50 days till Apocalypse
It was a white so uniform and pure that it had to be unnatural. The surface glistened with a cool light on its scaly outer hull.
Devon placed the milk jug he'd been examining in his shopping cart.
*Well, that decides it,* Devon thought, *Grocery stores are instruments of the devil.*
He was on a morning day patrol in the local supermarket. Today he was on Team High Priestess with Willow and Jonathan as his team. Day patrols used less people, all humans, and tended to be less eventful than night patrols. Other than the watchful eye of the Hannibals, in a public building, there were usually few incidents. Parks, woods, and graveyards were other stories, but grocery stores tended to be boring.
Still, the shopping served a few purposes. They got to buy food for the mansion and listen both physically and psychically to what was going on in town that the Tarot couldn't see. The team each had places at which they were stationed at for the next five minutes before they headed out to the checkout. Willow was standing where he could see her at the end of the aisle in the video-rental section. Jonathan, he sensed, was patiently waiting at the deli for some beef.
Devon scanned the area around him, and his eye fell on the gorgeous girl that pushed her cart past his toward the cheese section.
She totally checked him out!
She had long slim legs that went up and up and up. Her chest was quite generous, and her red lips were framed quite nicely by a large cloud of black hair. The summery tank top she wore was tight in all the very nice places. She was pretty cute.
And, he flipped on his katra radar, she had the very orange aura of the Blighted.
*Damn!* he mentally complained as she added mozzarella cheese to her already loaded cart. *I guess even the agents of the Apocalypse have to eat sometime.* Speaking of those agents, he flipped into full aura-viewing mode to take a look at how many other Hannibals were in his area.
The breath froze in his lungs as he saw the auras of those around him through the web. Not good. Everyone within a twenty-feet radius was Blighted. No one even remotely close to him was clean, so, for all intents and purposes, he was alone. For a second, it felt like they were all staring at him and knew that he was not one of them. The crowd almost seemed to be circling, hawks to the kill. The old lady with her cart of cheap cookies. The businessman buying bread. The young mother with the sleeping baby in her cart. They could see him, and they were coming for him . . .
He stopped himself; he'd been surrounded by the Blighted before. The beauty of the Blight was that none of them worked together the way the Tarot did. The Blighted were mainly independent of each other. Hannibals especially seemed pretty unaware of each other's Blighted status, not like Vaders. The groups of Hannibals were still plenty dangerous, but it was doubtful that they were going to act together in such a public setting.
"Priestess," Devon whispered into the communicator sewn into his T-shirt collar. He saw Willow tilt her head in response as she scanned the area of the katras behind him. Her eyes grew wide, and her face changed from calm to terrified.
Devon turned and saw why. The pretty girl he'd been watching a few minutes before was not looking so pretty anymore. Her skin was melting off her face, and Devon was getting the impression of some kind of scales underneath. And fangs. And very, very, very sharp claws.
Trying to take a step backward, Devon bumped into his own cart. It was too late. The monster jumped at him, claws extending toward his chest . . .
Willow watched in pure horror as the blood spurted out of Devon's chest. The red liquid sprayed over the dairy aisle, hitting the groceries, the carts, the other shoppers, and the murderer.
Yes, murderer indeed because the web was already shrieking with the aftershocks of a death. Willow stumbled on her feet but staggered forward to take vengeance for the life just stolen.
The other shoppers had already flown into full-blown panic, running and screaming in any direction that took them away from the monster and its victim. The crowd knocked her back a few paces, but it didn't stop Willow from locking eyes with the green thing that was coolly removing its fingers from Devon's chest. Concentrating, Willow started pulling power into herself in preparation to obliterate it.
"Stop!" The communicator in her earring came to life. There was static on the line so she cupped her ear to hear better. The gap in concentration forced her to get pushed back a few paces by the fleeing customers. "I have a man down. Preparing to eliminate the Vader."
"God dammit, Priestess, collect your team and walk away!"
"Negative," the monster saw the glint in Willow's eyes. It decided to make good its escape while she hesitated. Three swipes of those razor claws, and it created a sizeable hole in the outer wall. It didn't hesitate to scamper through, leaving bloody footprints behind it.
"I'm heading west in pursuit of homicidal Vader."
"No, you aren't," she placed the voice. It was Xander in the control booth. "Walk away. This is a direct order. Walk away."
"But - "she protested faintly, allowing herself to get away from the scene with the panicked crowd.
"Priestess, you will collect your remaining team members, walk to the east alley, and return to home base," Xander called her by her codename to remind her of her responsibilities as the team leader.
"What about - "Willow started helplessly as she lost sight of the body in the press of people.
"He's dead. 911 has been called. We have a retrieval team enroute to the hospital. Walk away."
All of her options exhausted, Willow let the crowd carry her off.
Moments earlier
Cordelia sat idly listening to the voices over the comm. She had been assigned to operator duty this morning instead of patrol. Personally, she didn't really mind since nothing sucked like wearing gloves in the dead of summer and trying to blend in. Xander, she suspected, was still partially angry and partially worried about the toll the vision about Anya had taken on her some weeks back.
Now, this was akin to being back at Angel Investigations. She was again, metaphorically, waiting for the phone to ring. At least she wasn't waiting alone. With a brooding air of protectiveness, Xander was working as an operator too.
Twirling her pen in her fingers, Cordelia tried to look less bored than she felt.
Unexpectedly, her forehead tightened up.
The images hit her fast, lightning speed, more slashes across her overworked synapses.
A body on the floor. Red blood streaking the chest. Claws. Gore-covered green claws. From the claws, an arm, leading up to . . . the monster's twisted face.
"Help," Cordelia gasped moments later when Xander sat her back up in the chair. The feelings and images of the vision were not fading. This was not a good vision. It wasn't far away. It was imminent, she could tell. It would happen any minute, maybe even any second.
"What did you see?" Xander questioned urgently.
"A death," her mind raced. The body. What could she do? She probably couldn't prevent the death if it was that close. There was so much of the 'now' in the vision.
She had a much better chance of protecting someone from the aftershock the death would cause on the web. One person. No more than that many. Who to pick? It had to be someone who needed it. Someone who was emotionally unstable. Someone like - Faith. A death's affect on Faith would be a lot for Forrest to try to handle by himself no matter where he was.
Mentally reaching out a 'hand' toward the Slayer, Cordelia saw she was just in time because the ripples of shock were already hitting the web. The loud, dizzying psychic scream of someone being torn from the web echoed in her ears, growing nauseatingly louder. She recognized who it was. Devon.
Forrest was able to keep his footing as the wave of queasiness came over him. Instantly, he knew that a web member had bought it.
His eyes moved to Faith, on the other side of the communications room. As it had been made very clear, his first order of business was to prevent disruption to her fragile psyche. He readied himself to act as a buffer, but not only did she seem fine, she didn't appear to have even noticed the shock of the death.
Then he felt why. There was another presence shielding her. That meant Spike or Cordelia because they were the only two people with the strength to do such an action from that distance.
He had started to take over shielding Faith when the alarms sounded in the compound.
"I have a possible hostile disturbance on Main Street," a tech announced from the flashing panel.
"Where?" Riley was already by the tech's side.
"The grocery store," The tech hit some keys. "Hacking into their security cameras. This is on a fifteen second delay." The image appeared on the big screen for the entire room to catch the short but violent attack on the teenager in the dairy aisle.
"Is that it?" Riley asked.
"No," the tech paused the picture after the hostile escaped and looked at his panel. "A call has gone to 911. They are sending an ambulance."
"Any chance the civilian survived?" Riley asked.
Forrest answered, "I don't think so. Left-side chest wound, lots of blood - sucker was probably dead before he hit the floor." He tapped the screen where the Vader had just exited, "We have a serious problem."
"I know," Riley agreed. "We need to send someone to talk to the coroner to make the death seem more natural. Good thing he wasn't one of ours."
"I didn't mean that," Forrest responded, containing the rush of emotion about Devon not being one of 'ours.'
