The Offering
By Esmeralda
Part Twenty OneXander sincerely hoped the principle of third times a charm applied and he wasn't pushing his already questionable luck by sneaking onto yet another Initiative base. Though on this occasion he was playing down the sneakiness part in favour of that old favourite - hiding in plain sight. So far it was working. There had been a couple of tense moments when they were waiting for someone to come along and unlock a door. Kermit chose to make an untimely appearance and Xander had to play nonchalant soldier boy whilst juggling a frog. Fortunately, the majority of goons they encountered seemed to take the view that if Xander and Wesley were here they had to belong and barely spared them a second glance. The few that approached stopped when the orbs effect took hold. They were left standing about looking confused while Xander and Wesley strode briskly past.
Xander was struggling to get a fix on Spike, while Wesley had taken the tracking device and was trying to locate Doyle. The Bond was no longer still and silent. The terrifying emptiness had given way to a more forced calm. Xander knew that Spike was shutting him out. It left him angry and helpless. Spike was so much better at this. Whether it was his age, experience, or magical inclination, Xander didn't know; but Spike could effectively close down the Bond, forcing him out. He was left hammering against a mental wall he didn't have the strength or skill to break. He could only hope to gradually wear it away. If he tried loud enough and long enough - throwing all his emotions at the wall like a battering ram - he could force a crack. Spike would usually do the rest. Lowering the wall and letting him back in.
He was more fearful as to why Spike was shutting him out. Spike had never done it merely to be spiteful, even in the midst of one of their worst arguments. He only did it to shield Xander from something. Which most likely meant Spike was either in danger or in pain - or both. The corridor was briefly deserted and Xander took the opportunity to stop and close his eyes; reaching out along the Bond with everything he had. He felt it: a wavering pulse of energy. It was enough. Xander homed in on it, feeling his lover's emotions trickling along the link like fine sand. Spike was in a near insane fury; that was what he had been trying to withhold from Xander - the sheer blanket force of pure, murderous rage.
Xander subconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to separate Spike's emotions from his own. It was all but impossible. He quickened his pace. The little frog squirmed in his pocket, objecting to the jostling ride. Xander quelled a sudden fierce urge to take out the hapless creature and crush it underfoot - recognizing the response as being Spike's, not his.
Wesley hurried to keep up. "I think we're going the wrong way," he whispered, glancing at the palm pilot.
Xander ignored him. The Bond rendered him deaf to all but its siren call. A locked door brought him to a standstill. There was no one on hand to open it and allow them to slip through. Xander growled.
"We should go back," said Wesley quietly. He kept his head down and turned away from the camera on the wall. "We may be able to find another way through. If we loiter here we'll almost certainly attract attention."
Some part of Xander knew that Wesley was making sense, but logical thought was way beyond his reach right now. The need to get to his lover overrode all else, including caution. Wesley's voice was merely an irritation. Then Wesley touched his arm and Xander jerked away glaring. Wesley took a step back. Xander would have understood why if he could have seen his own face. Youthful features set into a cold, hard mask from which two gold eyes glittered.
Nevertheless, Wesley managed to overcome his shock sufficiently to duck down and pretend to tie his boot as three soldiers appeared from the end of the corridor. He stood up again as they operated the door lock; hurrying to match Xander's pace as the younger man flew through the opened doorway. As Xander practically pushed past the soldiers, Wesley shot them an apologetic glance and hastened to keep up. "I don't know what this is but I suggest you try and get it under control," Wesley hissed warningly.
Xander's only response was to veer sharply to the left, opening a door and disappearing through it. Wesley followed. There was a thirty-something man in a white coat sitting at a computer; he stood up when they entered. "Hey, no one's supposed to come in here-" His words were cut off as Xander grabbed him and slammed his face down on the desk. "Grrghff!" He cried out but it was a muffled sound that didn't reach beyond the room's four walls.
Xander dragged the man upright again. "My advice to you is co-operate. That force field, I want it down - now."
The man blinked at him. "I…I can't. It'll kill us all if it gets out."
"I'll kill you if you don't," said Xander, ignoring Wesley's disapproving gaze.
"But you're human?"
Xander bent the man painfully backwards over the desk. "Yep. But don't make the mistake of thinking that just because I won't drink your blood, I won't spill it." His eyes narrowed dangerously.
The man nodded. "All right. I'll do it."
Xander dragged him over to the keypad on the wall. "No funny stuff, bright boy. Or I'll rip out your spine."
The man's hands shook as he keyed in the number. The force field fizzled and went down. Xander smiled without warmth at his hostage. "Thank you." He punched the man once, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap. Just in time. Spike whirled out in a blur of blond and black leather, seizing Xander and slamming him up against the wall.
"You stupid little fuck."
Xander didn't even have chance to get out an indignant 'Hey' before cold lips silenced him; Spike's body plastered against his. Ribs creaked in protest. Luckily, Kermit had vacated his pocket. Xander closed his eyes, drowning in the taste and feel of his lover. Spike seemed intent upon reclaiming him molecule-by-molecule, starting with the interior of his mouth. That whole need to breathe thing was seriously overrated and unfortunately totally necessary. Xander began to squirm as his body demanded oxygen. Spike got the hint and relinquished his lips, resting his forehead against Xander's.
Xander got a little cross-eyed looking into dark angry blue. The flecks of gold were pretty, but slightly worrisome. Spike was seriously pissed. Xander was instantly on the defensive. "I had to get you out." He hated the plaintive note in his voice.
"So now we're both stuck in 'ere," Spike growled.
"Not stuck," said Xander. "We have getting out plan-type ideas," he added lamely.
Spike didn't look impressed. He nodded his head toward Wesley. "You and the ponce cook this up between you?"
"And Doyle," said Xander quietly.
Spike's gaze narrowed. "So where's the mick?"
"Looking for Angel, I believe," said Wesley.
"Alone?" Spike moved a step away from Xander-
-Who immediately missed the full body contact. "Yeah. That's kind of how we found this place."
"Explain later," said Spike, taking control of the situation. "Let's find 'em both and get the fuck out of this Hell hole."
Xander caught hold of his arm. "Wait. What if they've turned your chip back on?" He didn't like the idea of a defenseless Spike leading the way.
Spike paused - clearly alarmed by the thought - then his arm snaked out and white fingers closed around Wesley's throat. Spike's corresponding grin was tainted with obvious relief. "Looks like they didn't get 'round to it, Pet."
Xander was equally relieved but Wesley was turning a peculiar colour. "Er, Spike. Point made. Put the nice man down before I have to practice my CPR here."
Spike quickly let go, turning to face Xander. "Your lips, his lips - not gonna happen," he promised darkly. He took Xander's hand and tugged him toward the door.
Wesley was gasping and rubbing at his throat. He waved the palm pilot. "Y-you'll…need…this….to find…them."
