Disclaimers, et al, in Part 1 --
*******************
IN HARM'S WAY
by Yahtzee
Yahtzee63@aol.com
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Part 3
Giles looked down at the glass mug in his hand, at the butter-yellow drink there. How many cups of eggnog had he had? He wasn't sure; he'd begun around ten in the morning, when Xander dropped by chilled and cranky from his annual night out on the lawn. The second cup had come soon after, when Willow had called for the third time. The rest all ran together.
Stupid habit of his -- worse than stupid. Drinking in times of crisis never made the crisis any better, and if something were to happen -- if Buffy were to call, lost or upset or worried, and if she needed him, what could he do now?
Then again, that was the whole problem. No matter what else was happening, Giles knew, now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Buffy needed him. And he could do nothing -- nothing except have another drink.
Two days ago, he'd begun doing something he'd hoped never to have to do; after soothing Willow and Xander's worries, he had set out on his own to look for Buffy. Not at the Espresso Pump or the Bronze -- he'd started looking in ditches. In graveyards. In alleyways. Any place a Slayer might fight a vampire and lose.
Xander's protestations to the contrary, Giles knew full well that it would not take any supremely powerful demon to kill Buffy. For all her experience, all her skill, Buffy could fall to just one lucky strike from any cornered beast. It could happen to any Slayer. It happened to all of them, eventually.
But oh, how hard he had tried to believe it wouldn't be that way for Buffy -- yes, every other Slayer since the dawn of time had faced this same calling, this same destiny, but not Buffy, not his own --
Giles grimaced and drained the last eggnog from the mug, then determinedly put it aside. He had to pull himself together. Willow and Xander would no doubt be over soon, and they would want him to come up with a plan. They would need him to be strong for them. He had to find a way to be strong.
The phone rang, shrill in the silence of his apartment. Giles leapt to his feet and grabbed the receiver. "Hello? Yes?"
"Rupert," said a sweet, silky voice. "you never mentioned that the holidays made you so tense."
"Olivia," he said, steeling himself against the crush of disappointment. "It's you."
"Do try to contain your enthusiasm," Olivia said, not unkindly. In the background, he could hear "Away in a Manger" playing softly.
Giles glanced over at the clock, then shook his head in embarrassment. "Good Lord, Olivia, it's midnight in London. What a lout I am for not calling you earlier."
"It's all right," she said. "Between nieces and nephews and perhaps 400 Pokemon toys, I've had quite the full day. This is honestly the first moment I've had to myself. Besides, it sounds to me as though you've got something else on your mind."
"Yes. Yes, I have." Giles hesitated. For some reason, though he'd never particularly liked or even really thought about the song before, "Away in a Manger" seemed exceptionally beautiful at this moment.
"This is about -- magic. Or demons. The things that go bump in the night. Isn't it?" Olivia said.
"Indirectly," Giles said. "More to the point, it's about Buffy. She's missing, Olivia. I'm frightened for her."
Just the simple act of admitting that, out loud, to an adult who could bear to hear it, broke something inside him; Giles dropped his head into his hand.
"She's strong," Olivia said. "You told me that, and I could tell as much, just from seeing her. I don't claim to understand what all of you are up against, Rupert, but I do know this; after I saw -- what I saw -- in Sunnydale, I thought I shouldn't ever be able to sleep soundly again. Then you told me about Buffy. About what she has done, what she can do. And knowing about her, and about you -- that's what makes me able to sleep at night."
Giles wiped his eyes and shook his head. "You are an exceptional woman."
"As though there were any doubt on that score," Olivia said, with a faintly flirtatious tone. But then she was all seriousness again. "I only wish I could help."
"You have helped," Giles said. "More than you know."
"I won't keep you," she replied. "But let me know what's happening."
"As soon as there is anything to tell," Giles promised.
Buffy swam in and out of consciousness, of past and present.
Sometimes she was very aware of the vampires around her. Sometimes she didn't register anything except the weird, fuzzy sensory input from her wounded legs and chained wrists. But sometimes, when she was lucky, she could float away to other, better times -- but always the same place. This place.