"Yes, we'll need to pursue the hostile before it has a chance to get at anything or one more valuable," Riley turned on his intercom. "I need Teams 4, 7, 11 and 14 to run a full-scale hostile sweep working five blocks north, south, east, and west of Main Street's grocery store. On the double." His eyes flickered over Faith, "You've got 7."
Seeing the agreement in Forrest's expression, Faith threw her most winning smile at Riley and departed.
"What I meant was that the hostile attacked in public," Forrest told his commanding officer.
"If you are worried about the witnesses, don't be. Anything they say can be attributed to panic." Riley paused, taking in the Forrest's lack of reaction. "But you didn't mean that, did you?"
"No, I didn't, Ri," Forrest confirmed, "I meant that the hostile attacked in public. In broad daylight."
A stony mask settled over Riley's face as the words sank in. "They're getting bold. They aren't respecting the usual rules. We rule the day; they fight for the night." He started to pace, "We can't ignore this. They have made the first strike into our territory. We need to strike back. Our retribution must be fast and direct. Our patrols alone are not flushing that scum out. We need to-" he stopped in thought.
"We need to what?" Forrest prompted, trying not to sound too eager.
"You should go help Faith suit up Team 7," Riley snarled, suddenly on the defensive.
"Okay, man. I will," Forrest held up his hands, "I was just trying to help." He set a hand on Riley's shoulder. "You are our leader. I'm glad it's not me because it's such a tough job. You take so much of it on yourself. Too much maybe. Really, I am just trying to help."
Riley visibly relaxed, "I know you are. Those pieces of shit are killing our people and it's getting to me. I've got to think all this through. I'll talk to you later."
Forrest took this as the dismissal it was and went to help Team 7 for their neighborhood patrol.
"Okay . . . Shit!" she lapsed into one of the new terms she'd picked up recently. Her face was becoming very bright, and Angel recognized the signs.
"Everybody get down!!" he jumped behind a table for cover.
The second he out of the way, he felt and saw a flash of bright light and intense heat, but it was only for a split second.
"Is everyone all right?" Angel stood up. No one else got up nearly as quickly, even though the other ten people in the cafeteria hadn't been as close to her as he had. Weird. He ran over to check the sister collapsed on the bar.
The wood around her was blackened, but judging the fact that none of the liquor around her had ignited, she must have maintained pretty good control. He raised her up to check her over, "What happened?"
Her eyes drew open, "Death."
Someone had died. His mind shuffled rapidly through the possibilities.
Buff? Not Buffy. Anyone but Buffy . . . whom it couldn't be because all hell would have broken loose.
Then was it Cordy? No. Cordy and Xander were working in the comm. Room for this day patrol. She'd jokingly asked him to volunteer because she, unlike he, could enjoy the daylight like others of the non-undead persuasion.
Who was on patrol?
Willow. She was leading a day team.
His heart sank. Please don't be Willow. Not her. She deserved so much better. If it was her - he'd - he'd-
He ran out of the cafeteria.
It was so painful that Anya couldn't help but fall forward. Luckily, Jeremy imposed his furry body between her and the cold sewer floor.
"What is it?" Adam had not missed her faux pas.
"Some horrible aftereffect of being human," Anya lied. "PMS, as it is called, really sucks."
A few of the vampiresses nodded their heads. PMS did indeed suck.
Cordelia's warning had been able to give him a few extra seconds to prepare for the shockwave, so Xander wasn't too broken up by Devon's death. The emotions he was getting from Forrest were more alarming. The Hannibals, he sensed from Forrest's and Faith's states of readiness, were gearing up for another Search. That meant everything had to go into shutdown.
"Mockingbird." That was the code word for the day. It had two purposes: to tell everyone on the comm that a Search was imminent and to warn them that they were going into radio silence.
There was still more to do. All equipment that was detectable to the military monitoring devices had to be powered down or at least magically masked. More importantly, there was going to be a long and complex series of teleportation spells to displace Tarot members from the homes they technically were not living in. The numbers had grown past the point that there weren't enough of the teleportation closets in the mansion Willow had originally set up to handle the numbers that were needed. It took careful scheduling and Search monitoring to be able to keep the operation running. They typically just emptied a safehouse and left one or two human registered occupants in it.
Fortunately, the Hannibals didn't mind too much if there were fewer occupants present in a residence. They certainly would mind 20 extra, not necessarily human, occupants present in said residence. With the radio silent, the wolves would have to keep track of the Searches. They were a relatively good substitute since their howls were encoded and easily deciphered by any web member.
The group with the hardest job certainly was the team that had been dispatched by Wesley the second Devon had died - the retrieval team. They were at the morgue to retrieve his equipment; not the body. There was too many risks involved with making the body disappear. There had been the store's security cameras and many witnesses. The Tarot web could not be exposed. The body had to stay; they were there for the hardware.
That also meant he had to go upstairs and take care of one more thing.
They hid in the darkness of the hallway outside the morgue of Sunnydale General for the ambulance to bring the body. The attendants that wheeled in the body, efficient with experience, never even looked around. They were in and out, having made their quick trip to the grocery store and back to the hospital. They would be back too soon.
Nothing would be done to the body until it was identified, and a military escort would arrived afterward just in case something supernatural was going to occur in the course of the autopsy. The team carefully peered through the windows to see the coroner far down the hallway waiting. The body was alone in the empty morgue.
Tara pointed at the doors, and they swung open without a sound. Exceptionally quietly, the three-member team crept in to the dim room with its sputtering fluorescent lights. Pike waved Buffy toward the body while he and Tara hid behind separate tables and kept an eye on the only entrance through those doors.
Buffy stood and reached toward the body, telling herself not to look.
*Don't look at his chest. Don't see under these flickering blue lights the reflection of red blood turned black. Don't think about the person he used to be. Don't hear the emptiness of this cold darkness in the room of white sterile floors. Don't let this be the way you remember him. *
Her gloved fingers touched his neck and pulled back quickly. He, no 'it,' was still warm; she could feel it through her gloves. Less than an hour ago, he had been a person. A living breathing person, and now he wasn't.
She forced herself to the task at hand. The communicator she had come for was connected to the shirt collar. With one swift motion, she added one more tear to the shredded shirt and had the small piece of plastic and metal in her possession.
"Buffy!" Pike's hiss of warning brought her attention toward the doors. Someone was coming, and she did not have the ability to teleport. She had been retrieving since she was the fastest and quietest but that did her little good here.
It was the coroner with two others that Buffy didn't have a chance to recognize before she ducked behind one of the other autopsy tables toward the back.
The lights flickered, Tara's work, which added three seconds of darkness to the morgue that Buffy did not waste. She scurried across the floor to the table Pike was using for a hiding place.
"I'm sorry that you had to be called down here for this. It must be very difficult," the coroner apologized.
"It's okay. We understand," the woman replied calmly.
The voice struck a chord in Buffy; it was very familiar. She hazarded a glance past the table, and her mind flashed back to a Parent-Teacher Night two years ago. Those people were Devon's parents.
The coroner led them over to the body. "You don't know how much I hate doing this. Is this your son?"
"That would be him," The father's voice didn't betray any emotion.
"I am sorry," The coroner tried to express his condolences again.
"I can't believe this," the mother said unconvincingly. Something in her voice reminded Buffy of someone's reaction to being told they missed the 7:00 pm movie and could buy a ticket for the 7:10.
"It's too bad," her husband agreed in a similarly robotic tone. "We always knew his crowd was bad. This is terrible." His voice was monotone, like he had lost a paper clip, not a son.
"Too bad," Devon's mother echoed. "Can we go? We're late for dinner."
*How could they be so . . . inhuman?* Buffy bristled and almost jumped out from behind the table.
Pike's restraining hand on her wrist prevented any such action. "Buffy," he warned quietly. " They're Blighted."
The lights flickered one more time with Tara's help and she used that time to move over to their table. "Ready?" she asked, barely audible.
They were, and, in a breath of air, they were gone.
The Search went for the Tarot the way that it usually did - tense, but uneventful.
