FIC: Slayer wars (1/?)
May '03, Devon
Scorched rubble lay strewn throughout the once mighty building's grounds, even some of its centuries-old trees had been uprooted by the massive explosion. Even the Nazis had obeyed standing orders not to bomb the Council's Keep. But not the First, for it the rules of man didn't apply. "I see you've come to pay your respects."
Giles' hackles rose at the arrogant voice behind him. Reminding himself he needed the man's support however much he disdained his attitude towards Slayers and loathed the apparent damage he'd done Wesley, Giles turned and nodded at the squat figure behind him. "I felt it appropriate."
The man sniffed dismissively. "And yet you intend to rip down much of what those who died so gallantly held dear."
Died so gallantly? As he recalled the keep's occupants had been doing precisely nothing to aid them in their battle with the First. He chose to let that one pass. "It's time we modernised, Roger," he soothed. "It's a new millennium. A new age."
"And where do you intend to get these modernisers from?" Wesley's father demanded.
"I have," Giles smiled secretively. "A few ideas."
June '03, Indonesia
"Oh that's just great!" Harriet Doyle glared up impotently at the jet-black helicopter that had just flown into view, the sound from its whirling rotors scaring the herd of peacefully grazing Swamp Imps away.
Her anger turned to consternation when the copter landed in the plain she'd been observing. "Who are they?" she muttered. It had taken her months and lots of bribes to get permission to visit this remote and restricted area of Indonesia, and the airspace was even more controlled.
The man who climbed out was greying, bespectacled, and in his late forties. Yet for all of that, there was an intriguing air of danger about him. Harriet waited, frozen with anticipation, as the man strode to her hiding place. When the man arrived at the bottom of the ridge, he looked up and smiled. "Ms. Doyle, my name is Rupert Giles. I represent the Slayer & Watcher Council of England. We're in a re-building phase." The obvious Englishman coughed. "I'd like to offer you a position."
June '03, Yorkshire
Bernard Crowley opened his front door, eyes lightening at the powerfully-built, shaven-headed man stood there. "Son!" He broke out into a beaming smile. "It's been how long?"
"Too long," the young man he'd raised as his own smiled back at him.
"I'd invite you in, but," Crowley peered at the starry sky, "it's dark."
"In that case," the black man stepped inside, "I'll invite myself."
"Good to see you boy," he stared at the younger man before leading his guest into his lounge furnished with antique furniture and walls adorned with medieval weaponry. Once he'd sat in his favourite armchair, body curving to its comfortable slouch, he looked at his son. "I heard you'd begun courting a Slayer?"
He was careful to ensure his voice was free of reproach or disapproval, but his son nevertheless grimaced. "It didn't work out," the younger man replied, "Faith's an amazing girl, but we're just too different. I was stupid to try to change her." The black half-smiled. "Nobody changes Faith unless she wants to."
Bernard's eyebrows raised. He'd known Robin was dating a Slayer but didn't know she was the rebellious free-spirit who'd almost brought the Council to its knees. He decided it was best to change the subject. "Not that I'm not glad to see you son, but you don't often visit. I assume there's a reason you're here?"
"Yes," Robin shifted in his seat, "we, that is the Council, want you to return."
Bernard chuckled. "Lad, I know you're short of Watchers, what with the mass Calling," that was a tactical mistake on par with The Maginot Line or the battle at Little Big Horn, "and the culling of Watchers, but I also know you sent me a birthday card in February so you know I'm seventy. And that's too old to be chasing after a super-powered lass." He didn't add that the death of Robin's mother had been a pain that he never wanted to experience again.
"No," Robin smiled. "Not as a Field Watcher. As part of The Ruling Body."
Bernard leaned forward. "Tell me more, lad."
June '03, Denver
Justine ignored the thrash metal band on stage intent on butchering Credence Clearwater Revival's 'Proud Mary' in favour of nursing the half-drunk glass of before her. All around her grungers and metal-heads partied in the half-lit bar, their cheerfully raised voices competing with the band to be heard.
The bar's door swung open and a man walked in. He was tall and bulky without being fat and to Justine's experienced eyes moved like a warrior. It was an impression reinforced by the black patch over one of his eyes.
Justine's own eyes narrowed as the man made his way through the crowded bar and directly towards her. Her hand slid into her leather jacket only to withdraw empty-handed when the man passed by and reflected in the bar's mirror. When the man stopped by her table, she shook her head. "I'm not looking for company."