She could look down and see herself in the red and gold of the Sunnydale cheerleading squad, then look up to see Willow and Xander coming through the doors. She jumped up in the air, shaking pompoms at them excitedly, not caring who could hear her shouts of welcome --
She could glance over and see Billy sitting next to her, nervous and frightened, more scared of reality than he was even of the nightmarish fantasies that were taking over the world. And she could feel her own confidence, her own absolute surety, that whatever it was, she could deal with it --
She could hear the roar of the crowd as Percy made another basket; they were ten ahead now, thirty seconds to go, playoffs in the bag. Cordelia should have been jumping and chanting along with the other cheerleaders, but instead she was waving at Xander. He was waving back with a really stupid smile on his face; Buffy turned to look at Willow, and they each rolled their eyes. Oz sat next them, trying to act like he cared about basketball. They were all trying really hard to care, to have a good time, instead of freaking out about what Angel might do next --
She could see Angel, who had to have sneaked in just like she did. It was late at night, early morning, really -- he was cutting it too close to dawn. She was too; her mom would be up soon. But she'd killed Ford at midnight, and after that, her mind was cluttered and her body restless. So she had been working out, tumbling on mats left over by the gymnastics team, trying to push herself past endurance, past memory. She was quivering with exhaustion on the mat, and Angel was coming to her, and instead of pulling her to her feet, he knelt beside her. And instead of talking, like they both knew they needed to, he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and pulling him down on the mat --
God, that was as close as they ever came to making love before That Night --
And with that the dreams shattered. Reality turned back into memory. Angel and all the rest of it were phantoms. The only real things in the world were these steel bars, and the cackling vampires, and Harmony, who stood by the cage.
"We gotta eat. That means you gotta eat," Harmony said. She dropped two apples and half a loaf of French bread into the cage. "Sure, you're not dining as well as we are, but I think you'd better take what you can get."
Buffy looked at the apples; she knew she'd eaten before, but almost in a daze -- they must have actually fed her, something almost too grotesque to wrap her mind around. For a moment, she considered refusing to eat but dismissed the idea in an instant. She had to keep as much strength as she could. Giles and Willow and Angel and Xander would all be coming to rescue her.
She took one of the apples in her hand. The chains around her wrists wouldn't let her bring the apple all the way to her mouth, so she had to lean forward to take a bite. They were laughing at her again, but Buffy didn't care.
Her friends -- all those faces from her memories -- they were coming soon.
All she had to do was hold on.
"So, we are officially at Defcon 4," Xander said.
"If that means we have a serious problem, yes," Giles said. "Buffy may have been depressed last week, but she was certainly not in the frame of mind that would have led her to abandon everyone she knew without even contacting us on Christmas."
Spike tried very hard to contain his impatience. God, still more yammering about Buffy. He wished she'd show up or drop dead or something already; this was getting bloody dull, and the others were too timid to take on serious demon-fighting without her. Spike had managed some nice slaying on his own, thank you very much, but nobody seemed to be noticing, much less appreciating it. Being in the Scooby Gang -- he shuddered just at the thought of it -- seemed to involve a lot more sitting around and worrying than he'd thought, and a whole lot less kicking ass.
Then again, the unending angst-a-thon did give him plenty of opportunities to console Willow. Sad, lovely, frightened Willow, sitting next to him right now, so very vulnerable --
He patted her shoulder, all consideration. Willow, clad in a sky-blue sweater about three sizes too large for her, gave him an appreciative glance as she wiped her damp cheeks with one long sleeve. "There's still, technically speaking, about two hours of Christmas Day left --"
"Drop it, Red," Spike said, in what he hoped was a polite tone of voice. "She's been missing for a week. You have yourselves a situation."
"She's not dead, though," Anya said. "We know that much, right?"
Giles hesitated before answering. "I only very rarely speak with members of the Watchers' Council anymore. But I have to believe that one of them would have contacted me -- to demand answers, if nothing else -- if another Slayer had been called."
"So Buffy's alive," Willow said hopefully.
"I'm afraid we cannot say that for certain," Giles said. Spike tried very hard not to smile. "Buffy's death may or may not activate another Slayer. It's possible that it would; then again, we must consider the possibility that Kendra was Buffy's one and only replacement. Never in all history have we dealt with this situation -- with having a Slayer die and return to life. It's impossible to know what the effects will be. For the purposes of our investigation, we are going to operate under the presumption that she is alive. But you must know that we have no guarantees."
There was a lengthy silence; when the melodramatic pause had gone on too long for Spike's taste, he realized he could only stop the horror with something none of the others seemed bright enough to come up with on their own -- a constructive suggestion. "Well, then, if we're looking for a live girl and not a dead one, we have to ask ourselves what would make a Slayer in her right mind -- insofar as Buffy possesses one -- take off to miss all the holiday fun. I'm thinking hypnotic control, myself."
"Yeah -- yeah!" Willow said, seizing on the idea. "Or -- there are demons that can control minds, right, Giles? I know there are some dark magic spells about it."
"So, yet again, crisis and terror lead to more research," Xander said. He, too, was visibly cheered by Spike's suggestion.
"That's one of the first topics we'll examine," Giles said. "We need to see if any of the more notorious mind-altering entities have made recent appearances in town. Anya, perhaps you could make a holiday visit to Willy the Snitch."
"Works for me," Anya said. "He's the only guy in town who doesn't card."