There were actually two groups of Hannibals, regardless of there being four teams out because they were monitoring the such a small area. Oz was tailing one group, and Jenna was tailing the other. They remained a safe distance away to avoid detection by the commandos.
The Hannibals might have found the wolf howling peculiar, but they assumed it was part of the normal Sunnydale wildlife. There were wolf sounds every time any of them went on a Search. It was more likely they would have noticed if there weren't any wolves. Besides, it was impossible for them to be werewolves. Werewolves could not be controlled, and there wasn't a full moon in the sky.
Little did they know the true purpose of those howls. They were code for the specifics of the Search. Those 'uncontrollable' werewolves were code for where, how many, and what the commandos were doing in the search.
Similar scenes were occurring all over the Searched neighborhoods. At a safehouse on Border Street, fifteen Tarot members unperturbedly filed into the broom closet, activating the automatic teleportation spell keyed to the mansion. The two remaining human members that were 'registered' for the home stayed to greet the search party. The minute the Searchers were out of range, the fifteen members teleported back in.
The scene at the mansion, acting as Grand Central Sunnydale Station, was a bit more tense. Spells were cast to mask the presence of many, many more occupants than should have been present, even if they were blinking in and out of spatial existence. Everyone who could be was moved to the basement, including Cordelia who had passed out, among other things, after expending all her energy shielding Faith. All non-essential equipment was powered down, and everything else was carefully masked magically, electronically, and psychically.
Wesley and Serena answered the door. "May I help you?" Wesley adjusted his glasses while addressing the ten armed men standing in the yard.
The commanding officer in his camouflage said the oft-repeated lie, "Just doing a routine check of the neighborhood."
"Again?" Serena made sure to include a bit of whininess into her lines.
"It's for your own safety, ma'am," the officer replied, one of the few men in the squad who were unBlighted.
"But it feels like you were just here," Serena stomped her foot.
Her companion smacked her rear. "Honey," he stressed. "That's quite enough. Behave yourself, Muffin. These men are looking out for us." He addressed the officer, "Was there anything else, gentlemen?"
A commando holding a scanner took a look at it and signaled 'all clear' to the officer. "One more thing," the officer began, "Have you noticed any suspicious people in this area?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Wesley didn't specify what ordinary meant, nor did he share that he was thinking about the seven armed web members standing on either side of the door, ready to psychically overpower the commandos or mow them down with their automatic weapons.
"That will be all. Thank you for your time," The commandos filed back down the driveway.
"I see our spells and gadgets still work," Serena smiled when the team was far enough away.
"And that fact that we used our mind power to keep them from noticing that their equipment wasn't working quite right." He sighed, "You could have left off on the overacting bit though."
"I'm 'dating' you. It's not overacting."
Willow opened the door to her room. She felt so cold. This wasn't happening. Devon couldn't have died. She was the team leader. She'd always brought everyone back. No losses. If anyone was going to die, it was going to be her. It should have been her. It was the job of the leader to bring the team back or die trying.
She should have chased that demon. It was her right to avenge him. Devon.
Devon was dead. It could have just as likely been her. She could have easily been in the dairy aisle instead of him. But it had been him, and he was dead.
A tear fell down her check. Another. Another.
Unexpectedly, a shadow detached itself from her wall. A shadow she hadn't sensed.
"Willow?" Angel moved toward her. "I was worried. About the death, and you were out on the team."
"It wasn't m-" Willow's words were cut off by Angel grabbing ahold of her and kissing her fiercely. Her body molded to his, relaxing at his touch.
"You're alive!" Angel purred into her ear, "I thought I could have lost you." He sucked on the sensitive skin at the side of her neck. "But you're here." He hands began to desperately tug at her clothes.
Noticing she hadn't moved, Angel stopped and remembered the details of their last relationship discussion. He drew back from her, unsure of how to proceed, "I'm sorry. I know. This is a bad moment, right now. And I know you said that you need more time."
Time. Willow shivered. Devon didn't have the time anymore. She did. The death chilled her to the bone. That wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to be frozen; she wanted to burn up because she was alive.
"I'm cold," her voice was very quiet. "Make me warm." She threw herself into his arms.
Her hands, motionless before, tore at his clothes in a frenzy. His hands answered back, tearing her black shirt in half to bare her to him. She didn't give him a chance to look because she was already peeling his shirt over his head. Running her hands over his chest, she twisted his nipples and got a pleasured gasp for her troubles.
Once again sure of himself, Angel picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, kissing her with every step. She responded by catching his mouth and inhaling his lips like she wished she would swallow him whole, make him a part of her. In her skin. In her mind. In her soul. In her heart, where he'd been slowly claiming a space.
He set her down, practically running from her, so he could fulfill her request for warmth before he totally lost control to his auburn-haired witch. While he fumbled with the knobs in the shower, Willow threw the rest of her clothes on the floor behind her. Angel turned to bring her into the shower with him and stared.
There she was in front of him, face flushed, chest heaving, as naked as the day she was born. Here freckles and red curls only highlighted the hard red-tipped nipples of her high firm breasts. She extended her hand, crooking one finger at him.
Already over to her before the motion finished, Angel captured one of those lovely red buds with his mouth and sucked hard. His hands ran up and down her sides, playing with the other nipple, alternating between soft and hard twists. Willow moaned and pulled her shoulders back, lifting her chest higher to give him better access.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that she was extremely glad her bathroom's shower could fit two people with space to spare, but that awareness was buried. Angel's lips never leaving her skin, she was aware he lifted her up again and carried her into that shower. His experienced touch had encompassed everything around her. His hands, his mouth. They were everywhere, making her gasp and squeal. He placed her on her feet against the wall, the water cascading over her, and she bit back a scream as those talented fingers slid into her slick core.
"Angel," Willow hissed, muscles relaxing under the hot water and tensing again as his fingers went in. Out. In. Out. In. His thumb brushed across her swollen clit, causing her to actually scream this time, "Angel!" He smiled and started over again. In and out. Willow was having trouble remembering to breathe, but she did remember hold onto his head for support. He knelt in front of her to placed a kiss on her navel before his lips began to travel even lower.
She was close, very close. She dropped to her knees too so she could be at eye level with him. While she lost his hands from inside of her, she had other ideas. Scooting into his lap, she rested herself on the cradle of his hips, "Now please," she begged, handling his hardness roughly through his now soaking wet pants.
The only reply he could get out was a grunt and a quick tensing of his legs. Willow found herself standing flat against the wall; his pants open and his body against hers. His erection was pressing into her abdomen, and she leaned into him, running her fingers down his slick back.
Angel captured her face in his hands and looked into her green eyes. The emeralds communicated her need. She was ready for him. He was ready for her. Their bodies were urging them onward. He could feel the call to take her, now.
Moving his hands to her buttocks, Angel lifted Willow slightly, her back half supported by the wall, but still encircled in his embrace. He was poised to enter her. . A few more inches, and they would be one. Willow nodded, shifting her hips toward him. She wanted him, and she trusted him completely.
She trusted him.
But he couldn't trust himself.
To her dismay, one of his hands changed positions and slipped into her wetness. Willow almost protested, except his fingers were manipulating her clit in such a way that the protest was stolen from her lips.
Her mouth opened in a gasp, and Angel took the opportunity to kiss her. Near his busy hand, his shaft butted against her curls, like it was seeking entry. In fact, her passion-numbed mind noted, it was pushing against her in rhythm with his hand.
She briefly imagine his steel strength inside of her, instead of his fingers. Yes, at that angle. Filling her like that. Pushing her that hard. Breaking her completely, her thoughts were enough to fling her into a loud climax as the pleasure peaked on every nerve.
When her tremors ceased, she was surprised to find Angel standing with his back to her. His hands not visible, he was as far away from her as the shower size would permit.
"I'm sorry," Angel didn't turn to face her. "I couldn't do it. I'm sorry."
Willow drew up next to him and could see what he was doing. He still had a monster erection and was working at it with both hands.