Spike shook his head. "Don't know what that is, mate, but I don't need any techno gadget to find Angel." He glanced back at Xander and lowered his voice. "He's hurt."
"How bad?" Xander asked. Spike's shadowed gaze told him more than he wanted to know. Fuck.
"Then…wh-what about using your head," Wesley croaked, his voice returning to some semblance of normalcy.
"Huh?"
Wesley waved a hand toward the unconscious white coat. "I suggest we hide this fellow somewhere and avail ourselves of his clothing for some sort of disguise."
Spike shrugged but picked the man up and dropped him onto the desk. "So where'd you want 'im?"
***********
A short time later Spike had the white coat on over his duster, which he had refused point blank to surrender. Wesley gave up trying to insist upon it when Spike's dark looks turned decidedly murderous. They bound the man with electrical cord and left him inside the cell. They belatedly noticed the tiny camera in the corner of the room but much to their relief it didn't appear to be activated. Wesley provided a possible explanation as he pointed to the scientist. "He didn't seem very happy to be interrupted. My guess is this is very hush-hush research. They were probably doing their own recordings."
Spike growled and strode over to the computer. He punched his hand through the screen; indifferent to the shower of sparks. Xander called him away.
"Come on. We've got to find the others. Remember?"
Spike gave the computer one last disgusted look then walked back over to Xander. "You stay close to me," he warned the young man.
"I know, nothing with horns or tentacles-"
"-Or guns," Spike amended.
Xander managed a queasy smile. "With you on that one," he agreed. They grouped together as they cautiously exited the room. The corridor was empty except for a lone soldier who paused as though to question them, then stopped and stood looking vaguely lost. Spike frowned. Xander held out the confusion orb. "We came bearing gifts, sensei." He smile turned cocky. "See, not so stupid." Spike's answering smirk warmed him as Xander felt his lover's reluctant approval all the way down to his toes.
Part Twenty- TwoSpike's dismayed anger at seeing Xander here - in this place - was tempered by a healthy dose of pride. His Pet had some brass balls, waltzing in here, bold as you please. The whelp had more courage in his little pinkie than all these wankers put together. He was surprised the Watcher was along for the ride. Didn't think the git had it in him to pull this kind of stunt. Now all he had to do was round his puppies up and get them out of here in one piece. His thoughts immediately went to Angel. He knew his Sire was still relatively whole. He could feel it deep in his belly, a gnawing pang that spoke of pain and hunger. Angel was suffering but that meant he wasn't dust. Not yet.
The confusion orbs were a nice touch and he'd shared his lover's cocky delight; though Spike had an idea they hadn't originated with Xander. The boy didn't know enough about magical devices yet. No, it was more likely that Doyle had brought them into play. Which begged the question - where did he get them? Confusion orbs were costly merchandise and Doyle wasn't one for carrying a lot of readies. Spike dismissed the question as unimportant for now. There'd be time to interrogate his lover and demon-boy later. Along with a lesson in what not to do when things went array - such as not following Angel and him into military run secret government bases.
Spike chose to ignore the little voice that pointed out he'd still be stuck in a cage if Xander hadn't stupidly risked his neck to come and rescue him. He'd got out on his own the first time. He could have done it again. Now he had the additional worry of his lover getting caught, or shot, or worse. He wished he could hold onto the whelp but recognized such a gesture would draw attention. He settled for walking close enough to brush against Xander's side, relishing the warmth and the familiar scent of his lover's body with every step.
He sensed things were about to take a drastic turn for the worse just before they actually did. It was a feeling - a gut instinct - one he valued as it had saved his hide more times than he could count. They were walking down an empty corridor when a soldier came through the door at the furthest end. A white bandage concealed part of his face. He frowned at Xander and Wesley first, then got a good look at Spike. Recognition flooded his features.
Xander drew his gun. Before he could get off a shot Wesley knocked his arm aside crying - "Wait!" This gave the soldier all the time he needed to draw his own sidearm. There was no time to risk running at him, vampiric speed or no. Spike threw Xander and Wesley down onto the floor against the wall. Then he turned his back and stood over them as the first shot rang out.
*********
Wesley crouched down as the bullets ricocheted around him. He felt the vampire's body jerk each time they hit. Some missed or else they passed through Spike's torso, striking the wall in a spray of plaster chips and dust. One chip caught Wesley cheek; he felt the burning sting. When he put his hand up his fingers came away sticky with blood.
"Get your fuckin' head down," Spike hissed. His voice sounded strange.
Wesley lowered his head but raised his eyes and found he was looking up into Spike's game face. The ripple of fear faded before it could even take root. He could read the agony in those strange pale golden orbs, and his compassionate nature ached in sympathy even as his logical mind recoiled in shock. Why on earth would a soulless vampire do this? Saving Xander he could perhaps understand but Spike had no motivation to save him. Wesley was confounded and guilt stricken. He had thought only to prevent the boy from committing cold-blooded murder, with no thought given as to whether the soldier would show them similar mercy.
Xander was still trying to get off a shot. Each time his aim was spoiled by Spike who was only concerned with keeping the young man covered. The noise finally abated as the soldier ran out of ammo. He didn't get a chance to reload. Spike spun around and with a blood-chilling snarl he cleared the ground between them. When he reached the soldier, Spike simply picked him up and threw him, letting him fall in a crumpled heap. Dead or unconscious, Wesley couldn't tell.
He looked away to see a frantic Xander holding up a clearly badly injured Spike. The young man had started with a litany of Spike and fucks'. Spike was hunched over, an arm clutched to his chest. Blood seeped between his fingers - shockingly red against the eerie pallor. "We need to stop the bleeding," said Wesley briskly.
"We need to get the fuck out of 'ere," Spike growled.
He had a point. The gunfire would draw others. Wesley guided them toward a door. "In here." It turned out to be a storeroom, which became considerably more cramped with the three of them and the soldier. Wesley dragged the man's body inside; relieved to discover the soldier was merely unconscious and not dead. Wesley knew they couldn't hope to remain hidden for long. He wasn't certain that he hadn't just led them into a corner but he refused the think that way just yet. There were sheets on the shelves. "Tear them up. They'll do as bandages," he instructed Xander; who carried out the order, seemingly grateful that Wesley had temporarily assumed command.
Spike was less co-operative. He grabbed Wesley's arm with bloody fingers, showing alarming strength for someone who was riddled with bullets. "We're wasting time. I'll heal. Get us out of 'ere.""Shut up, Spike. Go out there now and they'll be able to follow a nice red trail right back to the source." There was no trace of the smart mouth. Xander was pale, his voice shaky.
Wesley decided to forgo from mentioning the fact that they were probably already under surveillance.
"Fine," Spike muttered. "You need to get the bullets out. I'll heal quicker once they're gone."