Spike watched Giles decide to ignore that. "I've done a bit of searching on my own, and I don't think Buffy has simply been injured. I found no evidence of her, and if she were not immobilized, she would certainly have found her way to help and safety by now."
"You went looking for Buffy alone?" Willow said. "Giles, you should have told us."
"Yes, well, there was no point in worrying you further," Giles said. "There is also the possibility that she has been captured. Perhaps held hostage."
Now, that brought up memories -- of better times, better plans. Back when he could dream of finer things than helping these morons chase down and kill demons he liked so much better than any of them.
Spike, old man, he told himself, don't think about it. You'll only drive yourself mad.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Anya said. "I mean, you hold somebody hostage for ransom. Or to get somebody else in return. So wouldn't whoever or whatever need to get in touch with us? To ask for whatever it wants?"
"They simply may not have done so yet," Giles said.
"That, or you're not the ones they'd call," Spike said. "Hate to point out the obvious here, but Angel's probably got a lot more to deliver, on the supernatural front, than any of you. And I can't think of any better way to motivate him than stealing his lady fair."
"Well, if somebody had called Angel, he would've called us," Willow said.
"Again -- they may be biding their time," Giles said. "Finally, we must consider the idea that her memory has been tampered with in some way. Could be as simple as a blow to the head. Xander, I thought that perhaps you and I might make a tour of the area hospitals this evening."
"Works for me," Xander said, grabbing up his coat.
"And that leaves me and Red here with the books, does it?" Spike said.
"Yes," Giles said absently, as he wound his muffler around his neck. "Look up anything and everything connected to mind control."
"Not a problem," Spike muttered, looking over at the redhead beside him and smiling ever so slightly.
Giles and Xander headed out into the cold, with Anya following close behind. "I wonder if Willy has any mead in stock," she said as she closed the door behind them.
And that left him alone with Willow, in a darkened apartment illuminated chiefly by Christmas tree lights. Spike got up from the sofa, stretched nonchalantly and slipped off his leather duster. "You look a bit tired, Willow," he said. "Think perhaps you'd like a bit of the eggnog?"
"I'm not much for eggnog," Willow said. "But --" she looked up at him a bit guiltily, "I think the occasion could possibly call for, uh, something bracing."
"A nice medicinal brandy should do the trick," Spike said, pouring a bit more lavishly than Giles would have done. "Here you go."
Willow had already tugged out a couple of books; she exchanged one of them for the glass. Spike absentmindedly began flipping through it. He was at least mildly interested in finding what might have snatched Buffy away; after thanking it for the welcome break from the simpering Slayer's company, he was going to get to kill it and wanted to know exactly what cutting, slashing, or crushing tools would be right for the occasion. But he was far more interested in discovering just how much comforting Willow might need.
"How are you holding up there, Red?" he said, all diffidence.
She smiled at him again, that wonderfully luminous, ingenuous smile that sometimes warmed him despite himself. "I'm all right," she said. "Thanks for asking."
"Must've been a rotter of a Christmas for you," Spike said. "All worried and anxious and all."
Willow shrugged. "I did try to do some stuff between my 80 obsessive phone calls over here," she said. "I reread 'Pride and Prejudice' -- the whole thing. I watched TV. I even talked to my parents some, which was totally weird, but, whatever. Looked at my postcard."
"Postcard?"
"From Tara," Willow said. "She's a new friend of mine. She's off somewhere over the holiday break -- she didn't tell me where. You'd think the postcard would say, but no -- here, have a look."
From her bag, Willow fished out a glossy postcard bearing the image of robins on a snow-covered pine branch. Spike took it and flipped it over -- sure enough, no postmark. Just spidery, delicate handwriting in indigo ink:
"Willow -- Last time I was here it was summer. I went out into the meadow at night, and it was full of fireflies; I thought it was like a field of stars, and I thought it would never be that beautiful again. But I went again last night. There was snow on the ground, and in the moonlight it looked like stars all over again. I wish you could have seen it. Maybe I can find a way to show you. I miss you. -- Tara"
Spike raised his eyebrows. This was a love letter, pure and simple -- was it possible Willow didn't know? She couldn't be that innocent, could she? He watched her face as he handed it back to her; she smiled slightly -- not at him, but at unseen memory -- as she took it back. No, he realized, she doesn't know yet, but she's starting to figure it out.
Well, that was a surprise. For the hundreth time, Spike cursed himself for being such a moron as not to turn Willow when he'd had the chance. God, what a time they'd have had.
As it was, it looked like that train had left the station.
"I believe I'm going to have a brandy myself," Spike said, rising from the sofa.
"You do that," Willow said, opening up her book without so much as a sideways glance.
The day after Christmas was even more disturbing than Christmas. Giles went to the police and officially filed a missing-persons report; though this was unlikely to do any good, there seemed no point in not doing anything they could. Later, after some significant failures to get his courage together, Giles did finally attempt to call Mrs. Summers in Africa. He was ashamed of his own relief when he failed to get through.