"Angel, it's okay," Willow was touched that he felt for her in such a way that she could possibly cause him to lose his soul.
"No, it's not." Angel sidestepped her, his hands still moving.
"Stop it. I'm not letting you walk away from me!" Willow made him turn to face her. She tiptoed and kissed him on the forehead. "Don't worry. Let me," her warm hands joined his cold ones.
She took all of him in her two hands, gently kneading sensitive skin. He placed his hands on top of hers and began to guide her. Starting at the top, their hands slid down together and then back up. After the third downward stroke, Angel was gritting his teeth.
"Let go," Willow whispered into his ear.
With a groan, he did.
Afterward, Willow kissed the mouth of her slightly dazed vampire, "See? All better."
"Thank you," Angel replied as he shut off the water.
"I'm glad I could do something right today," Willow said without thinking and froze. The memories came flooding back. "Oh God. Devon." Tears threatened.
Angel reached out to hold her and guide her out of the shower, "Cry all you need."
"I wish I could have stopped it. If I could go back there, I could have . . . I might - might-" she hiccupped, "I wanted to save him."
"I know you did," Angel assured his brave girl and wrapped her in a towel. There was nothing else he could do to help her except hold her. Not everything can be kissed and made better.
"Oz?" Cordelia called, squinting in the noon sun. She stopped at his chosen perch and looked up, "Are you aware that you are in a tree?"
"Yes."
She placed her hands on the trunk. Oz had apparently climbed one trees outside the mansion. Neither one of them were scheduled for patrol for the next few days. Oz was needed on reserve in the event of more Searches, and Cordelia had been relieved for the massive fit of puking she had after Devon's death and fainting afterward. "Do wolves normally climb trees?"
"No," Oz peered down at her from his branch fifteen feet up.
Opening her hands and chanting, Cordelia floated up to sit next to him. "Why are you up here?"
It took Oz a little time to answer, " . . . Thinking."
"About Devon?" She didn't get a reply, which meant she kept talking, "Yeah that sucks. His dying, especially in such a tacky way. I mean, in a grocery store . . ." Since Oz didn't react to that either, she tried again. "It's not fair. It really isn't. Nineteen is too young."
"I know I wasn't all that close to him. We dated - and he was an okay kisser - but after even that saving grace was gone after he stood me up." Oz didn't even twitch. "But we let bygones be bygones. It was like an eternity ago. I hardly remember." Oz cleared his throat on that one. "Okay, you're right. It was really more like three years ago, but who's counting? It was a really long time ago. I was like, sixteen, and I've done a lot of growing since then. I dated Xander."
She dragged herself back to the subject, wishing she could for once say the right thing. "So I am sorry. I wish things were different." Cordelia set a hand on his arm and he saw she wasn't wearing her gloves, "There is nothing you could have done."
"I know. He was my friend." He said at last and corrected her. "He was twenty.".
"Oh, so you were listening to my sales pitch," Cordelia did a little happy dance with her arms. That almost overbalanced her, and she had to grab Oz's shoulders with both arms to keep from tumbling off the tree.
Such contact was a mistake, considering her intentions. Oz tensed up in her almost-hug. Their eyes held for a moment of uncomfortable silence that lasted too long. There was too much emotion running between them, and she quickly released him. She couldn't address the issue and solved the problem by returning to the first problem, "What do you think Devon would want? He wouldn't want you up here being all mopey."
"I don't mope. I contemplate," Oz said, sounding more like himself.
"Bull! You totally mope. I don't care how deep and shit you are, you are absolutely moping-"
Pain hit right behind her eyes. No warning. No chance to prepare. Nothing but the vision.
A sheet. A plastic sheet. Red and yellow signs with the word "quarantine."
Willow. Her face pinched with horror and anger. A grey child's ball rolling across the sheet.
Cordelia opened her eyes and tried to figure out where she was. She was laying on something firm and warm. Something was holding her in a tight embrace.
The world came back in focus. She was being held in Oz's arms, and they were on the ground, not in the tree.
"What happened?" Cordelia tried to chase the last vestiges of confusion and pain from her head.
"You fell."
Yet strangely, she didn't feel any pain or bruising from what should have been quite a tumble. Instead, she felt warm, safe, and supported in Oz's strong arms. Unless she was extremely lucky, it meant that Oz had protected her with his body.
She pulled away from the chest that she had been leaning against. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." She couldn't dispute him on that since he was wearing one of his signature T-shirts and couldn't see his torso.
But she could see that his arms had scratches on them. Fingernail scratches from the looks of them, and there was skin in her fingernails. Dismayed by that evidence, she asked, "Did I fight you?"
"A little," was the reply.
"Let me see," she ordered him. Her expression told him clearly that she would not accept anything less than his obedience. "Don't be bashful. I do this for Angel all the time."
"All the time?" Oz held out his scratched arms.
"For injuries all the time, not because I beat him up all the time," Cordelia carefully used her right hand to touch the cuts and push healing energy into them. They closed without a scar, but Cordelia was noticing that this type of touching was bringing her mentally closer to Oz. Normally he was hard to read with all of those werewolf-related barriers, but not right now. Which meant she had to concentrate on keeping her own barriers up, or they'd be swapping spit -- er, thoughts - if they weren't careful. "Anyhow, let me see the rest of-"
He took off the T-shirt before she finished her sentence. He had a whole set of purpling bruises between his nicely defined six-pack and equally defined pecs. Cordelia had to fight the urge to put her hands on him, but not for healing purposes.
Apparently oblivious to her difficulty, Oz stood up and presented his bruising back. Much better for her, since now she didn't have to try to control her expression while gawking at his muscular shoulders. She got up to and set her hands on his back.
For someone who spent a great deal of time as a wolf, he had remarkably little hair. It always surprised her, even though they had gone to the beach together. He had a big mark down low on his spine, and she traced a healing finger around its outline. Another brilliant idea since it brought her even closer to those shoulders she had been ogling before. "Done. Turn." She said in her most professional voice.
Complying with her wishes, Oz presented his stomach again. Cordelia was suddenly very aware of her choice of outfit - jean shorts and tank top that closed in front by a few buttons. She wasn't wearing a bra, and they both were standing barefoot very closely together. Hopefully her body would behave, but considering how flushed she was feeling and the way he might have been looking at her, that seemed unlikely.
"I can see I really fought you, but I'm glad these are only superficial," Cordelia put a hand on his warm firm stomach. "They are just on the surface." She and Oz were almost the same height barefoot. He was watching her with the most unfathomable look. "Deep bruises and cuts can be harder to fix, and healing them hurts." Her hand shook a little on his skin, and he placed his over hers, holding it in place. "Does that hurt?"
"A little," his eyes didn't leave hers.
"Sorry, I can't help how it feels." Cordelia changed the subject, acutely conscious of how it felt to be touching him. "Thank you for holding me. No one has ever held me during a vision. Though now I can see why."
"It was my pleasure," that last word hung in the air for a long time.
She couldn't move. The connection between them was so strong that she really could hear his mind and experience the emotions growing in him, which he certainly was getting back from her. Something was rising, and she concentrated hard on blocking it out. The healing was done, but she couldn't convince herself to move her damn hand. Her mind teetered on the edge of completely jumping into the gutter. She wanted to move her hand lower, much lower. She wanted him to unbutton her top that was becoming horribly hot and uncomfortable.
*No. Oz is your friend*
Only a friend. A friend with really cut abs, but a friend nonetheless. It had to be the close proximity to such a nice male body that was pulling her in this direction. That had to be all. She was not getting all tingly inside over this. She was NOT.
Her resolve renewed, she stepped back. "All done." For added emotional protection, she pulled her gloves out of her back pocket and put them on. "You can put your shirt back on now."
"I need you to do something for me," Oz said once he was covered again.
*Strip? Blow you? Okay.* Cordelia did not voice those thoughts, "What exactly?"
"It's a favor for Devon."