They worked quickly. Wesley cautiously assisted Xander in removing the white coat, duster and shirt. He winced at the bloody mess they revealed. Across Spike's chest were a number of exit wounds - the flesh torn and the holes oozing thick trails of blood. They didn't match up with the tidier entrance wounds across his back; indicating that there were six bullets still inside him. Wesley rolled up his sleeves and examined the wounds. Spike's skin felt unnaturally smooth and cold beneath his fingers, though the slippery blood possessed a certain degree of warmth. "I'll need something to extract them with." He tried to keep his voice matter of fact.
"Use your fingers," Spike growled. His tone implied that he'd done just such a thing.
Wesley had neither the strength nor the stomach for such a task. "I can't." He looked at Xander. "In my bag. There might be some-"
"Will this do?" asked Xander quietly. He held out his knife.
Wesley took it. Right; he could do this. He had advanced first aid, courtesy of his Watcher training. He could set broken bones, stitch wounds….and dig bullets out of technically dead but somehow very much alive flesh. Oh, God. He thought he might be sick.
"Need a hand back there?" Spike's sarcastic drawl shook Wesley out of his paralysis.
"No." He straightened his back. "No," he repeated slightly more forcefully.
"Er, Wes?"
Wesley paused with the point of the knife touching Spike's skin. Xander held his glasses. Wesley flushed and slipped them on, murmuring: "Thank you". The tension was palpable. He was uncomfortably aware that his actions were causing the vampire considerable pain, though it was only betrayed by the occasional hiss and muscle twitch. Wesley knew it shouldn't trouble him. This was, after all, merely an undead evil thing. However, Spike's sacrifice had etched itself indelibly into his memory. Neither was he aided by the cramped conditions and the desperate need for haste. The blood made his fingers slip and slide across Spike's back and Xander's intent gaze made his skin prickle. Finally, it was done and he sat back with a sigh of relief.
Xander slipped around in front of Spike, cradling the vampire's face between his hands. "Idiot," he murmured fondly. They kissed, a gentle, affectionate exploration that Wesley found hard to witness. Xander drew back, looking at Spike closely. "You need blood."
"Maybe I'll pick up a snack on the way home," said Spike, with what Wesley felt was deliberate menace.Xander shook his head. "We need you running on full throttle."
Spike looked torn. "I can't. You need it too, Pet."
"You need it more," said Xander stubbornly.
What on earth were they on about? Xander bared his throat and it became terrifyingly clear. Oh, good Lord. "Xander-" Wesley began.
"Shut up," Xander hissed. Spike was staring at the young man's throat as though hypnotized, the pulse almost visible, beating beneath fragile skin.
Wesley felt trapped. However, he knew that he had to do this. "Xander, I-"
"What part of shut up don't you understand?"
There was agonized desperation behind the anger. Wesley recognized it; had seen it reflected back at him in the mirror. "I was just going to suggest that it might be prudent if he were to drink a little from each of us. That is, if my blood isn't unacceptable to your palate." He addressed the last part to Spike who grinned wolfishly.
"Never had me a Watcher before."
"Yes, well. Since I am an ex-Watcher I believe that is immaterial. Do you accept my offer?"
Spike nodded, regarding Wesley with cold, calculating eyes. "I'll 'ave a sip since you're offerin'."
Wesley still couldn't understand why no one had yet rushed in and seized them at gunpoint. He sat in frozen silence as Spike leaned forward and fastened his fangs into Xander's throat. He heard the slight hitch in Xander's breathing as they broke through the skin and then the awful sound of the vampire drinking. After only a few seconds, Spike pulled back, his fangs glistening with the young man's blood. Xander looked heavy-lidded, almost - aroused, Wesley realized with a sudden surge of panic. Spike turned to face him. Wesley met the gaze of a monster.
"Come 'ere," Spike summoned, his voice all silk and smoke.
Wesley shuffled forward. He felt cold fingers tilt his head and draw back his collar. He fought the urge to pull away, holding his breath as Spike leaned in close and those mobile lips skimmed his skin. There was a brief sharp pain as Spike bit down. An unwilling moan escaped Wesley, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Then Spike began to drink, and the pain flowed away replaced by delicious warmth that seemed to spread out from his throat to encompass his entire body. Then it was over and he felt inexplicably bereft as Spike withdrew.
Spike smacked his lips. "Not bad. Quite tasty in fact"
Wesley flushed and looked away.
Xander shook his head. "Come on. It's too quiet out there. I-" Before he'd finished the silence was broken by the deafening sound of an alarm. "O-kay. So maybe it's not," Xander amended. "Think that's for us?"
Wesley was wrapping Spike's wounds with the makeshift bandages, studiously refusing to meet the vampire's smirking gaze. "I wouldn't be surprised."
Spike suddenly brushed Wesley aside to get to the door. He opened it a crack and watched for a moment before turning to face them. "I think they've got themselves summat else to worry about." Wesley and Xander joined him to peer out. The corridor had erupted into chaos. As well as the alarm the lights had turned red, casting an eerie glow over soldiers and scientists who ran past without glancing in their direction.
"Doyle and Angel?" Xander asked worriedly. Spike shook his head slowly.Wesley was inclined to agree. This level of alarm seemed disproportionate in relation to the escape of a couple of vampires and a demon. "Perhaps we should go?"
Spike opened the door fully. "Let's move." He ushered them out and led the way down the corridor. No one looked or tried to stop them. Whatever was going on, it held everybody in its grip.
Wesley touched his fingers to his throat. The puncture wounds were tender but not exactly painful. His life was unraveling like ribbons around his feet, and yet he felt strangely calm. He had purpose. It felt good.
Part Twenty-ThreeInside the elevator car there was a millisecond of darkness followed by the red glare of the emergency lighting. An alarm filled the expectant silence; Doyle tightened his grip on the trolley rail. "That for him or me?"
Graham shook his head. "That's the call to evacuate. They're clearing the base." He sounded stunned.
"Fuck," Doyle muttered. "Since when did Pyros demons get so proactive? Whatever happened to gettin' the lay of the land before gettin' down to business?"
Graham levelled a hard stare at him. "What do you know?"
"Pyros demons. They're pretty scarce. I don't know how your boys managed to find any, but it was a mistake. See, they have this handy talent - they can summon fire."
"Summon fire?"
Doyle gave a grim nod. "Some call them Lava demons. We're talking one hundred percent incendiary-proof here. The hotter the better in their book, an' they can call fire. I'm not up on all the scientific stuff but basically you go far enough down there's a pool of lava somewhere, yeah?"
"I guess." Graham's expression said 'so what?'
"Pyros demons can draw it to the surface," Doyle explained. "They chant: lava flows. End result, everything gets nice an' toasty."
"That's not possible."
"Man, wake up an' smell the panic. My guess is one of your high-tech gizmos picked up some serious rumblings. Give it an hour an' this place'll look like a Seventies disaster flick." Met with disbelief, Doyle continued more forcefully. "What is it with you gun-toting types? You deal with this weirdness every day - demons, undead blood drinkers? Not exactly your typical Discovery Channel fare. Why is it so hard for you to accept this stuff?"