Willow did a bit of inspired hacking and discovered that nobody had been charging with Buffy's credit cards, nor had anyone using Buffy's name bought an airline ticket in the last 60 days. After some serious conscience-searching, Willow had even opened up Buffy's journal; unfortunately, Buffy was not the most dedicated diarist in the world and had made no entries since her brief trip to L.A.
Xander, however, was quite sure that he had the worst of the bargain. Not only did he get to make the oh-so-cheery morgue search, but, after darkness fell, he got the unexpected pleasure of taking Spike and Anya to the mall.
"Three in red, and three in black," Spike said to the clerk.
"You don't think you might want to branch out?" Xander said irritably. "I mean, after dressing the same way for a hundred years, you don't want any variety?"
Spike cast a withering look at Xander's Powerpuff Girls sweatshirt. "I know what works for me. Taking fashion advice from you does not work for me. And I can't go looking for your friend in the same t-shirt and jeans I've had to wear all bloody week. Three in red, three in black," he repeated, and the clerk hurried off.
"I can't believe you can even think about your wardrobe at a time like this," Xander said. "And I really can't believe my girlfriend can think about your wardrobe at a time like this."
Anya hugged him from behind. "Oh, Xander. Be reasonable. I mean, you've been really creative about places for us to have sex, and it's all really exciting, but my back is killing me after last night. Who designed the back seat of a Citroen, anyway? Some sexless terrorist, if you ask me."
The clerk returned with the shirts; Anya disentangled herself from Xander to proudly present her Visa. Xander shook his head. "Spike, you are a dirty opportunist."
"Guilty as charged," Spike said. "And would you mind telling Red that? She's about to kill me with all this morally-ambiguous talk."
As they headed out into the crowded mall corridors, Anya pointed at a sign one level above them. "Oooh, Suncoast. Let's run in there."
"What, Spike gets movies now?" Xander snapped as they got on the escalator.
"Spike, you can have any movie you want, as long as you agree to watch it over at Giles' house. Lots of times. What do you say?" Anya asked.
"You're on, ducks," Spike said, cramming his shopping bag into the deep pockets of his duster.
As they moved upstairs, traveling beneath the enormous fiberglass candy canes that served as mall decor, Anya leaned forward to whisper into Xander's ear. "I hear they carry the unrated version of 'Kama Sutra.'"
"Well, that's a little more like it," Xander said.
Unlike most of the stores in the mall, Suncoast was almost empty. Xander glanced up at the big mirrors high on the wall as the three of them entered; only he and Anya were reflected there, which kind of creeped him out. "Guess nobody returns the gift of film," Xander said.
"Now, would 'Kama Sutra' be drama or action?" Anya asked.
As Xander and Anya started searching the shelves, Spike headed back to the "box sets" section. He heard some other customers come in, but paid that no mind; he was determined to get the most out of the Hormonal Twins' sexual desperation. "Kubrick -- Kubrick --" he muttered, "ah, there."
He lifted up the set; "Lolita" wasn't half as much fun as you'd think, what with the promise of pedophilia and all, but "A Clockwork Orange," "The Shining" -- good times for all.
The place was packed now. Xander glanced over at Anya. "Dating you should have made me immune to embarrassment, but apparently not," he said. "Why is it the place fills up just when I'm ready to buy a dirty movie?"
"Let's just check out," Anya said with a gleam in her eye.
Xander went up to the register; there was only one man ahead of him. Xander glanced at that guy's movies, hoping for some "Playboy Collection" tapes that would reduce his own embarrassment. No such luck; this guy was buying all three "Home Alone" movies and "Raiders of the Lost Ark." He sighed. "Hey, hurry up back there," Xander called. "Time to go."
Spike had been getting ready to get in line anyway, but decided to wait a few minutes to annoy Xander. Besides, that gave him a chance to check out the Hitchcock set -- nothing like "Psycho" for laughs --
As he reached for it, his hand bumped into another's -- a feminine hand that had been reaching for the "Titanic: Special Edition" set on the other side. Spike slowly looked over to see Harmony standing next to him. "Oh, Merry bloody Christmas," Spike snarled.
To his surprise, Harmony neither cried nor pouted. Instead, a self-satisfied smile spread across her face. "It has been, actually," she said. "And I have you to thank."
Xander glanced over his shoulder in irritation; his eyes widened as he recognized the figure standing next to Spike. "Isn't that--?"
Anya elbowed him hard in the ribs. When he looked back at her, she pointed up at the mirror.
Xander looked up and saw that, out of the two dozen people now jammed into the store -- he and Anya were still the only two casting reflections.
"Uh-oh," he said.