*Thank God. I really need to start dating again before I start screwing the nearest available person. I hope he can't tell.*
Oz told her what he needed for the favor. He did not tell her that he could see she was cold through her shirt or that a werewolf's sense of smell was far more sensitive than she would be comfortable with right now. Which was some knowledge that he didn't know if he was thankful for while he was spending time in her close proximity. There were things that could drive both a man and wolf mad - women.
Spike sat watching Buffy sleep. Getting the equipment from the body had been very hard for her. It didn't help that she had been with Gene when he died and had personally died once at the hands of the Master. Seeing Devon's parents had made matters worse. The moment she had teleported in, she had gone to find her mother. Then she had come back to him and cried.
He didn't have the heart to tell her it was probably going to get much worse before it got better. Before she had dropped into a fitful sleep, she asked how he was feeling. He lied to her. He said he was fine.
In actuality, he was bone tired. He managed to hold everything together to shield her from what he was going through while she was in the morgue. He had made it to the bathroom in time to lose all the blood in his stomach and was barely conscious. Xander had come up personally and carried him to the bed. The boy had given him an emergency injection of Slayer blood to get him back. Of course, then he had covered Spike with a heat shield blanket to hide him from the Search.
The emergency injection of Slayer blood was something so secret that Buffy didn't even know about it. The blood wasn't hers, but Faith's. Xander had it drawn secretly when he rescued Faith's body the first time. Usually he would have given Spike Buffy's blood, but he didn't want to disturb the three in the morgue. Xander was quite relieved to see that the web functioned fine, even when Spike was almost incapacitated.
Which was something Spike feared would happen more often as more Tarot members bought it.
He wasn't the only one with fears. Cordelia had taken it in the chin too. She also had a vision that she was instinctively ignoring. They would have to talk about it later, but he was too tired right now to even probe her and see what was going on.
Xander took another drink. He'd 'borrowed' the bottle during the clean up of the bar.
Another one of his charges dead. It was his failure. His fault. He could have planned better, protected the team. But he hadn't. Spike and Cordelia both were taken down by his mistake. And Devon was paying most of all. Devon was dead.
One of the Tarots many unmarked vehicles let Cordelia off in front of the large houses. Oz was driving, and he would wait outside for her to come out. If she didn't come out within the thirty-minute time limit, he would go get her. They were working alone on this one actually, since they were currently scheduled to be sleeping. Fortunately, he was nigh invisible on the web to everyone except her and Spike, and Spike was sleeping.
The electronic gates opened for her. She was expected. The doorman patted her down by the door, checking for the weapons she wasn't wearing. She didn't even have a communicator to report back to the base. They were being reckless, maybe, but it was for the favor.
"Councilman Gillespie will see you now," A different guard activated the lock by key code. He gave her gloves an odd look but did not comment. "His office is the third door on the right. Don't touch anything." He let her go by into the hallway.
She walked through the expensively decorated lobby. Here home had once looked a little like this. Except the surveillance cameras. By her count, there were at least seven in the lobby before she reached the third door. Also her home had lacked the four armed guards dressed as household servants, but still unmistakably guards all the same. The councilman clearly had some trust issues, for good reason that was certain. As instructed, she knocked on the third door. It opened on her second knock.
The graying man who opened the door greeted her, "Cordelia Chase. It is a pleasure to hear from you again." The stress he put on the word 'hear' told Cordelia that the room was bugged - audio, not visual, and not by his choice. Clearly, the commandos were keeping a close eye on the councilman.
He sat down behind his desk, and she turned on her second sight. The councilman was not Blighted, but nor was he a Tarot. He was one of the few remaining neutral people left in power in Sunnydale. Through her parents she had known him rather well, before the tax evasion problem that made them leave town and she enter poverty. She'd been a babysitter many times for his daughter. He was a smart guy, and it was a given that he had already checked that she was whom she claimed. Like Willow, she did actually retain her real identity on her Sunnydale ID, which meant she had nothing to hide.
"Welcome to my house. Pull up a chair. What can I do for you?" His tone was friendly, but his face told a different story. He folded his hands and set them on the desktop in the space not cluttered by mugs, pens, Sunnydale memorabilia, and paperweights.
"I'm looking for work," she said, sitting in the chair across from his desk. She actually meant and what he actually heard was more like - (I need something from you)
"Work? I'm afraid I won't me much help." (I can't help you.)
"Why not?" (What are you afraid of?)
"Not my department." (I'm powerless here.)
"Councilman, I don't need a job like that." Cordelia took a piece of paper and began to write on it. "I wanted to know if you still needed a babysitter for Jamie." She named his daughter and handed him the paper.
I want the key to the Bronze.
The Bronze had been closed weeks ago as a 'safety' precaution. The owner had mysteriously disappeared, but she knew that he and the councilman had a good relationship or else the Bronze would have been shut down long ago. It's pretty hard to hide all the constant vampire attacks and stuff like that if the owner wasn't receiving help. The Hannibals had left the Bronze alone, so if anyone knew how to 'legally' enter the Bronze, it was the councilman.
"Hmmm, do you mind if I smoke?" Councilman Gillespie reached past a round, grey "Sunnydale's Finest" paperweight to set her paper in the ashtray and lit it and his cigar. The paper burned up quickly. "I know you are a good person." (I know which side you are on.) "But I'll have to discuss it with a higher authority, Jamie." (The commandos won't approve.)
"I'll be the soul of caution with Jamie." (We won't get caught.)
"I have your assurance of that?" (Can you guarantee that?)
"If you gave me a job, I would be so thankful." (We'd owe you one.) "You can call me whenever. My hours are very flexible." (We'd be at your beck and call whenever you need that favor.)
"Jamie did like you as a sitter." (Sounds good.) He reached out and shook her hand. "I think you've got yourself a deal. I'll call you when I need you. (Keep in touch.)
"Thank you sir." (You can count on it.) She got up to leave.
"One more thing, Miss Chase." His voice stopped her. "Jamie is the most precious person to me in the world. Don't let anything happen to her."
Those words weren't in code. He meant it. Cordelia understood; he was naming the favor right now - to be collected later. He knew his days were numbered. While there was nothing he could do for himself, he wanted to protect his daughter.
"I promise she'll be safe with me."
With that Cordelia headed out of the last besieged neutral castle in Sunnydale, sure that she would never see him again.
"Did you get the key?" Xander asked when Oz and Cordelia got back to the mansion. Oz had let more of the group into the conspiracy after Cordy got back in the car.
"Of course," Cordelia held up the key the Councilman had palmed her during their handshake. "A signed and sealed all-invite to the Bronze."
"We'll have to act fast," Willow said. She was really looking forward to this. She needed the closure.
"That key will let everyone in. Now we can set up." Cordelia said.
"Unnoticed," Oz added, taking the key from her, since it was his plan.
"You two have your orders?" Xander addressed Pike and David Nabbit.
"It's a go," David hefted his device.
"I have only one question," Pike said. "How did you plan on pulling this off without Spike knowing?"
"We're distracting him," Xander rolled his eyes.
"How?"
"Our other agent is already at work on that," Cordelia giggled. "Wesley brought my cheerleading uniform here by mistake. We sent Buffy to wake up Spike - wearing that."
"And only that?" Pike asked.
"Actually less," she laughed, "We did a few alterations by scissors, and, also, Wesley forgot to pack the briefs to go under the skirt."
She was blonde, very blonde with a giant smile pasted on her face. The smile was one part vapid innocence and one part not-so-innocent smirk.
Then again, he wasn't looking very much at her smile. He was looking at her choice of outfit. Or lack thereof, considering it was a Sunnydale cheerleading uniform. 'SHS' was proudly emblazoned across her chest. The top was a tight yellow sweater that had been cut off raggedly to stop three inches above her bellybutton, allowing a nice view of her toned abs. The maroon skirt extended barely past mid thigh and had those cute little pleats that harkened back to a Catholic school skirt. She'd pulled here hair back into equally cute little pigtails with matching school-colored ribbons.
If it had been up to him, she'd already be on his bed with a lot less on and a lot more to smile about.
He'd have left the pigtails though.