The man's answering smile lightened his face. "It's lucky I'm used to rejection." The man ignored her warning to sit down opposite. "According to what I know, you're good at what you do. But drinking only impairs your reflexes."
"I told you," she stuck her face in the man's, "fuck off!"
The man seemed unaffected by her hostility. "I suppose you think you're scary. You're not." The man took the glass out of her hand and put it onto an empty table behind him. "You work alone, that's not smart. Yeah, Holtz conned and scarred you in ways that aren't visible. But what you did was wrong. Yeah, Deadboy's a vampire and a certified ass. But he's working for the forces of good and you went after him anyway."
"Who are you?" she gasped. "How do you know all this?"
"Do you know what a Slayer is?" After a second Justine nodded. Holtz had taught them about Watchers and Slayers. "Good. We'd like to offer you a place with the Council."
Justine laughed. "I'm too old to be a Slayer."
"But not a Watcher." Her eyes widened. "But no drinking," the man warned. "I won't have drunks looking after my girls."
"No drinking," she agreed.
June '03, LA
"Pike! Pike! Pike!"
Pike blinked his eyes clear as he pulled off his goggles and put his blowtorch down, stepping away from the almost finished car. "I heard you the first time, Gemmell," he said to the fat man stood behind him wearing oil-covered overalls.
"There's a blonde gal asking for you outside. Real classy-looking broad. You might wanna warn her this isn't the sort of area a pretty little thing like her wants to be walking around on her own."
"I'll bear that in mind," Pike dryly replied before starting to the garage's entrance. If you got past Gemmell's obvious chauvinism, he had a point. The district was rough, neighbourhood girls knew which areas to avoid but some rich girl slumming it could end up in serious trouble.
Which led to the question, what rich girl did he know?
Brow furrowed in puzzlement, he hurried outside. His jaw dropped as he recognised the tiny blonde stood outside. Almost a decade had passed since he'd last seen her, but he'd never forget her. "B….Buffy?"
"Hey Pike!" the blonde beamed. "I'd hug, but oil doesn't go with this dress."
"Yeah," he stared dazedly at the girl who'd changed his world in countless ways.
"Do you remember Slayers and Watchers?"
"I'm hardly likely to forget," he dryly replied.
"Great," Buffy grinned. "Want to be a Merrick?"
Jun '03, Alaska
"Brrr, this is cold." Oz was so shocked by his ex girl-friend stepping through a glowing portal in front of him, a coal-eyed beauty stalking in her wake, he almost blinked. "OZ!" Willow let a squeal he'd always secretly loved hearing. "It's great to see you!"
"And you," Oz allowed himself the rare luxury of a half-smile.
"I'm Kennedy," the tiny stranger added, " Willow's girl-friend."
Oz allowed himself a neutral nod at the young woman's possessive tone. Willow shot her girl-friend a warning look before beaming at him. "How's the grrring going?"
"Under control."
"Cool," Willow nodded before shooting him a coy look, "want a job?"
August '03, Houston
"Detective, I'd like to make a report."
Kate Lockley looked up to see an athletic-looking black stood by her desk. There was an assured look about him that suggested there was little he couldn't deal with on his own. "Please," she nodded at the empty chair at the opposite side of the desk, "sit down."
"Thank you," the African-American flashed her a smile before complying. "I'd like to report," she picked up a pen, "a police-woman not living up to her potential."
"Excuse me?" Kate placed the pen back down, eyes hardening.
All humour fled from the big man's face. "You're a woman of tenacity, courage, and principle. You know all about the supernatural and Slayers."
"So?" Kate interrupted.
"So," suddenly the big man was all smiles again, "have you ever considered becoming a Watcher?"
October '03, Jamaica
"The answer is no, Rupert."
The Englishman stared evenly at him. "I understand your reluctance, Mr. Zabuto. You have already given so much. But you are a man of honour and I'm sure you're aware of just how desperately the Council needs you."
Zabuto stared at the Englishman, hating him for being right. "Very well," he scowled. "I'll join, but I'm on The Ruling Body. I want a chance to make a real difference."
"A man of your experience?" Rupert nodded. "I took that as read."
January '04, Senegal
Sweat soaked Groo as he wearily raised his sword. His body ached not only from a series of skirmishes stretching across days but also a multitude of injuries. His enemies were considerably less than they had been but still more than enough to finish him off. His eyes warily searched his leafy surroundings even as he listened for any approaching sound. Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Groo spun to face whatever foe had managed the nigh-on impossible task of sneaking up on him.