CONTINUED IN PART FOUR
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IN HARM'S WAY
by Yahtzee
Yahtzee63@aol.com
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Part 3
Giles looked down at the glass mug in his hand, at the butter-yellow drink there. How many cups of eggnog had he had? He wasn't sure; he'd begun around ten in the morning, when Xander dropped by chilled and cranky from his annual night out on the lawn. The second cup had come soon after, when Willow had called for the third time. The rest all ran together.
Stupid habit of his -- worse than stupid. Drinking in times of crisis never made the crisis any better, and if something were to happen -- if Buffy were to call, lost or upset or worried, and if she needed him, what could he do now?
Then again, that was the whole problem. No matter what else was happening, Giles knew, now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Buffy needed him. And he could do nothing -- nothing except have another drink.
Two days ago, he'd begun doing something he'd hoped never to have to do; after soothing Willow and Xander's worries, he had set out on his own to look for Buffy. Not at the Espresso Pump or the Bronze -- he'd started looking in ditches. In graveyards. In alleyways. Any place a Slayer might fight a vampire and lose.
Xander's protestations to the contrary, Giles knew full well that it would not take any supremely powerful demon to kill Buffy. For all her experience, all her skill, Buffy could fall to just one lucky strike from any cornered beast. It could happen to any Slayer. It happened to all of them, eventually.
But oh, how hard he had tried to believe it wouldn't be that way for Buffy -- yes, every other Slayer since the dawn of time had faced this same calling, this same destiny, but not Buffy, not his own --
Giles grimaced and drained the last eggnog from the mug, then determinedly put it aside. He had to pull himself together. Willow and Xander would no doubt be over soon, and they would want him to come up with a plan. They would need him to be strong for them. He had to find a way to be strong.
The phone rang, shrill in the silence of his apartment. Giles leapt to his feet and grabbed the receiver. "Hello? Yes?"
"Rupert," said a sweet, silky voice. "you never mentioned that the holidays made you so tense."
"Olivia," he said, steeling himself against the crush of disappointment. "It's you."
"Do try to contain your enthusiasm," Olivia said, not unkindly. In the background, he could hear "Away in a Manger" playing softly.
Giles glanced over at the clock, then shook his head in embarrassment. "Good Lord, Olivia, it's midnight in London. What a lout I am for not calling you earlier."
"It's all right," she said. "Between nieces and nephews and perhaps 400 Pokemon toys, I've had quite the full day. This is honestly the first moment I've had to myself. Besides, it sounds to me as though you've got something else on your mind."
"Yes. Yes, I have." Giles hesitated. For some reason, though he'd never particularly liked or even really thought about the song before, "Away in a Manger" seemed exceptionally beautiful at this moment.
"This is about -- magic. Or demons. The things that go bump in the night. Isn't it?" Olivia said.
"Indirectly," Giles said. "More to the point, it's about Buffy. She's missing, Olivia. I'm frightened for her."
Just the simple act of admitting that, out loud, to an adult who could bear to hear it, broke something inside him; Giles dropped his head into his hand.
"She's strong," Olivia said. "You told me that, and I could tell as much, just from seeing her. I don't claim to understand what all of you are up against, Rupert, but I do know this; after I saw -- what I saw -- in Sunnydale, I thought I shouldn't ever be able to sleep soundly again. Then you told me about Buffy. About what she has done, what she can do. And knowing about her, and about you -- that's what makes me able to sleep at night."
Giles wiped his eyes and shook his head. "You are an exceptional woman."
"As though there were any doubt on that score," Olivia said, with a faintly flirtatious tone. But then she was all seriousness again. "I only wish I could help."
"You have helped," Giles said. "More than you know."
"I won't keep you," she replied. "But let me know what's happening."
"As soon as there is anything to tell," Giles promised.
Buffy swam in and out of consciousness, of past and present.
Sometimes she was very aware of the vampires around her. Sometimes she didn't register anything except the weird, fuzzy sensory input from her wounded legs and chained wrists. But sometimes, when she was lucky, she could float away to other, better times -- but always the same place. This place.