She, however, had different ideas. Waving a pom-pom at him brought his attention back to her face. "Hello there? Yoo hoo - hello?" She stomped her foot impatiently. "Good, I got your attention. I'm Candy. Candy Apple." She said it with such peppiness. "I'm sweet, and cute, and maybe a little tart in the middle."
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, continuing like she hadn't noticed his reaction. "As you can see, I am sixteen and this is my second year as a member of a totally cool squad. Not only is the squad totally cool, today is going to be totally awesome because our team is playing the biggest game of the season." The peppy voice was still going strong.
She looked him over, "I don't know who you are though. Are you my hot jock boyfriend that needs some pre-game warm-up, or are you one of those disaffected bad boys that hang around after school smoking?"
"Are you for real, Pet?" Spike asked, getting the gist of here game. "How much time do we have?"
"Hours. The coach wants us to come early before the main event." 'Candy' walked forward and set her pom-pom on his crotch. She leaned forward and licked her lips. "So what kind of boy are you - a good boy or a bad boy."
"Bad," Spike tried to kiss her.
She ducked back, "Oh, one of those. Yeah, we all know about them. They are too cool for such sports, which are the absolute pinnacle of life. Of course, we know you really hang out after school to watch the cheerleaders you can't have."
"Is that so?"
"Yep." She walked away, wiggling her hips in a way that would have tempted a priest. "Of course, we all secretly want the bad boys." She laughed, "But you, Mister . . . can I call you 'Randy'?"
"That would be me," 'Randy' readily agreed.
"Good, cause Randy, I need some help stretching." She lay down on her back. "Oh wait, I'm hot and I don't want to get my sweater dirty. Get over here."
He complied, and she raised her arms over her head from her prone position. He rolled up her sweater above her ribs and stopped. She wasn't wearing a bra so he was hovering over her bare tits. "Hey, finish helping me get this off." She bent her head, completely unembarrassed at her nakedness, "Don't get bashful on me. If I wore a bra, I would sweat more and ruin my sweater before the game. You scared of girls or something?"
"You don't scare me." He took the sweater off the rest of the way.
"Take off your leather jacket and stay awhile. I need lots of help stretching. You may be at this a while." When he did, she smiled, opened her legs wide, and instructed in her perky voice, "Okay, now you need to put your hands on my knees and help push them down."
"You want me to come over here and . . ." he was at a loss for words since she wasn't wearing the briefs either. To her credit, she did have a very thin school-colored thong on, but it served absolutely no function, excluding making him even more aroused.
"Isn't that what I said? I need to you put all your weight into this. The harder you push, the better it is for me. I want to see serious effort in this."
'Randy' knelt over her and gripped both her knees, pushing downward. 'Candy' groaned and moaned as her legs reached about a 180-degree angle. "Good job, Randy," she said, shifting her hips a little. "Now I need you to grip higher on my right thigh." He moved his hand halfway up her thigh. "No, not there. Higher. . . no, higher . . . higher . . . oh a little more."
Her breath was coming out in pants now, her breasts shaking with the effort, "Now, turn you fingers a little. Yes, like that." She was shrieking and twisting against him as he rolled her clit back and forth, just as she had requested. Random sounds and words were pouring out of her mouth with each movement of his fingers. "Yes, Randy!!" she finally screamed when she came.
When her breathing slowed, she sat up, drawing away from him, and closing her legs. "Oh, you were a very bad boy, Randy." She paused, "But you did do something for me. I have to return the favor. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"
'Randy' stepped back and sat on the bed, looking at her flushed skin. There was one part of him that needed some serious attention. He unzipped his jeans. "Come here."
She crawled across the floor, her mostly bare ass still wiggling. "Oh, are you going to make me do something bad?" She slipped between his knees and ran her hand over his erection. "Because if I'm bad, you'll have to spank me." 'Randy' curled his hands in each pigtail and directed her head inward, "Whatever you say, Candy." He felt, rather then saw her smile.
And so the game continued.
Forrest sat down in the surveillance room chair. He put his feet up on the monitors and waited. She should have been there any minute.
He wasn't disappointed. Faith came in the room, dressed in civilian clothes. It was more than civilian clothes; she was in a little blue sundress that looked rather conservative. At first glance that was.
A closer look revealed a few other things. First off, the straps were some ingenious string that comprised both the arm straps and the closures on her bare back. If one strap came untied, so did the dress. The material was rather thin; it was see-through when she walked by a bright light. The skirt was short, the top was low, and imagination could fill in the rest.
His imagination was already way too active. "Are you ready?"
Faith shrugged and nodded, "Yeah. I guess."
"You know you don't have to do this," he offered.
She shook her head, "I'm doing it tonight."
"If you don't want to, you can put it off."
"It won't matter, today or tomorrow. It was coming anyway. Might as well be now," Faith said matter-of-factly.
He didn't want to think about what she was about to do. "You can promise he won't be coming to our shift tonight?"
Faith smiled, "Don't doubt me, baby. That would be wrong." Her eyes unfocused, and Forrest felt her mentally push against the blocks in her mind.
He had to stop that now. He grabbed her wrist and used his power to refocus here. "Only for a few hours. Are you sure you can do it?"
Faith snapped out of it and ran her eyes over him, "You bet your camo I can." He released her, and a naughty grin crossed her face. She swung a leg over him and straddled his lap. Her skirt slid pretty far up her leg. "I am even wearing his favorite style." She played with the hem of her dress, giving him an eyeful. "White silk bikini cut."
Forrest stayed rigid, hoping parts of his anatomy would not become so. "Anything else you need?"
"Yeah, could you rev the A/C in his room? I wanna be perky when I get there." She paused and asked suggestively, "Or you could give me a 'hand' in other ways to make me perkier."
"Of course," Forrest leaned forward, forcing her to lie back against the console. He got as close as he could to her and reached past her to fiddle with the air conditioning controls in Riley's room. "Happy?"
Disgust on her face, she climbed off him, "Close enough. Expect the call in fifteen minutes."
"Twenty," he predicted.
"Oh, ye of little Faith. It'll be fifteen," she flounced off.
She was going to Riley, just as Xander had asked her to do. Forrest and Riley were scheduled for the midnight shift in the surveillance room. It was Faith's job to distract him and thus prevent him from coming . . . to his shift.
Everything was going according to the original plan. Riley was very interested in Faith. She was playing her part extremely convincingly, though he knew she didn't particularly care for Riley. It was simply part of the job she had to do for the team.
If only he could keep his own mind on that. Forrest found his charge to be a very attractive handful. Yes, he was aware of the fact that she had made some bad choices, even if she didn't remember them. Then again, so had he, including being a member of the Initiative. He couldn't be mad at Faith for doing her job.
It still didn't make him happy seventeen minutes later when Riley called to ask if Forrest could do the shift alone.
Forrest said he could and scanned the room with the web to make sure there were no invisible people present. He calmly turned off the surveillance cameras in the Bronze and inserted a looped video of the Bronze empty from the angle of every surveillance camera.
When a very drained Spike finally dragged himself out of his room, he noticed immediately that something was very different. The hall seemed empty. Next, something about the web seemed muted. Everyone was still connected, but the distance had changed. Furthermore, Buffy had apparently decided not to keep a wall between them and was broadcasting happiness and contentment from their bedroom so loudly that it muddled his 'hearing.'
The first person to greet him was Xander. "Hey, you two crazy kids. I will be your guide tonight."
"And where are we going?" Spike asked.
"Out," Buffy emerged from the room dressed in a short skirt and halter top. She had made no effort to cover any of the many marks on her skin. "Did I do a good job?"
Xander looked resigned, "Your neck is telling me you did great."
"You were right to count on me," Buffy mock saluted and clicked her high-heeled shoes.
"You two haven't told me where we are going," Spike complained.
"Spikey, try to be surprised for once and follow me," Xander beckoned them down the stairs to the main foyer.
Spike briefly considered reading Xander's mind for the answer, but Buffy took his arm and her sense told him everything he really needed to know. They were going someplace that would be fun, and he needed to play along. Since they had spent the last hours 'playing' together, he was more than ready to follow her anywhere.
