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Chapter 5 - Benched

The hope was to distract W&H with the computer failures while rescuing the Slayers from various locations. Willow and Andrew had been designing a virus aided by magic since the New Council got started – it only had to be plugged in on site.

--

Spike had already been to his apartment and back with a packed bag, when he walked into the disaster currently known as Buffy's room. I think this qualified as "rage packing" – her coldest weather clothes had been pulled out of the drawer to land in a heap on her bed, and now were currently being stuffed into a duffle without being folded. Definitely a pissed off Slayer.

"Sweetheart, it's a week at the most, maybe two. Compared to previous apocalypses, this'll be a cakewalk."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled. "You get to go someplace exotic and exciting. I'm going to be freezing my ass off."

He palmed said ass. "Hope not," he purred. "I'm rather fond of this little ass."

She slapped his hands away. "Stop it. I can't believe you're going along with Giles' plan. Andrew doesn't need three bodyguards!"

"That's only part of the mission. Wolfram and Hart is supposed to be holding Slayers there, too."

"'Supposed to', being the key phrase. I still don't trust this whole thing. Our forces are being scattered to the four winds. I can't shake the feeling there's something I should know." Buffy zipped the duffle closed and tossed her hair back.

Spike took her in his arms. "I'll see you soon, I promise, alright? Love you."

She leaned her head on his chest and tightened her arms around his waist. "I know."

--

Hours later, Buffy and her team were on a flight to Colorado. Giles' instructions had them landing one place, taking a smaller plane further in, then meeting their contact who was supposed to be waiting with a truck to take them into the mountains. Then, they'd hike.

Her second in command, Jessie, tapped on her shoulder. "I'm going to get drinks after visiting the restroom. You want anything?"

"Just a Diet Coke," Buffy replied. The younger Slayer nodded and left towards the front of the plane. Buffy thumbed through the file, then set it aside to flip through one of the airplane magazines.

She missed the Council jet. There was never enough room, to her, on commercial flights. Her limbs felt restless. She accepted the cup Jessie handed her with a smile, and glanced out the window as she sipped her soda, wondering how Spike was doing cooped up with Angel and Andrew.

--

Buffy didn't remember falling asleep…

She yawned and tried to stretch, before opening her eyes, but her legs and arms couldn't comply. Adrenaline surged as she opened her eyes and discovered her wrists and ankles were bound, and she was lying on her side…in a tent. A tent that was zipped shut and contained a glow light. Next to the light was a sheet of paper. She sat up and peered down at it.

Dear Buffy,

Please don't be alarmed. Your contact will be there shortly by the time you awaken. Don't be angry with your Slayers – they were following my orders.

I couldn't tell you at the Hyperion, but you are more important than you know. Your life and safety are essential to the continued existence of the Slayer line, like Faith. I knew that you would never volunteer to take yourself out of the fight, so deception was the only course within our time frame. I'm truly sorry there wasn't another way.

An old friend of mine, Jack, will be picking you up and taking you somewhere safe. Even I don't know the exact location. I'm told it is quite comfortable, so I hope you will look upon this…circumstance as a vacation.

Oh – your location is quite remote, so please don't try anything rash.

With apologies,

Giles

She was going to kill him the next time she saw him, oh, yes! How dare he!!

Buffy's hands had been tied together in front of her body, so she had the use of her fingers. She tugged on the zipper to open the tent and see where she was. It was almost dark. The tent was set up at the side of a road, which she hopped to the middle of. Damnit. Nothing but old road and pine trees and snow in either direction. The only sounds came from the forest, birds and little scurrying things.

Even if she could work her bindings loose, there was still no place to go. She had no idea which direction a town might be in, and she wasn't exactly a woodland expert.

With nothing else to do but wait, Buffy plopped her butt down in the tent, and waited.

"This sucks."

--

Buffy had managed to untie her feet and sing to 70 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, when she heard a truck coming. She stood, ready to run or fight, waited to see what it would do. It was dark, so she couldn't see past the two pairs of headlights to make out the driver.

The truck stopped a few feet away, and shut off. Buffy got into a defensive stance as the driver side door creaked open, and the occupant stepped out of the vehicle. The headlights were left on.

"Buffy Summers?" a male voice asked, deep and smooth.

"Who's asking?" she called back.

"Rupert Giles arranged for us to meet," he replied. She saw that his hands were up in a gesture of harmlessness as he came around the truck. "Most people call me Jack."

Buffy kept her distance as he moved into the light so she could see his face. "You're an Indian?!" Native American!, a little Willow voice whispered in her head.

"Indigenous person, but close enough. I hope you haven't gotten too cold. I got a little held up coming to get you."

"How do I know you are who you say you are?" she asked suspiciously.

He tossed something he'd been holding in one hand. "Here."

She jumped back as the object hit the ground, then slowly approached it, keeping her eyes on the man. Picking it up, she learned that it was one of those cardboard folding frame things to hold a picture or two. Inside, there was a picture of this man and Giles, back when Giles was at the British Museum. It looked genuine, from what she could tell in this light.

"If it helps, he wrote me once with a story of you recognizing him as a Fyarl demon?"

Well, I guess that cinches it. No one knows about that that wasn't there at the time. "Guess you are for real. I'd appreciate getting this rope off my wrists…"

"Of course." He made a show of slowly pulling a small pocket knife from his back pocket, and approaching her in a non-threatening manner.

Buffy had to give him credit for respecting her Slayerness. She could see his face now, for the most part. Handsome, older than her, maybe thirty or so. He cut through the rope and put the knife away.

"How do you know Giles?"

He laughed. "Your inquisitiveness was also noted. Please get in the truck, Miss Summers."

She frowned. "Fine. But no funny business."

--

They drove up the road maybe another twenty minutes, to stop at a lone cabin slightly hidden by trees from the road. It looked well-kept, with the snow cleared all the way to the porch, and the plants trimmed back. Buffy could see smoke rising from the chimney.

"What is this place?"

"My home, most of the time." Jack locked the vehicle. He was carrying a large bag.

"Hey! That's my duffel! What are you doing with my luggage?! If you hurt any of my girls…"

"Whoa, Miss Summers. I picked this up from your team. It's why I was a little late picking you up." He continued towards the cabin.

Buffy hurried to catch up. "But I don't know if you met with them, or intercepted them, do I?"

He sighed and stepped around her to take the three steps onto the porch. "Come inside, or not. It's your choice." He unlocked the door and left it open.

She paced for about five minutes in the cold darkness, before finally stomping inside and demanding, "I want to talk to Giles."

Jack was in the kitchen, and whatever he was heating up smelled good. "We're a bit remote, but you can try. You'll have to radio to town, then have to connect you to the outside. Or, you can trust your instincts and know I have no wish to harm you. Examine your bag for blood, if it will make you feel better." He said all this with his back to her, stirring a wooden spoon in a pot on the stove.

Buffy was spoiling for a fight, and his perpetual calm was infuriating. She stomped over to her duffel bag and started peering at the surface of it. Her logical side murmured that if Giles planned to have her stay here, he would provide for her clothing and stuff, but she was still pissed as hell that she was left out of the fight in the first place. Her luggage was clean, and Jack hadn't been armed except for that small pocket knife.

Which meant she really was stuck here indefinitely.

Buffy flopped down in an armchair and exhaled, loudly. "This sucks."