"Listen to him." Angel had pushed back the cover. He grabbed Doyle's wrist. "You have to get everybody out of here."
Doyle nodded. "We're on it. Let's just get you out first, yeah?"
Angel shook his head and sat up - with the assistance of one deeply unhappy Doyle.
"Angel-"
"I'm fine." It wasn't a convincing claim. Angel remained weak despite the infusion of blood from his Childe and his Consort.
"Don't do this to me, man." Doyle was practically begging. "Let me get you out of here."
Angel looked at his lover. "Shekaa's family is here somewhere. Do you want to be the one to go back and tell that little girl they burned to death?"
Doyle flinched from Angel's bluntness. "All right. We go back down."
"We go back, we get caught," said Graham.
Doyle silently agreed but he wasn't about to challenge his lover's decision, because no matter how much it scared the shit out of him, he knew that Angel was right. Hadn't he just been yakking on about how harmless the Quix were. He wasn't about to fail another group of demons by abandoning them. Besides, he knew Angel was also thinking of Spike. If Xander and Wesley had failed, they might be the bleached wonder's only hope. He reached across the trolley and pressed the down button, ignoring Graham's look. "You want to get off? We can take it from here."
Graham paused then shook his head. "I told you. I pay my debts."
Angel regarded the soldier with pain-filled eyes. "You got me out of that cell. You can consider it paid."
"I decide when they're paid."
Angel attempted a shrug; wincing as it tugged the gashes on his back and chest.
"What the fuck happened to you, man?" Doyle asked worriedly. His fingers skirted over Angel's skin, afraid to cause his lover further pain.
"Some kind of test," said Angel grimacing. "I'm not sure I passed."
Doyle's finger hovered along the length of a particularly deep incision, his gaze questioning.
"Locksaw," Angel reluctantly supplied.
Doyle's eyes widened in sympathy and horror. "Bastards." As his body flooded with anger, he lost control of his appearance, spinning around in a blur of green skin and blue spines to slam his fist into the side of the elevator. The elevator ground to a halt. Doyle froze. "I didn't-"
"Sssh," Angel hushed him.
Doyle listened, and then almost lost his balance as the whole elevator jerked and shook. It dropped a few feet and then stopped again.
"It wasn't you," Angel explained, drawing Doyle toward him. "This whole place is moving. Can't you feel it?"
Still in his demon form, Doyle concentrated until heightened senses detected what Angel had picked up on. Beneath them the earth was shifting, twisting the elevator shaft. The Pyros demons' chant was beginning to take effect. Doyle looked around nervously, wondering if they were about to plummet to a very messy end.
"We need to get out of here," said Angel.
"I'll second that," said Doyle.
Angel looked at Graham. "Can you fix this?"
Graham pulled his gaze away from Doyle's demonic visage. "I'm not sure. We shouldn't have stopped. These elevators are built to withstand pretty much anything."
"Yeah? How about seismic tremors and scalding lava flows?" Doyle asked. He took a couple of deep breaths and shook away the spines.
Graham turned his attention to the elevator control panel. He tried keying in various numbers, then opened the panel up and tried what appeared to be some sort of override procedure. Nothing happened. He directed their attention upward. "There's a hatch. We can get out through the shaft. Maybe see if another elevator's still working that can take us back down."
"Any idea how far we are from the nearest floor?"
Before Graham could answer the elevator groaned and plunged downwards. After a few terrifying seconds it stopped. Graham drew in a shaky breath and released it slowly - the only outward sign that he was affected by what was going on. His tone was dry as he responded to Angel's question. "My guess is were pretty close to the bottom of the shaft."
"Yeah, that'd be my guess too," said Doyle.
Angel picked up on his worried tone. "What?"
Doyle could feel the heat through the thin soles of his shoes. "Let's just say things are about to get a lot hotter."
Graham frowned and crouched down to touch the floor of the elevator. "He's right. It's warm. Could be friction from the fall. Or there might be a fire in the shaft."
Doyle shook his head. "My guess is there's a river of lava running just below our feet and it's gonna be cooking through this tin box any time now."
"This is insulated against extreme heat," said Graham.
"How about extreme lava flows?" Doyle asked wryly. Graham's expression said it all.
"We go up," said Angel, standing on the trolley. He swayed and almost fell. Doyle leapt up beside him.
"How about you let someone else hog a little of the glory, huh?" Spines reemerged as Doyle reached up to force the hatch aside. He turned to Angel. "Ready?"
"You first," Angel insisted.
"I thought we'd dealt with this damsel in distress crap," said Doyle. "It'll be easier to give you a leg up than to have me try an' pull you up. So go already."
Angel's expression remained mutinous.
Doyle pulled his trump card. "If we hang about any longer soldier boy's gonna be a crispy critter an' we still have to find Shekaa's family an' the rest of our team."
Angel's expression changed to one of concern. "Xander's here? With Wesley?"
Doyle nodded. "He's trackin' down Spike." I hope, he added silently.
"Are either of you thinking of leaving any time soon?" Graham interrupted. "Only I think we've got ourselves another problem."
Angel and Doyle glanced down. A brackish-coloured smoke was rising up through the air vents. "Gas," said Angel. "Get up here now!"
Graham shook his head. He was holding onto the trolley. "If I let go, this'll move."
Doyle jumped down, ignoring Angel's growl of protest. "Go," he ordered, taking the other man's place.
Graham hesitated, but one look at Doyle's face told him the half-demon was decided on this. With obvious reluctance, Graham went. However, once he was stood on the trolley, he insisted on assisting the injured Angel through the hatch opening first. Angel went - but only because there was no more time to argue. The bottom of the elevator was filling with choking fumes and the heat was becoming intense. "Come on," Graham called to Doyle, who shook his head.
"You go."
Graham's lips tightened in exasperation; nevertheless he reached for the hatch, hauling himself up and through it. "Okay. Now you!" he yelled down to Doyle.
Doyle leapt up onto the trolley, which immediately began to slide. He jumped for the open hatch and hung onto the edge as the trolley slid out from beneath his feet. Graham hoisted him up, whereupon Angel kissed him fiercely.
"Don't ever do anything like that again," Angel warned. "And that's got nothing to do with any crap about me seeing you as a damsel in distress."
Doyle didn't say anything; he could read the fear in the gold-tinged glare easily enough.
"Yes!" Graham suddenly exclaimed.
They both looked to see what had caused the outburst of approval.
Graham gave them a sheepish grin and pointed to the twin metal doors in front of him. The elevator had stopped half way between floors. "We prise these open and we're home free."
"So long as the corridor's not full of lava," Doyle mumbled.
Angel touched the doors. "Not hot enough. It's still clear." He was too weak to assist, as Graham and Doyle forced the doors open. The three clambered out and dropped to the floor. The corridor was deserted. Doyle shifted back into human form anyway; keen to avoid being shot on sight if they should encounter someone.