She could look down and see herself in the red and gold of the Sunnydale cheerleading squad, then look up to see Willow and Xander coming through the doors. She jumped up in the air, shaking pompoms at them excitedly, not caring who could hear her shouts of welcome --
She could glance over and see Billy sitting next to her, nervous and frightened, more scared of reality than he was even of the nightmarish fantasies that were taking over the world. And she could feel her own confidence, her own absolute surety, that whatever it was, she could deal with it --
She could hear the roar of the crowd as Percy made another basket; they were ten ahead now, thirty seconds to go, playoffs in the bag. Cordelia should have been jumping and chanting along with the other cheerleaders, but instead she was waving at Xander. He was waving back with a really stupid smile on his face; Buffy turned to look at Willow, and they each rolled their eyes. Oz sat next them, trying to act like he cared about basketball. They were all trying really hard to care, to have a good time, instead of freaking out about what Angel might do next --
She could see Angel, who had to have sneaked in just like she did. It was late at night, early morning, really -- he was cutting it too close to dawn. She was too; her mom would be up soon. But she'd killed Ford at midnight, and after that, her mind was cluttered and her body restless. So she had been working out, tumbling on mats left over by the gymnastics team, trying to push herself past endurance, past memory. She was quivering with exhaustion on the mat, and Angel was coming to her, and instead of pulling her to her feet, he knelt beside her. And instead of talking, like they both knew they needed to, he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and pulling him down on the mat --
God, that was as close as they ever came to making love before That Night --
And with that the dreams shattered. Reality turned back into memory. Angel and all the rest of it were phantoms. The only real things in the world were these steel bars, and the cackling vampires, and Harmony, who stood by the cage.
"We gotta eat. That means you gotta eat," Harmony said. She dropped two apples and half a loaf of French bread into the cage. "Sure, you're not dining as well as we are, but I think you'd better take what you can get."
Buffy looked at the apples; she knew she'd eaten before, but almost in a daze -- they must have actually fed her, something almost too grotesque to wrap her mind around. For a moment, she considered refusing to eat but dismissed the idea in an instant. She had to keep as much strength as she could. Giles and Willow and Angel and Xander would all be coming to rescue her.
She took one of the apples in her hand. The chains around her wrists wouldn't let her bring the apple all the way to her mouth, so she had to lean forward to take a bite. They were laughing at her again, but Buffy didn't care.
Her friends -- all those faces from her memories -- they were coming soon.
All she had to do was hold on.
"So, we are officially at Defcon 4," Xander said.
"If that means we have a serious problem, yes," Giles said. "Buffy may have been depressed last week, but she was certainly not in the frame of mind that would have led her to abandon everyone she knew without even contacting us on Christmas."
Spike tried very hard to contain his impatience. God, still more yammering about Buffy. He wished she'd show up or drop dead or something already; this was getting bloody dull, and the others were too timid to take on serious demon-fighting without her. Spike had managed some nice slaying on his own, thank you very much, but nobody seemed to be noticing, much less appreciating it. Being in the Scooby Gang -- he shuddered just at the thought of it -- seemed to involve a lot more sitting around and worrying than he'd thought, and a whole lot less kicking ass.
Then again, the unending angst-a-thon did give him plenty of opportunities to console Willow. Sad, lovely, frightened Willow, sitting next to him right now, so very vulnerable --
He patted her shoulder, all consideration. Willow, clad in a sky-blue sweater about three sizes too large for her, gave him an appreciative glance as she wiped her damp cheeks with one long sleeve. "There's still, technically speaking, about two hours of Christmas Day left --"
"Drop it, Red," Spike said, in what he hoped was a polite tone of voice. "She's been missing for a week. You have yourselves a situation."
"She's not dead, though," Anya said. "We know that much, right?"
Giles hesitated before answering. "I only very rarely speak with members of the Watchers' Council anymore. But I have to believe that one of them would have contacted me -- to demand answers, if nothing else -- if another Slayer had been called."
"So Buffy's alive," Willow said hopefully.
"I'm afraid we cannot say that for certain," Giles said. Spike tried very hard not to smile. "Buffy's death may or may not activate another Slayer. It's possible that it would; then again, we must consider the possibility that Kendra was Buffy's one and only replacement. Never in all history have we dealt with this situation -- with having a Slayer die and return to life. It's impossible to know what the effects will be. For the purposes of our investigation, we are going to operate under the presumption that she is alive. But you must know that we have no guarantees."
There was a lengthy silence; when the melodramatic pause had gone on too long for Spike's taste, he realized he could only stop the horror with something none of the others seemed bright enough to come up with on their own -- a constructive suggestion. "Well, then, if we're looking for a live girl and not a dead one, we have to ask ourselves what would make a Slayer in her right mind -- insofar as Buffy possesses one -- take off to miss all the holiday fun. I'm thinking hypnotic control, myself."
"Yeah -- yeah!" Willow said, seizing on the idea. "Or -- there are demons that can control minds, right, Giles? I know there are some dark magic spells about it."
"So, yet again, crisis and terror lead to more research," Xander said. He, too, was visibly cheered by Spike's suggestion.
"That's one of the first topics we'll examine," Giles said. "We need to see if any of the more notorious mind-altering entities have made recent appearances in town. Anya, perhaps you could make a holiday visit to Willy the Snitch."
"Works for me," Anya said. "He's the only guy in town who doesn't card."
Spike watched Giles decide to ignore that. "I've done a bit of searching on my own, and I don't think Buffy has simply been injured. I found no evidence of her, and if she were not immobilized, she would certainly have found her way to help and safety by now."