His eyes widened at the pretty red-head stood there, a brown-eyed lovely beside her. "Hello Groosaluug, come with us if you want to live."
May '04, LA
Connor stared at his application form, unable to focus. His father, his birth dad, was just this moment probably dying. Tears began to mist his eyes.
Hearing a hubbub, he glanced towards the entrance to see every boy and a good few of the girls in the student café staring gog-eyed and tongue hanging out at a leather-clad goddess striding towards him. "College application? You just know you've got a higher callin'."
A mist cleared at the sultry temptress' first words. "F…Faith?"
The brunette that had been his second crush winked at him before sliding into the seat opposite him. "The one, the only."
"Faith, Angel-."
"I know," the brunette's face shadowed. "Don't worry about it, kid. We've got our heavy hitters on it."
May '04, LA.
"Gunn fades quickly," Illyria reported.
"Then it's lucky I'm here."
Angel gasped as he spun to face the sudden intruder. " Willow!"
"Glad you remembered me," Willow looked around the devastated alley, bricks splattered with blood. "Wesley, Spike?"
"Both dead," his heart broke at the thought of the former Watcher who had been his best friend.
"You have power," Angel was surprised to hear a note of respect, the first he'd ever heard, in Illyria's voice.
"Not doing so bad yourself," Willow looked towards him, "before you ask, Connor's fine. Now if you're not going, I am."
Angel looked over his shoulder, the approaching hordes' growls and snarls echoing in his ears, even if he couldn't see them. Finally he nodded. "Coming."
October '04, Manhattan
Gwen glanced down at the iced scotch sitting before her. The music humming through the well-lit bar's loudspeakers was played at an unobtrusive level, unfortunately allowing her all too much time for her thoughts. The device she'd stolen with Gunn had worked to a limited extent, as long as she was aware she was about to touch or be touched, she could control it. But if someone brushed up against her, she'd still electrocute them.
Sighing slightly, she looked around the bar. It was a fitting place for a woman of her considerable means, uniformed waiters and waitresses served drinks to a clientele mostly comprising mostly of businesspeople and their partners. The bar was scrupulously clean, not a smudge on its mirrored walls, a filthy table, or a spilt drink staining the cream carpet in sight.
Her eyes narrowed as she noted the man striding through the bar's revolving doors. He certainly didn't fit in. He was tall with a fighter's rugged build, an image bolstered by the determined set to his features, and the patch over one of his eyes. "Very interesting," she murmured.
The one-eyed man paced through the now hushed bar. She raised an eyebrow when the man stopped by her table, but didn't speak, wanting to force him into the first move. "Gwen Raiden, you're a hard lady to find."
She looked up and smirked. "Not for people I want to find me."
Gwen found herself liking the man's chuckle. "Ouch," the stranger grinned before sobering. "You helped Angel a while back."
Gwen's inner radar jingled. "What of it?"
"Relax," the man sat down opposite. "We want people like you, people who can look after themselves, but are willing to help others-."
"You're wrong." Pushing her chair back, Gwen stood and shook her head. "I'm strictly a self-interest gal. Angel's aims just happened to merge with mine for a while, that's all." Before the man could protest, she'd walked out.
October '04, LA
"Hey Anne."
"Gunn!" Anne beamed as she leapt up and hugged her friend. "I never thought I'd see you again, especially after our last conversation."
The former gang-leader smiled tightly. "You've no idea how close it was." The African-American pulled away from her embrace. "Took some major mojo to put me back together. Girl name of Willow Rosenberg, remember her?"
"No," Anne started. "Wait! Yeah, I do. Back In Sunnydale, her friend Buffy Summers…" Anne's voice trailed off at the less than edifying memory.
"We've all got our mistakes to atone for." Gunn looked down at the office's threadbare carpet. "I doubt yours compare to mine." The demon hunter looked up. "I've got a proposal."
Anne smiled impishly. "But we're not even dating."
Gunn chuckled. "I work for a new organisation, the Watcher's Council. We're dedicated to fighting vampires and demons. We need you."
It was Anne's turn to chuckle. "I'm not exactly a fighter."
"No, you're a listener, a counsellor with experience of vampires. Sometimes our people see and experience terrible things, they need someone to help them."
Anne slowly shook her head. "No, you can afford to get anyone you want. My kids only have me."
Gunn smiled and nodded. "I knew you'd say that."
Nov '04, Atlantic City.