Xander opened the door to go outside. As they stepped through, Xander started, "Welcome to - "
The scene changed.
"- The Bronze." He thundered over the applause of the combined clapping of the entire Tarot.
Spike stared. Everyone was there. The Bronze was packed with its lights on, music playing, and drinks being served. The dance floor was wall-to-wall, and everyone had come there for the party. He was actually surprised and pleased.
The music abruptly cut off, and Cordy walked up to the mike. "Hello everyone! Tonight is Tarot Night at the Bronze. Now that our latecomers are here, we're going to start the show. But first, some thank you's are in order. Let's start with the gentleman that will remain nameless who donated the key, and therefore granted an invitation for every vampire in the Tarot." There was some polite applause. "Next, thank you to Jheira and company for serving the refreshments tonight. Good to see you didn't blow up the bar." There were a few wolf-whistles as Jheira and her demons all waved.
"And lets all give a hand to Buffy, our Vampire-Layer, for making the ultimate sacrifice in God knows how many positions to keep our webmaster busy while we set this up."
The cheers were deafening, and Buffy was redder than a tomato, but Spike more than willingly kissed her in front of the crowd.
"We also give thanks to those of us busy helping out in other places who we wish were here tonight. Thanks to everyone involved with all the technology and magic that is letting us have this party undetected."
"So without further ado, for one night only, let me present tonight's band - Dingoes Ate My Baby with guest vocalist Rupert Giles." Pandemonium broke loose.
Oz walked up to the microphone, and the crowd quieted. "Devon was my friend, and this is how he would have wanted to be remembered. Tonight is for him."
That was it. The drummer tapped out the beat and the band started playing Guns'N'Roses "Paradise City."
The crowd started to dance. It was happy dancing, or as best that they could do for a group of people who knew there would be mourning in their future.
Spike turned toward Buffy, "I feel used."
"Really?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Really." He gave her a hard kiss on the mouth. "Feel free to use me anytime.
"I plan to," Buffy answered. She looked out on the dance floor, "So are we gonna go to it?"
He sighed, "Not me. You wore me out. I need to conserve my energy for the next time I get you alone." He saw Pike coming toward them. "But you go - play."
She hesitated, and he pushed her toward the floor. "Go. Play." She left with Pike.
Kate Lockley was staring at the band. "Wow. I had no idea." She stared some more. "I knew my boyfriend could sing, but I didn't realize he was this good."
"Oh, he's very good," her companion, once Joyce Summers agreed. She blinked when she realized what she had said and to whom.
"What did you say?" Kate turned to face Joyce.
"Nothing," Joyce answered quickly. "I think I need a drink."
Cordelia bumped into a couple making out by one of the back tables. They separated, and she was surprised to see it was Angel . . . and Willow. She pasted a happy smile on her face and forced her annoyance to go away. She thought they weren't together. At least they hadn't had sex, that much she could read from Willow. "How are you doing?"
"Great," Willow held Angel close with a chuckle, radiating happiness.
Angel's brown eyes met Cordelia's green eyes carefully. She couldn't feel him on the web, and she didn't know what to make of the look he was giving her. Happy? Sad? Resigned? Hungry? He shook himself and dropped a kiss on Willow's forehead, "We're good."
"I'm glad," Cordelia stumbled away from them. Why did she feel unhappy? She was fine with Angel and Willow being together. It didn't matter. Angel wasn't hers, and they didn't have that kind of relationship. Friends. Somewhere in here, she'd become a good and loyal friend to everyone.
Angel - friend. Oz - friend. Xander - friend. Wesley - friend. Spike - sort of friend.
Friendship sucked.
She joined Xander at the bar where he was taking shots with Joyce.
The party raged on for three more hours more, with all the members of the Tarot participating. The wet T-shirt contest was won by an extremely tipsy Tara, who promptly collapsed on Wesley. The Dream Demon Date Auction highest bid was for the half-demon male nurse purchased for six free drinks by one of Jheira’s bartenders. Her bid beat out Emily's offer of four pints of blood to purchase her husband Bob, narrowly outbidding Doyle's ex-wife Harry's bid of three gourmet meals.
The surprise event of the evening certainly was the dance contest, which was won by, of all people, Cordelia and the Fyeral demon. It was a close win, just surpassing the Buffy and Pike dance team. The Slayer strength and skill could not overcome the demon's ability to toss Cordelia into the rafters combined with her cheerleading abilities. The loss was even stranger because the both crowd and Cordelia, maintained that Buffy would have won the contest if she had been partnered with Spike. The vampire in question had gone back to his room to sleep an hour earlier. Angel, whose strength could have matched the Fyerals, as usual, refused to dance, so Buffy and Pike had remained an ultimately losing team.
The dancing could have continued well into the night, but the Hannibals' shift change was approaching. The party ended right before the cleanup crew arrived, and everyone teleported out to the mansion and their respective homes.
Adam congratulated the green demon for a job well done. The time was coming to challenge the might of the humans.
"Today was the first step. Tomorrow is another day. A day that will be ours." Adam told his court. "We will win this time. Finally, we have the blood of human to show for our first strike into the daylight. Soon there will be more. Soon we will have many more."
Anya petted Jeremy silently hoping she could convince Adam to keep things low key for a while since the Hannibals were undoubtedly on full alert. He had agreed to wait because a defeat this early would ruin their momentum. She worried how much longer he would continue to listen to her before they started slaughtering humans in earnest.
*Xander, what should I do?* she asked, knowing, as always, that he could not answer.
She reached for her stake, but she was too late. He had her by the neck and took a vicious bite. Her body stiffened, and she said something he never understood - a prayer, a curse, he still didn't know.
"Sorry love, I don't speak Chinese." Spike dropped her body.
There was fire in his veins; he could feel it. So could Dru, who slunk her way toward him. She opened her mouth to taste the heat of the Slayer's blood.
"You know, Slayer's blood is a powerful aphrodisiac," Spike purred. Drusilla's eyes glowed, reflecting the unholy light of the chaos around them. China was burning, so was this temple, but they did not have any fear.
He was going to have Drusilla at last. He was going to prove to Angelus just what kind of monster he was.
"Give us a taste of the Slayer, Spike," Dru rasped into his ear.
Spike reached down for the Slayer and pulled her up by the neck. He came to face to face with the blue hazel eyes and blonde hair of his Slayer. She was looking at him, unseeing.
Dead.
"NO!" Spike howled, pushing Dru away. He fell to the ground, clasping Buffy to him. "No, this cannot be. This cannot be." He stared at Dru, "I killed you. You are dead."
"Am I? You think you can run Spike of mine? You think you can escape what the wind has told me about you. About her?" Dru extended a hand, "Come with us. It's the best choice. It's your only choice."
"Leave me alone!" Spike held the body close . . .
"Buffy, can we cut this crap and you can tell me what is going on?" Pike asked.
Almost as if she were surprised by his question, Buffy shook herself, "What are you talking about? Nothing is wrong."
"'Fess up already," Pike sat down next to her on Jeremy's vacant bed. "The Boss's girl leaves his bed and comes to my room in the dead of night to talk to me for an hour every night for the past week and a half? He must not know or else my head would have been on a platter by now. I've been trying to be patient, but what is really on your mind?"
She looked past his shoulder at the wall and asked absently, "Pike, do you ever regret anything you've done? If you had the chance, is there something that you would go back and change?"
"Sure, lots of stuff. Doesn't everybody?"
"No, I mean honest to goodness real true regret. I'm not talking the 'I wish I had worn platforms instead of stilettos' regret. I mean the total one hundred percent 'I wish this hadn't happened because I hate how it changed my life' kind of regret," Buffy was vehement.
"Oh, you mean like finding out vampires were real?" Pike tried to insert a moment of levity. His efforts were not appreciated. "Actually, nothing. Not really . . .though . . ." he half-paused, "Never mind."
"Come on, spill," Buffy's curiosity was piqued. They had been apart for over four years, and she wanted to understand the changes in the boy she once knew to the man she rediscovered.