"You went looking for Buffy alone?" Willow said. "Giles, you should have told us."
"Yes, well, there was no point in worrying you further," Giles said. "There is also the possibility that she has been captured. Perhaps held hostage."
Now, that brought up memories -- of better times, better plans. Back when he could dream of finer things than helping these morons chase down and kill demons he liked so much better than any of them.
Spike, old man, he told himself, don't think about it. You'll only drive yourself mad.
"But that doesn't make any sense," Anya said. "I mean, you hold somebody hostage for ransom. Or to get somebody else in return. So wouldn't whoever or whatever need to get in touch with us? To ask for whatever it wants?"
"They simply may not have done so yet," Giles said.
"That, or you're not the ones they'd call," Spike said. "Hate to point out the obvious here, but Angel's probably got a lot more to deliver, on the supernatural front, than any of you. And I can't think of any better way to motivate him than stealing his lady fair."
"Well, if somebody had called Angel, he would've called us," Willow said.
"Again -- they may be biding their time," Giles said. "Finally, we must consider the idea that her memory has been tampered with in some way. Could be as simple as a blow to the head. Xander, I thought that perhaps you and I might make a tour of the area hospitals this evening."
"Works for me," Xander said, grabbing up his coat.
"And that leaves me and Red here with the books, does it?" Spike said.
"Yes," Giles said absently, as he wound his muffler around his neck. "Look up anything and everything connected to mind control."
"Not a problem," Spike muttered, looking over at the redhead beside him and smiling ever so slightly.
Giles and Xander headed out into the cold, with Anya following close behind. "I wonder if Willy has any mead in stock," she said as she closed the door behind them.
And that left him alone with Willow, in a darkened apartment illuminated chiefly by Christmas tree lights. Spike got up from the sofa, stretched nonchalantly and slipped off his leather duster. "You look a bit tired, Willow," he said. "Think perhaps you'd like a bit of the eggnog?"
"I'm not much for eggnog," Willow said. "But --" she looked up at him a bit guiltily, "I think the occasion could possibly call for, uh, something bracing."
"A nice medicinal brandy should do the trick," Spike said, pouring a bit more lavishly than Giles would have done. "Here you go."
Willow had already tugged out a couple of books; she exchanged one of them for the glass. Spike absentmindedly began flipping through it. He was at least mildly interested in finding what might have snatched Buffy away; after thanking it for the welcome break from the simpering Slayer's company, he was going to get to kill it and wanted to know exactly what cutting, slashing, or crushing tools would be right for the occasion. But he was far more interested in discovering just how much comforting Willow might need.
"How are you holding up there, Red?" he said, all diffidence.
She smiled at him again, that wonderfully luminous, ingenuous smile that sometimes warmed him despite himself. "I'm all right," she said. "Thanks for asking."
"Must've been a rotter of a Christmas for you," Spike said. "All worried and anxious and all."
Willow shrugged. "I did try to do some stuff between my 80 obsessive phone calls over here," she said. "I reread 'Pride and Prejudice' -- the whole thing. I watched TV. I even talked to my parents some, which was totally weird, but, whatever. Looked at my postcard."
"Postcard?"
"From Tara," Willow said. "She's a new friend of mine. She's off somewhere over the holiday break -- she didn't tell me where. You'd think the postcard would say, but no -- here, have a look."
From her bag, Willow fished out a glossy postcard bearing the image of robins on a snow-covered pine branch. Spike took it and flipped it over -- sure enough, no postmark. Just spidery, delicate handwriting in indigo ink:
"Willow -- Last time I was here it was summer. I went out into the meadow at night, and it was full of fireflies; I thought it was like a field of stars, and I thought it would never be that beautiful again. But I went again last night. There was snow on the ground, and in the moonlight it looked like stars all over again. I wish you could have seen it. Maybe I can find a way to show you. I miss you. -- Tara"
Spike raised his eyebrows. This was a love letter, pure and simple -- was it possible Willow didn't know? She couldn't be that innocent, could she? He watched her face as he handed it back to her; she smiled slightly -- not at him, but at unseen memory -- as she took it back. No, he realized, she doesn't know yet, but she's starting to figure it out.
Well, that was a surprise. For the hundreth time, Spike cursed himself for being such a moron as not to turn Willow when he'd had the chance. God, what a time they'd have had.
As it was, it looked like that train had left the station.
"I believe I'm going to have a brandy myself," Spike said, rising from the sofa.
"You do that," Willow said, opening up her book without so much as a sideways glance.
The day after Christmas was even more disturbing than Christmas. Giles went to the police and officially filed a missing-persons report; though this was unlikely to do any good, there seemed no point in not doing anything they could. Later, after some significant failures to get his courage together, Giles did finally attempt to call Mrs. Summers in Africa. He was ashamed of his own relief when he failed to get through.