"So I said, Liza, David might be a pig, but at least he doesn't -." Lorne's voice trailed off as he noticed the tall figure who'd entered the back of his club. His good mood evaporating, he smiled at his companions. "Back in a mo."
He walked over to his most unwelcome of guests. "I never expected to see you again. Wait," he corrected, "I never wanted to see you again."
His former friend grimaced. "I know I asked you to do some harsh things. We both know Lindsey couldn't be trusted."
"Lindsey?" Lorne threw his head back and laughed. The bitterness in the noise caused several patrons to briefly turn and look at him. Ignoring them, Lorne shook his head. "You're so precious; you think this is about Lindsey? You didn't need to be an empath to know that lawyer was a shyster that couldn't be trusted. No, I didn't want to see you again because I was tired of burying friends." Lorne stared at the souled vampire and sighed. "Wesley, poor Wes, never had a moment of contentment."
"We survived-."
"Well duh," Lorne interrupted. "You're here. And I'm not interested. I'm all apocalypsed out. Please leave."
"Lorne," Angel's shoulders slumped.
"For the sake of Cordelia, Fred, and Wes," Lorne forced the tears back. "For the sake of our friendship, please go."
Angel stared at him for a second. "I'll share with you a lesson I learnt the hard way. You can't be a part of something, have friends without running the risk of losing. Without that you can never love."
"I don't care. Leave."
Jan '05, New York
"You're closing us down?" Riley scowled at the general.
"Our record is second to none!" Graham exclaimed.
"At ease troops," the grizzled war-horse growled before continuing in a slightly softer tone. "Your records aren't in question. All three of you," their commanding officer looked from him to Sam and finally to Graham, "have given exemplary service. I don't recommend just anyone for decoration."
The general's words failed to soothe. "If that's the case, why are we being closed down sir?" he asked, voice tight with anger.
"Logistics son," the general explained. "A single Slayer," the officer glanced at Graham when he scowled before continuing, "can do what your ten man squad does. Now there's well over three hundred of them!"
"With respect sir," Sam put in, "that's a little unfair."
"The fact is that they out-strip us in a number of ways. Our best mage doesn't even approach that of Miss Rosenberg, foreign countries are more prone to co-operate with them, and their demonology knowledge dwarves ours. If we increased funding twenty-fold, we still wouldn't come close. Simply put, the Council has us out-gunned, out-resourced, out-magiced, and out-experienced."
An uncomfortable silence followed the general's words. "Okay," Graham was first to break the silence, "if we're to be closed down, what's next, sir?"
The general smiled dryly. "I'd have to say that rather depends on you." The 'Nam veteran pressed a stubby finger down on the remote control he used to open and close the doors of the secret chamber secreted beneath New York's busy subway.
Riley gasped when the wall behind the general slid soundlessly aside and a very familiar figure stepped through. "Riley, Graham, a pleasure to see you both again." Giles looked towards Sam and half-bowed. "Mrs. Finn, you're even more beautiful in person, Riley's an extremely lucky man." Finally the Council chief looked towards their operation's leader. "General Hawkins, if I may?"
"Go ahead, Mr. Giles."
"Thank you." Giles looked towards them again. "I'd like to offer the three of you jobs as Watchers."
Riley stared agape at the Englishman. Graham on the other hand exploded. "You are joking! Your Slayer got Forrest killed! Like hell-."
"At ease soldier!" the general's bark cowed Graham to silence. "Colonel and Major Finn?"
Riley exchanged a look with Sam before nodding. "The demon world's ours now, Giles. We're in."
Jan '05, England
"Daddy, don't hurt me."
Her mocking words echoed through the cold room, making the beautiful woman they were intended for stop and flinch. The girl's chocolate-brown eyes narrowed and zeroed in on her. "Keep your head out of my past and," the brunette strutted to stand in front of her, "I won't put my foot up your ass. Deal?"
Dana stared up at Faith, shocked by the realisation the curvy Bostonian wasn't scared of her like the other Slayers were. Dana sullenly nodded.
"Good." Dana was even more shocked when Faith sat down beside her. "How's the whole getting' better workin' for ya?" Dana shrugged. "Not violent anymore, that's good." Faith paused. "Trouble is plenty of people see ya as a mad dog, not to be trusted." Faith paused. "But people thought that about me 'til one guy trusted me to do the right thing."
"Angel," Dana muttered.
"Yeah," Faith nodded. "So I figure the best way I can re-pay him is by taking a chance on you. How about it?" Faith looked directly at her. "Wanna be a Slayer?"
After a second Dana nodded.