"Where are the demons held?" Angel asked.
Graham hesitated.
"Look, your people are leaving. You're not going to tell me they're going to concern themselves with saving Hostiles?"
"No," Graham admitted. "In the case of an evacuation the base is self-sealing. Once lock down procedure begins, nothing can get out."
Doyle threw a look of disgust at him. "Nice people you work for."
Graham ignored him. "The main holding pens are this floor and the one below. I'll take you." He set off, with Doyle and Angel following. Doyle stayed close Angel, who swayed and stumbled with every step. Doyle's expression was decidedly unhappy.
"We can't leave them," Angel persisted gently.
"I know," said Doyle. "Just don't ask me to like it, okay?" It was tearing him apart watching Angel's faltering progress, seeing the terrible wounds. He wanted his lover safe. He was afraid, not for himself - for Angel. More than once he'd accused Angel of being overprotective, always needing to be the strong one, but it hurt to see him otherwise. He grimaced; the temperature was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down his back.
As it turned out, they could probably have tracked down the local inmates without soldier boy's help. The commotion ahead of them rivaled the noise of the alarm; a hideous assortment of growls, caterwauls and screeches. Clearly, many demons knew what was coming, and were wailing or raging against their fate.
They entered the holding area, and Doyle realized they faced a quandary. The first four pens contained - respectively - three vampires, and a Hustaa demon. Most definitely not your Bambi-types, unless your definition of Bambi equated a seven-foot, gnarly skinned, flesh-eater. So they should just let out the good guys? Doyle didn't really feel comfortable making judgment calls. Especially since, strictly speaking, Spike played for the opposing team. "Do you think Spike's here?" he asked.
Angel's gaze lost its focus for a moment. Then his eyes cleared and he shook his head. "He's not."
"What about the next floor?"
Angel tilted his head. He frowned. "Touch the floor," he told Doyle.
Doyle ducked down and pressed his palm against the ground. He drew it back with a hiss and looked up at them grimly. "It's burning."
"Lava," said Angel flatly. "There's nothing left down there to save."
Even Graham appeared affected by this news, though he was still the one to voice what Doyle had been thinking. "Some of these things are killers. Do we really want to turn them loose?"
Doyle glanced at his watch. "Still daylight topside," he pointed out. "The vamps won't make it without help."
Angel made the decision. "We can't release everything. Anything purposefully hostile to humans stays put. The rest we take out of here." Doyle inclined his head in agreement; Graham's nod was more reluctant. "How many floors down is this?" Angel asked the young soldier.
"Two."
"You can open these pens?"
"Yes."
"Good. Stay close to us when you do. I doubt anyone will be feeling that grateful."
Graham fingered his sidearm.
"Not a good idea," Doyle cautioned. "You know that pop gun won't hurt most of the things in here, an' if it all turns nasty we aren't gonna be able to do much."Graham was looking increasingly unhappy, especially when a Murag demon caught sight of him and hurled itself growling against the force field. "I'm not sure about this," he admitted.
Angel caught his arm and tugged him a few pens further down. A family of Peench demons huddled together; the mother cradled a crying infant, while two sobbing children clung to her legs. "Does that help make up your mind?"
Graham looked. The mother Peench demon stared back at him beseechingly; her violet eyes flooded with tears. He nodded. "Okay." He keyed in the code for the force field of her pen. It fizzled and went down. She remained where she was, frozen with fear and disbelief.
"Murro t-el enkaa," said Angel. He beckoned to the frightened family. "Enkaa. Enkaa." They hesitated and then hurried forward.
Next was a tiny Berab demon and a pair of blue-skinned Indelliij. A Gunuck ambled out with its fur trailing across the floor. Doyle grouped everyone together while Graham and Angel moved from pen to pen - Angel did the talking while Graham shut down the force fields. They paused at the vampire enclosures.
"Let us out," one of the occupants whined. "Come on. I don't wanna burn."
"Yeah, let us out." another demanded. Shifting into its game face it foolishly bared its fangs. Angel's expression darkened, but any follow-up retort was forgotten as he glanced back at the main doors. A look of joyous relief swept over his features a moment before the doors swung open.
"Tell me you aren't lettin' those pathetic nonces out of 'ere?"
"Spike!" Doyle exclaimed with a relieved grin, which widened as Xander and Wesley came into view.
"I wasn't planning to," said Angel casually. A corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to clamp down on his own smile.
"What's the point of savin' their arses now, when we'll just have to hunt the tossers down and stake 'em later?"
Angel moved on to the next pen, ignoring the vampires' noisy protestations.
Spike smiled cruelly as he passed by. He went to stand beside Angel, casting a speculative eye over the next candidate. "Please. You're jokin'? A Hustaa? You suddenly fancy wearin' your innards on the outside?" The Hustaa howled at Spike, who raised two fingers and followed his Sire on to the next pen. He pulled a face as he saw the occupants.
"They're not hostile," said Angel, viewing the K'enta demons.
"They cheat at poker," said Spike sourly. "Fuckin' mind readers."
Angel counted to ten slowly. He had a tendency to measure the actions of others against his own less than illustrious balance sheet. However, he had forgotten the key drawback of using Spike to clarify things. His Childe had a tendency to view everything in very personal terms - a K'enta had once cheated Spike, therefore that entire race deserved fiery death. "Spike-"
"All right, let 'em out," Spike muttered distractedly. He was otherwise occupied - searching through his pockets for smoke. When he came up empty he glared at Graham. "Thievin' wankers." He turned a hopeful gaze onto Xander, who indicated his borrowed attire with an apologetic shake of his head. Spike growled and aimed another hate filled glare at Graham. He paused mid-menace, tilting his head and regarding the young soldier in a thoughtful manner. Recognition brought about a brisk change in demeanor, as frustrated anger was speedily replaced by spiteful glee. "Well, well. If it isn't Captain Cripple. I thought your lot would have shipped you off to the knackers yard. Fix you up did they? I hear they do a decent trade in replacement demon limbs. So what did they give you?"
Graham didn't respond to the taunt. His eyes had a glazed, distant stare.
Spike frowned, then snorted in comprehension. He spoke to Xander. "Turn of your toy, Pet. Soldier boy's gone gaga."
"Huh?"
"The orb," said Spike. He waved his hand in front of Graham's face. "Your bauble's turned his sorry excuse for brain into an even more worthless lump."
"Oh, dear," said Wesley, hurriedly fumbling with his own Confusion orb. He murmured his success, and peered past Spike at Graham. "Better?"Having failed to find any kind of off-button, Xander settled for exasperatedly shaking his device. "How do you switch this thing off?" Spike took it from him and did something to it. The effect was instantaneous. Graham blinked and looked at the three new arrivals in a slightly bewildered fashion.
Spike tossed the orb back to Xander and ploughed through the released K'enta to get to the next pen. "This is takin' too long," he muttered.