Willow did a bit of inspired hacking and discovered that nobody had been charging with Buffy's credit cards, nor had anyone using Buffy's name bought an airline ticket in the last 60 days. After some serious conscience-searching, Willow had even opened up Buffy's journal; unfortunately, Buffy was not the most dedicated diarist in the world and had made no entries since her brief trip to L.A.
Xander, however, was quite sure that he had the worst of the bargain. Not only did he get to make the oh-so-cheery morgue search, but, after darkness fell, he got the unexpected pleasure of taking Spike and Anya to the mall.
"Three in red, and three in black," Spike said to the clerk.
"You don't think you might want to branch out?" Xander said irritably. "I mean, after dressing the same way for a hundred years, you don't want any variety?"
Spike cast a withering look at Xander's Powerpuff Girls sweatshirt. "I know what works for me. Taking fashion advice from you does not work for me. And I can't go looking for your friend in the same t-shirt and jeans I've had to wear all bloody week. Three in red, three in black," he repeated, and the clerk hurried off.
"I can't believe you can even think about your wardrobe at a time like this," Xander said. "And I really can't believe my girlfriend can think about your wardrobe at a time like this."
Anya hugged him from behind. "Oh, Xander. Be reasonable. I mean, you've been really creative about places for us to have sex, and it's all really exciting, but my back is killing me after last night. Who designed the back seat of a Citroen, anyway? Some sexless terrorist, if you ask me."
The clerk returned with the shirts; Anya disentangled herself from Xander to proudly present her Visa. Xander shook his head. "Spike, you are a dirty opportunist."
"Guilty as charged," Spike said. "And would you mind telling Red that? She's about to kill me with all this morally-ambiguous talk."
As they headed out into the crowded mall corridors, Anya pointed at a sign one level above them. "Oooh, Suncoast. Let's run in there."
"What, Spike gets movies now?" Xander snapped as they got on the escalator.
"Spike, you can have any movie you want, as long as you agree to watch it over at Giles' house. Lots of times. What do you say?" Anya asked.
"You're on, ducks," Spike said, cramming his shopping bag into the deep pockets of his duster.
As they moved upstairs, traveling beneath the enormous fiberglass candy canes that served as mall decor, Anya leaned forward to whisper into Xander's ear. "I hear they carry the unrated version of 'Kama Sutra.'"
"Well, that's a little more like it," Xander said.
Unlike most of the stores in the mall, Suncoast was almost empty. Xander glanced up at the big mirrors high on the wall as the three of them entered; only he and Anya were reflected there, which kind of creeped him out. "Guess nobody returns the gift of film," Xander said.
"Now, would 'Kama Sutra' be drama or action?" Anya asked.
As Xander and Anya started searching the shelves, Spike headed back to the "box sets" section. He heard some other customers come in, but paid that no mind; he was determined to get the most out of the Hormonal Twins' sexual desperation. "Kubrick -- Kubrick --" he muttered, "ah, there."
He lifted up the set; "Lolita" wasn't half as much fun as you'd think, what with the promise of pedophilia and all, but "A Clockwork Orange," "The Shining" -- good times for all.
The place was packed now. Xander glanced over at Anya. "Dating you should have made me immune to embarrassment, but apparently not," he said. "Why is it the place fills up just when I'm ready to buy a dirty movie?"
"Let's just check out," Anya said with a gleam in her eye.
Xander went up to the register; there was only one man ahead of him. Xander glanced at that guy's movies, hoping for some "Playboy Collection" tapes that would reduce his own embarrassment. No such luck; this guy was buying all three "Home Alone" movies and "Raiders of the Lost Ark." He sighed. "Hey, hurry up back there," Xander called. "Time to go."
Spike had been getting ready to get in line anyway, but decided to wait a few minutes to annoy Xander. Besides, that gave him a chance to check out the Hitchcock set -- nothing like "Psycho" for laughs --
As he reached for it, his hand bumped into another's -- a feminine hand that had been reaching for the "Titanic: Special Edition" set on the other side. Spike slowly looked over to see Harmony standing next to him. "Oh, Merry bloody Christmas," Spike snarled.
To his surprise, Harmony neither cried nor pouted. Instead, a self-satisfied smile spread across her face. "It has been, actually," she said. "And I have you to thank."
Xander glanced over his shoulder in irritation; his eyes widened as he recognized the figure standing next to Spike. "Isn't that--?"
Anya elbowed him hard in the ribs. When he looked back at her, she pointed up at the mirror.
Xander looked up and saw that, out of the two dozen people now jammed into the store -- he and Anya were still the only two casting reflections.
"Uh-oh," he said.
CONTINUED IN PART FOUR