"Miss Slayerness, I believe you are trying to deflect from yourself. I'm trying to talk about you here," he chided her, avoiding her eyes.
"We'll talk about me later," Buffy made him look at her. "What would you change?"
Pike exhaled heavily, "Two things." He raised one finger, "Number one: Benny."
"Benny?" Buffy thought back to that time. "I met him a couple times, didn't I?"
"Yeah, maybe twice. Once at the movies and then at that restaurant," Pike confirmed.
"I think I threatened him." Buffy remembered, "Seeing what happened later, I'm kinda sorry about that."
"Why?" Pike smiled sadly, "Benny and I treated you like a couple of punks, and we were drunk. We deserved what we got from you. But that wasn't what I'd change."
"Not the public drunkenness?"
"No, I'd take back that last hour with Benny the human before he became Benny the vamp." Pike rubbed his chin. "First, I wouldn't be drinking, and this time when Amilyn showed up to take Benny, I'd be there. BOOM - stake in hand - I'd dust that bastard." He opened his hands, "Voila, no Benny the vamp."
'Then what?"
"Well, Benny and I would have gone and joined forces with you. Unfortunately for you, you still would have been expelled, but that dance would have been way more fun. After we burned down the gym, we'd have all moved to Vegas, made it big with our band, and died old, rich, and happy on our own island."
"I'm included in this plan?"
"Of course, we'd let you be our groupie," The expression on her face made him reconsider, "Okay, you'd have been one of the dancers."
"A dancer?" Buffy was miffed, "I slay vampires, and the only job I can get in your band is a dancer?"
"Fine, you could be the drummer, but no higher. I'd be on lead guitar and vocals, and Benny would be jamming on bass. Fair enough?"
"I guess," she folded her arms.
"If you want to get knocked back down to groupie in this imaginary band, be my guest."
Buffy laughed, "Drums sound good, but then again, groupie might be fair since you are my groupie."
"What makes me the groupie? You aren't part of a band. You aren't even an act," Pike playfully complained.
"I'm the Slayer. I get groupies. I'm sure it's in the handbook, somewhere."
"What makes me a groupie?" he challenged.
"You've been following my career as a Slayer for years," she told him.
"Not really. I can say that I missed a lot of what was going on in your life. The Hellmouth, your vampire dating," Pike pointed out.
"Okay, not the best example. How about you leaving your home and job to strike out on the road to follow me? Sounds like groupie behavior to me, especially since you are facing mondo pain and death for me, though less drugs than being a band's groupie." Buffy added.
Pike thought on that one, "You win. I'm your groupie. I prostrate myself before you."
"Pike is my groupie. Pike is my groupie," Buffy chanted in a singsong voice. Then she stopped, "So what is the other one?"
"The other what?"
"You know, the other thing you'd change," Buffy stifled her laughter since they were approaching more serious territory again.
"It's not important," Pike turned away.
"Hey, you are sharing, Mister. Do I have to use my 'don't screw with me' voice?" Buffy grabbed his shoulder.
He withdrew from her, "The day you left me in Vegas, I'd have told you I loved you."
It was like ice into her veins. "What . . . why - why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you would have stayed." That statement carried such a sense of finality.
She put a hand on her head as she tried to absorb that, "But if you loved me, didn't you want me to stay?"
"I wanted you to stay. I really did. Only I wanted you to stay with me because you loved me back, not because I trapped you. Did you love me?"
Her silence was answer enough.
He went on, "I remember the day. You were packed to go back to California, and you stood by the door looking at me, waiting for me to try and stop you."
"You didn't even get up from your chair," Buffy could see the scene in her mind. "You didn't even move. I said, 'bye.', and you said, 'later.' I was leaving forever and all I got was a 'later.' So I left."
"If I had told you then that I loved you, would you have stayed?" There was just a hint of pleading in his tone.
"Yes," the truth was undeniable, and she didn't even feel that it was a betrayal of Spike. She had been a different person then, and Pike had been the only thing that made sense in her life at that tumultuous time. It was Pike squaring off against her struggle with her newfound status as the Slayer and the dark word it had opened up to her. The call of duty warred against her desire to be plain old Buffy Summers. In a few short months, she had lost her friends, school, Watcher, and sense of sanity. Pike was the only steadying force back then, the only thing that kept her going.
"And you'd have been miserable. You were fifteen, and I was three years older than you were. I knew who I was, but you had no clue who you really were then," Pike didn't let her interrupt, "Buffy, you're the Chosen guy. Period. You were Chosen to fight evil vampires, not to be the girlfriend of a wannabe rock star. You had places to go, vamps to slay, and a world to save. You. Not me."
"But I could have made it work. We could have talked it out, found a way - at least done something. Love is worth fighting for."
"Buff, we were heading in different directions. When we left Hemery on my motorcycle, we weren't riding into the sunset. We were running away from the problem. Except you couldn't run, it followed you and pulled you back into the fight. Me, I wanted to forget I'd ever heard of a vampire. I wanted to hang up my stakes and pretend to live a normal life. The world might have needed saving, but I wasn't the one to do it. The fight was yours, not mine."
"You let me go because you didn't think I could handle dating someone who wasn't actively on the noble and foretold quest of fighting evil?" That made her mad, allowing her to reopen the sting of that old hurt.
"No, I was letting you go because I couldn't live with knowing you were risking your life every day and that one day you might not come back. Feeling that way told me I was dead-weight, and you would never cut me loose on your own." He almost smiled, "It's your way, Buffy. Even when you know something is doomed, you'll fight for it to the bitter end unless someone stops you. My fears would have become a handicap on you, and that would have gotten you killed. I couldn't live with that."
He was right on those counts. She would have stayed with Pike till the end. She'd stayed with Angel beyond what was logical and almost sacrificed her life for him on more than one occasion. She had held onto that relationship long after they should have thrown in the towel, and it was all because of love. "Are you trying to tell me that love isn't enough?" Her thoughts turned to the trials and tribulations of what she and Spike had been through.
"That's not what I meant. Love is the most powerful force on earth. My love had the power to save you or destroy you. It could have been beautiful or deadly." Pike said, strength growing behind his words, "And it made me stronger than you, the only time I've ever been stronger than you. It made me strong enough to let us go, the one thing you couldn't do." On his last sentence, he looked directly into her eyes.
That pierced her heart. She had caused him unfathomable pain and had become one of the two things he regretted most. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
"Don't be," Pike took her hand. "Falling in love with you was the best thing that ever happened to me, it gave me a purpose, and now, I don't regret it at all. I wouldn't trade a moment I spent with you, and I wouldn't want you to trade a moment you've had since."
Her response was a hug that lasted a long time. She finally stood up and went back to her room.
Only then did he realize that he never asked her why she was worried about regrets.
When the door began to open, Spike closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Buffy climbed back in bed with him.
Ang'lus and Delia didn't appear to be speaking to each other. They stood on either side of the tree, watching over the playground.
Anne had bigger fish to fry though, "Where is Liam? I wanted to see him."
"You can't," Delia informed her and looked off into the grey distance. "He's too far way."
"But I want him here," Anne complained.
"It's better he's not," Ang'lus told her. "He trouble."
"No, you trouble," Delia argued. "Liam can see it coming." She paused, "But he's not doing anything."
"Why not?" Anne asked, trying to see that far off object Delia appeared to be fixed on.
Delia hung her head, "Because he can't see the outside. I can, but he can't. . ."
"So why aren't you doing anything?" Anne cocked her head at Delia.
It took Delia a long time to answer. "Because I'm too scared."
That night a man came into the hospital. He was the first. He was pale and cold. His eyes seemed glassy. He was shaking, he was racked by coughing spells, and his body temperature was falling.
The doctor got the man's history. The man had begun feeling poorly in the late afternoon, and the shivering had driven him in the wee hours of the morning to the hospital.
That was all they learned from him. He suddenly tumbled over and died.
Just like that. Councilman Gillespie was dead.
The first.