pierced through her throat. "I'm thinking
I can."
The Slayer gasped, her world dissolving like chalk on a rain
drenched sidewalk. She saw a face in front of her, but nothing else. Felt the
barricade she had placed between herself and Spike faltering, more on instinct
than will. The claim kicking in to alert her mate that she was in danger.
Slipping through the cracks.
Shouldn't be this way. Shouldn't…
"Hey!" the woman cried. "I thought you said you were a god. I'm
crushing you."
God. Am a god. Not a Slayer.
Thinking like that, reversibly, didn't help.
Her insides were
crushing, she was sure of it. And it was perchance by pure luck that one of her
flailing legs caught the blonde in the gut. Buffy collapsed onto the wooden
floor, her shields going up again. She hadn't even realized her feet had left
the ground.
The woman was already climbing to her feet. Evidently, the
kick had projected enough power to send her across the room. "Okay," she said
irritably. "That was rude."
Buffy's eyes darted to the monk in
the corner. She had to get to him.
She had to get out. And
now.
The woman was advancing, though. And she looked ready to
kill.
Buffy was running out of options. Her muscles were too sore. Her
head was spinning as her temples throbbed. There was a pain in her gut that she
had never before experienced, and every inch of her skin felt it was slowly
burning off her body.
Enhanced strength-enhanced pain.
She had to get to the monk. Before he died with his secret, she had
to get to him.
And make sure she got to someone else before she died
carrying it.
Someone screamed her name and caught her in loving arms just as she
tumbled to the ground outside the collapsed factory. Just feet away from the
monk whose secrets she now kept. Consciousness waning, she saw blue eyes
swimming in an ocean of tears, felt lips caressing her skin in hurried,
desperate kisses. Heard a familiar voice crying her name. And every cell in her
body warmed.
"I'm fine," she gasped.
And she was. She was a god.
She would live.
She knew the answer to the lie. Knew everything that had
gone into place.
"Sweetheart…" Spike's amorous mouth brushed her bruised
lip, and she tasted his tears. "Jesus, baby, who did this to you?"
The
woman had no name. No name that she knew.
"I-"
Her mate scooped
her up into his arms and turned. "'m takin' you home."
"No!" The word
meant to be forceful, but she had no voice at the moment.
"Giles."
"Buffy-"
"Need…Giles…"
There was hesitation in his
response, but he did not deny her. He could not deny her anything.
Giles
would know. Giles always knew.
That was the last thought to cross her
mind. She was okay now. Spike had her. And it was finally safe to allow herself
to drift into a healing state of unconscious. Allow her muscles to mend. Muscles
blessed with a god's power that should not be bruised.
Answers. She
needed answers.
And hopefully, Giles would have them.