"He's right," Doyle agreed reluctantly. "What's the sequence to lower the force fields?" he asked Graham.
Graham paused, before reluctantly reeling off a sequence of digits and letters. "7-8-A-J-4-9-2-0-X-L-R-4."
Doyle repeated it under his breath, nodded, and went to the next pen. Xander moved off too, murmuring the sequence over and over. Angel took a step, stumbled and would have fallen if Spike hadn't caught him. Doyle glanced back anxiously, but Spike gave a little shake of his head to indicate he had matters in hand. "Maybe you should sit down for a bit, mate. Someone has to keep an eye on this lot." He indicated the growing huddle of demons with a disgusted sneer that fooled no one.
Angel allowed Spike to steer him over to a desk and seat him in the chair by it. The two vampires viewed one another awkwardly. Each was aware that the other was hurt and neither was happy about it; however, they didn't have a clue how to go about expressing this strange new concern. Meanwhile, the freed demons had gathered around them chattering and twittering.
"Shut up," Spike snarled. "We're gonna get you out of 'ere but I hear another peep out of any of you and I'll stick you all back in your cages." They cowered away from him. The Peench demon frantically tried to hush her infant as it began a renewed bout of wailing. It refused and its mother grew increasingly panicked. "Bloody Hell," Spike muttered. "It's all right. I wasn't meanin' the little bit." The Peench stared at him in blank terror. Spike rolled his eyes and translated. "Muster j'de kash tene pours." She bobbed her head in gratitude, rocking her wailing child. The two clinging to her legs started with a sobbing chorus. Spike looked once at Angel and then walked away.
The temperature was becoming unbearable. The cries of the children increased for a time and then faded away as they grew weary from the heat. There were nine children in all - two of them infants. There were three Peench, one Sil, one Murub, one G'enj and three Quix. Wesley was called over to question them; a relieved smile graced his face as two of the adult Quix confirmed that Shekaa was their daughter. The young male with them was her older brother, an elderly looking female her grandmother.
"Great," said Spike without enthusiasm. "We've got the full set. Now can we go?"
All the pens were empty; save for those occupied by vampires, Hustaa and a handful of species recognized as deliberately hostile to humans. Angel nodded. "Let's go." He managed to stand unaided but then had to put a hand out, grabbing the desk to stop from falling back down again. Doyle was at his side in a heartbeat.
"Take it easy, yeah?" said Doyle softly. "You don't have to lead from the front this time out. Let someone else pick up the slack." He turned a calculated gaze onto the most likely candidate.
Spike stared back coolly but quickly became aware that the freed demons were now regarding him with an expectant air. Wesley and Xander were carrying a child apiece. Doyle was the only thing preventing Angel from hugging the floor. Spike was the leader by virtue of default if for no other reason. Wearing his most truculent expression, Spike spun on his heel and marched toward the exit, calling back over his shoulder. "Xander, get your arse up 'ere now." Xander grinned and hurried to catch up with his lover.
Part Twenty-FourXander held the demon child snug against his chest, feeling a surge of protectiveness toward the tiny form. The size of a human four-year-old, Xander had no idea if it was a boy or a girl - or something else altogether. Though unclothed, its body lacked any obvious signs of gender - with lizard-like scales and pale, reptilian green eyes. There had been no others amongst the group matching its appearance and it had come to him willingly when he'd held out his arms. However, it had displayed obvious agitation when it had spotted Graham. Xander wasn't sure what that meant. He and soldier boy were dressed virtually identically. Did it recognize Graham? Or did it recognize that Xander wasn't quite human?
Despite his burden, Xander managed to match Spike's stride. He shared his lover's eagerness to get out of this place. He just hoped that they didn't meet anybody on route. They weren't in any shape for a fight. He knew Spike was hurting; even if the Bond hadn't told him, the little lopsided furrow between Spike's brows was a total giveaway. Angel looked about as bad as he'd ever seen Angel look. Doyle seemed to be okay, but he had his hands pretty full helping Angel. That left Wesley and Graham. Xander was more than a little surprised to see the ex-Sunnydale resident. He was also suspicious. No, he wasn't going to count on Graham. As for the rest - forty-plus demons of varying ancestry - the big hairy guy looked like he might be useful, but the others gave off less danger vibes than your average kindergarten group.
He wasn't exactly battle-ready either. There was no way he could fight effectively carrying the little demon kid and he wasn't about to put him/her/it? down and risk the kid getting hurt or lost in the melee. So, they just had to hope that everyone else was ahead of them and long gone.
"What's with the fire down below?" Spike asked without breaking stride.
"Fire?" Xander echoed.
"Pyros demons," said Doyle, a touch breathlessly. Angel was no lightweight.
"Fuck."
"Oh dear."O-kay. Obviously Spike and Wesley knew what Doyle was talking about and by the grim set to soldier boy's mouth, Xander guessed he knew too. "So what's a Pyros demon?"
"Lava demons, Pet. Bad news. They like to hot things up a bit"
"How much is a bit?" Xander asked. He'd been aware of the dramatic rise in temperature but had assumed it was techno-stuff gone wrong, as opposed to an actual blazing inferno. "This place is on fire? Where - downstairs?" Spike had that look on his face that said he was deciding how much information to impart. Xander gave his lover a look that said - tell me, or deal with the consequences later.
"Anything below us is probably a river of lava by now. They can call the stuff to 'em. They'll happily wade through it and leave the rest of us to burn."
"Lava? We're talking the super-hot, syrupy goop that erupts from volcanoes?" Xander had seen his share of budget disaster movies. Spike nodded and impatiently waved Graham forward to open a locked door. Xander looked down into a pair of terrified green eyes. He managed a tremulous smile. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. We're getting out of here." The child turned its head and pressed its face against Xander's neck. Xander could feel the raspy scales against his skin and he stroked the creature's back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "What's the hold up?" he demanded irritably. Graham still was fiddling with the door lock.
"I can't get it to respond," said Graham. "Either the controls are fried, or lockdown procedure has begun."
"Lockdown?" That didn't sound good. "What the hell's that?"
"This base is self-sealing. It's designed to ensure that nothing else gets out if there's an accident and all personnel have to evacuate."
"Great," said Spike dryly.
"So you're saying were stuck?" Xander tried to make his voice sound calm but he could hear the panic in it.
"I don't know anyway of getting this open."
Spike had already turned away. He was walking up and down the corridor; obviously searching for alternatives. "What about air vents? Do they get shut off too?"
Graham nodded. "And they're fitted with security measures to prevent anything getting in or out under normal conditions. We'd never make it through."
"What about the elevator shafts?" Angel asked.
"The elevators shut down."
"But do the shafts get sealed off?"
"No," said Graham.
"Elevator shaft it is then," said Spike, turning and walking back toward the open elevator doors that that Angel, Doyle and Graham had exited earlier. Like a shoal of fish, the demons changed direction with him, following him down the corridor. Spike clambered up and in first. He pulled a face as he bent down to talk to them.
"Place stinks. We'd better not hang about. It's hotter than Hades' armpit in 'ere."The 'stink' was gas. Xander could smell it as soon as he clambered in beside Spike - handing the child up first and taking it back once he was stood on top of the elevator carriage. Spike slid the panel that Doyle had removed back into place cutting off some of the fumes. Xander tried not to breathe too deeply and looked up - and up. Two floors didn't sound a lot, unless you were faced with the prospect of climbing them. Xander was fairly confident he could make it but as he looked at the others a tight knot of panic began to form in his chest. Angel was barely upright and the demons included the elderly and the very young. Xander looked at the demon nestling in his arms and wondered how the Hell they were going to accomplish this?
Kermit chose that moment to reappear - materlizing in mid air, somewhere in the vicinity of Xander's left shoulder. Arms full, Xander couldn't catch it and the tiny frog plummeted southward. However, it didn't fall very far. The child Xander was holding lurched forward slightly and a long purple tongue uncoiled from its open mouth. Xander stared at the tongue wrapped around the frog, literally plucking Kermit out of mid air. The tongue snaked back with alarming speed and the demon child's jaws snapped shut with an audible clack.
"No!" Xander exclaimed in horror. Immediately all faces turned toward him and Xander was left feeling vaguely stupid. After all, what was the fate of one - possibly illusionary frog - in light of their current predicament? Nevertheless, he felt obliged to defend both his alarmed reaction and his amphibious sidekick. Maybe the frog wasn't real. It was his frog and he felt sort of responsible for the little green guy. "It ate Kermit," he muttered. A glance at said guilty party offered a slim hope. Scaly cheeks bulged, indicating that Kermit was possibly still a resident. "Tell it not to swallow," said Xander quickly. Appealing to any one who might offer help.
Unfortunately, the silence that followed suggested that no one spoke this particular demon's lingo.
"Perhaps you could try miming your request?" Wesley offered.
Spike stepped forward and gently whapped the demon on the back of its scaly head. It made a sound something like - "Kchuffuk" and Kermit was ejected. It shot out of the demon's mouth and struck Graham in the center of his chest - and stayed there, gripping to his shirt with tiny, goop-covered claws.
Xander wasn't sure about the correct etiquette for goopy frog hits armed soldier. He attempted what he hoped was a disarmingly apologetic smile (and not a come-hither grin.) He wasn't sure he succeeded since Graham looked decidedly unsettled, though that could be because he had a small, saliva-coated frog clinging to his chest. The demon in Xander's arms wiggled in a - put me down - manner. Since its claws were razor sharp, Xander hurriedly obliged. He then stared as it scuttled - lizard-like - up the wall, pausing briefly to glance back over its shoulder and hiss at them. Xander shook off his disbelief and used his freed hands to reclaim Kermit. "Sorry," he mumbled as he tugged it loose. "I kind of have this frog-thing going on at the moment."
Graham's unsettled look changed to one of bemusement. Then he became all business again as they prepared to tackle the dilemma in hand. Xander wasn't sure, but he thought the young soldier looked concerned as he studied the would-be evacuees. Xander was concerned that Spike appeared to be the only one present that didn't appear remotely apprehensive about the challenge facing them. Xander told himself he was being an idiot. Spike might not give a damn about Graham and the others but he certainly cared about the three of them - and Angel was in a bad way. Xander couldn't see how Angel was going to make the climb and the same went for the mothers and babes-in-arms.
"Spike?" Xander addressed his lover in a stage whisper; not sure why he was speaking softly when they were all crammed together in an elevator shaft. Spike was conversing with the large hairy demon. Or so Xander assumed. It sounded like a lot of meaningless whistles and squeaks from where he stood. At any other time he would have found it amusing to hear Spike imitating a mouse with its tail caught in a trap, but with ribbons of yellowish smoke curling around his ankles and waves of heat scorching his skin, Xander's funny bone was feeling seriously subdued. "Spike," he hissed again - slightly more urgently. Spike shot him a vaguely annoyed look over his shoulder.
"Give us a minute, Pet, yeah? I'm doin' business here."
Xander blinked, feeling bizarrely like the girlfriend who had been slapped down because the men folk wanted to talk shop. He nudged his way through the crowd and grabbed Spike's arm. "Tell me what's going on leather-boy, or the only hot stuff you'll be able to get is the kind Pyros demons paddle in."
Spike glanced at the fingers gripping his arm and then at Xander's face. He must have seen something there because he instantly adopted a contrite air that would have been convincing if not for the accompanying sarcasm. "Sorry, luv. Forgettin' my manners. What with the near-death situation and all."
"Save it. You've got a plan, let's hear it." Xander watched as Spike's eyes suddenly seemed to reflect the surrounding heat - and he was left to marvel his lover's ability to get in the mood however astoundingly inappropriate the moment. Dominant Xander was guaranteed to kick-start Spike's libido. "My feet are burning." The not-quite whine had the desired effect; Xander could almost see Spike mentally shifting gears. He let out a squeak akin to the ones he'd just heard, as Spike grabbed him and swung him over a shoulder.
Spike swatted Xander's rump hard enough to make the young man twitch. "You wanna hear the plan? The plan is the fur ball here, carries anyone who can't make it. He might have to do a couple of trips so we'd best get goin'. Spike shoved his way through to reach the cables and then set Xander down again. "You gonna be all right getting' up there?" he asked quietly.
Xander glanced up, then back at Spike. "Yeah. I can do it."
"Think you can do it with one of the littluns hangin' round your neck?" Spike tilted his head toward one of the younger demons.
Xander swallowed. "Sure."
Spike picked up the closest child. "Tresink metu fenkel ti Xander."
The child obediently went to Xander; startling him with its strength as it wound slender arms about his neck. "Urk," Xander croaked. "Tell it…need…to breathe."
Spike grinned. "Muese Xander pueb."
The hold around Xander's throat relaxed minutely, sufficient at least for him to draw in a lungful of air.
"Here." Spike pulled a red hanky from his pocket (the party responsible for turning all Xander's whites pink) and wrapped it around Xander's left hand. Tearing a strip from his shirt, he repeated the process - binding Xander's other palm. "It'll protect 'em a bit," Spike mumbled. He ignored the presence of the demon child to lean in close and whisper: "Mine."
Xander met his lover's anxious gaze and gave a tiny nod. "Yours." His eyes widened and he grabbed the cable to steady himself as the elevator car shuddered. The sound of groaning metal was in no way comforting. He looked around him in alarm as the demons whimpered and wailed. Finally, the tremors stopped.
Spike planted a quick hard kiss on Xander's mouth. "Go."
Xander heeded the urgency in his lover's voice and began to climb. He locked his legs around the cable, letting his arms do the work. The child made him feel off balance and clumsy, though it barely weighed anything - all sharp, bony limbs and inhuman strength. Around the halfway mark, Xander succumbed to the urge to look down. Below him was a furor of activity as the rescued demons showed they were far from helpless. Several were crawling up the walls; while others had taken hold of the cables and were ascending them with skilled ease - two passed him by as he watched. The strangest sight had to be the huge, hairy demon walking up the wall like it was a horizontal surface, seemingly unhindered by things like gravity and the laws of physics. Five demons hung onto its fur, hitching a ride to safety.
As he watched, Xander found himself locking eyes with his lover. Spike was still on top of the elevator car trying to organize the stragglers - counted amongst them were Doyle, Angel, and Wesley. Graham was climbing a cable, a demon child clinging to his back. Blue eyes narrowed, and Xander needed no Bond to know that Spike wasn't happy with him tarrying. Spike looked away and Xander sucked in a deep breath and began to climb again. His fingers grew slippery with sweat. His neck and shoulders ached, the muscles along his arms shaking with effort.
The hairy demon offloaded its burden somewhere above Xander, and headed back down to collect its second load. Xander risked another quick glance down, and saw that Spike and Doyle were unceremoniously tying Angel to the creature's back with a combination of belts and torn out wires. As it ambled upward once more, Spike chivied the remaining demons up the cables, and a moment later everyone was off the elevator car and on the move. A troubled Xander noticed that his lover failed to exhibit the limber grace that usually typified every movement, silent testimony to the pain Spike was in. Mindful of his own aching arms, and the child he was carrying, Xander continued his own faltering ascent.
Part Twenty-FiveWesley was among the last to leave because he had chosen to remain and assist Spike and Doyle in encouraging the demons to climb the elevator shaft. He was the only one present who spoke Quix, and so it was left to him to explain matters to that group. Thankfully, all the demons grasped the situation quickly, and those who displayed a decided talent for it aided those who were less well adapted to climb. Finally, when only a handful remained, Wesley found himself being directed toward an elevator cable.
"Think you can manage on your own?"
Surprisingly, Wesley detected no insult to Spike's tone - merely a matter-of-factness that demanded an equally honest response. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "My recent occupation hasn't required much in the way of physical activity."
Spike's response to this admission was to brush Wesley aside and take hold of the cable himself. "You can let me go first then. I don't want you knocking me off, if you suddenly decide you've had enough."
Wesley blinked. "Oh. Umm. Yes. Of course." It made sense really. If he were to tire, and subsequently fall, he wouldn't wish to be responsible for bringing anyone else down with him. He was startled when Spike gave a little snort of laughter and stepped back, pushing Wesley forward once more toward the cable, and putting his hands on it.
"That was a joke, Watcher."
Wesley's usually nimble mind was left struggling to cope with the conundrum that was Spike's sense of humour.
A sly smile curved Spike's mouth, as he displayed smug satisfaction in the face of Wesley's confusion. "You go first," he directed. "I'll follow. If you start to feel like them sad, pathetic little arms of yours are gonna give out - shout. I'll try and lend a hand."
The obvious sincerity behind this offer reduced Wesley to near-speechlessness. He managed a soft, stumbling: "Th-hank you." Then he adhered to Spike's urging and began to climb. He was soon gritting his teeth against the pain of muscles pushed beyond their limits. A twinge became a dull throbbing, which in turn grew to an unrelenting agony, as his limbs were reduced to leaden encumbrances that required an incredible amount of effort to move. When another violent tremor hit the shaft he could only wrap himself around the cable and pray that he had sufficient strength to hold on. He succeeded - but someone else did not.
The demon fell with a terrified wail that cut through the other cries of pain and panic, audible even over the awful grinding screech of twisting metal. It struck the roof of the elevator car, and rolled with the motion of the tremor, emitting another wordless cry of terror as the panel gave way and it tumbled into the smoking interior. Wesley stared in horror, hoping to see the creature clambering back out, but as the tremor stopped, there was still no sign. Wesley continued to watch, and it was then that he realized that Spike was looking up not down. Looking up - but not at him. Wesley found himself caught between the gaze of Spike and Xander - one agonized, the other regretful. Then the vampire let go of the cable and plummeted downward, landing in a cat-like crouch on top of the elevator car. He peered into the opening - from which sickly clouds of yellow fumes now rose - and then ducked inside. In scarce seconds he reappeared, carrying the fallen demon. Spike hoisted it over his shoulders and began to climb again.
A moment later the elevator car surrendered to the inevitable, relentless heat of the lava flow. Panels crumpled like paper - some shooting into the air with a rushing, hiss of steam. Screws and bolts were forced from their places, pinging around the shaft with the velocity of fired bullets. One grazed Wesley's shoulder, making him cry out. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe against the sudden, surprising pain.
"Watcher? Oi, Watcher!"
At Spike's shout, Wesley reopened his eyes. "I'm all right," he called, repeating it in a slightly stronger voice. "I'm all right."
"Then get your bleedin' arse in gear. Some of us want out of this place."
//So do I// thought Wesley desperately. //God. So do I. // He began to climb again, struggling to overcome the screaming ache of exhausted muscles, and the sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder. The hot, sluggish trickle of blood down his chest warned him to climb quickly, and he nearly wept with relief when he finally reached the point of departure. The demons that had climbed the walls had somehow forced open the doors. Wesley found himself being passed through their hands - skin, fur and scale - handled like the most delicate of packages. Until he stood in the corridor on his own two feet. He wobbled and was supported by a serious-faced Quix child - Shekaa's older brother. "Thank you," said Wesley faintly. "Mutaa ju'nes."
The Quix gave a little shrug. "Denta." Apparently reassured that Wesley wasn't about to fall on his face, the child moved back to stand with his parents.
The sight of Spike stood not two inches from his nose, sniffing him like he was prize filet mignon, brought Wesley further back to himself.
"You're hurt." The tone implied neither question nor concern.
Wesley wasn't certain how to answer. "Erm…I'm." He mentally scolded himself for flapping and straightened up - ignoring the stab pain it caused. "Yes, I am. It's not serious," he added hastily, battling an urge to draw away. At this distance those cold, calculating eyes were really rather unnerving.
Spike glanced at a demon standing off to the side of him. He called it closer with a motion of his head. "Dureska tooel mins. Krenda pa'l chue kiruss." (Watch this one. Try not to let it hurt itself.) He directed the creature's attention toward Wesley with a look, and then walked away. The demon obediently trotted to Wesley's side; regarding the man in the sort of manner one might a particularly pitiable pet.
"Well, really," Wesley muttered. He hadn't understood all of the words but he'd caught their meaning well enough - he couldn't be trusted to watch out for himself. Because that was an aspersion that had been cast at him too many times, it stung. Though he was also bewildered by Spike's reaction. Was this really simply all part of an elaborate ruse to impress the boy? It had to be, didn't it?