HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON
(Part 2)
Chapter 6 - Showdown
The staff complement of Wolfram & Hart were an extraordinarily stoic bunch; flying saucers landing on the White House lawns might raise the odd eyebrow or two, but then again would just as likely not. Over and above this, however, they were simply accustomed to their vampire CEO walking through the doors looking like he'd just fought his way through an entire pride of starving lions to get here. Therefore nobody raised an eyebrow at the dishabille of the group as they exited from the elevator leading up from the CEO's private underground parking garage and made their way to Angel's office; everybody had all their limbs, nobody was obviously bleeding out, so all was right in their boss's world.
Angel sank into his chair behind his desk gratefully. Sometimes he really appreciated being able to just let the big chair take the weight. In spite of his exertions, Angel was experiencing a pleasant buzz within his body, the after effect of kicking bad guy ass. He only wished the demarcation between the good guys and the bad was always so clear-cut. Raising his head, he was snared by Wesley's amused eyes as, ignoring Dawn's vocal jubilation, the English ex-Watcher looked at both Angel and Spike, who was perched on the arm of the couch, grinning broadly. The three shared a silent but perfectly understanding exchange. That pleasant buzz was due, in part, to the change in Angel's diet from porcine haemoglobin to Wesley. Both he and Spike were riding the action junkie 'high', wanting to feed, and Wesley was aware that his own adrenaline-saturated blood would be especially sweet. Giving a pointed warning look at where Illyria had only just subsided and allowed Fred to re-emerge, the Watcher turned back to the others.
"You guys rock!" Dawn hugged Lorne enthusiastically, delighting as his face went greener still with embarrassed pleasure before grabbing the Groosalug for similar enthusiastic hugging.
"I'm too cool to cuddle," Gunn raised a hand warningly as Dawn released a beetroot-faced Gru, "and I'm still hauling this bad-ass axe."
"Spoilsport." Dawn stuck her tongue out at him. "Thank-you so much! You're so brilliant, and it's only two o'clock. I can be home in time for Attack Of The Fifty Foot Woman and pizza. Buffy –"
"Is right here."
There was one of those tiny hiccups of time, where each individual present desperately tries to rewind the last couple of seconds in the hope that maybe they haven't really happened.
Angel slowly stood up, the elation draining from him. Spike's posture slumped slightly as he retained his perch on the couch arm, but his face turned unerringly towards Buffy, his expression one of helpless adoration. They had thrown the double doors of Angel's office back with careless delight, the doors sticking on the carpet wide-open; the newcomers stood framed in the open doorway, bearing enough weaponry for several massacres.
Gunn raised an eyebrow as he checked out the mean-looking black dude with Angel's Slayer love, Fred looked uncertain, Lorne casually laid a hand on the Groosalug's arm, easing the pair of them backwards whilst simultaneously squeezing the limb in a keep quiet warning. Not being nearly as stupid as he acted, Gru kept his lips firmly clamped together. Wesley shifted his body so he was between the Scooby Gang and Fred.
Staavuz licked his lips nervously, the pain in his leg incredible. He could only hope that the loophole still held. George had kept a plethora of guns in his desk drawer for that very reason – while Wolfram & Hart had impenetrable mystical safeguards against the disgruntled guy bursting through the door with a semi-automatic, or the guy bringing in a briefcase that was really a bomb, the safeguards did not 'recognise' any non-mystical weapon, such as a gun, that was already inside the building when the safeguard spells were cast. Of course, his mini-arsenal hadn't done George much good a few months ago when that Beast thing had butchered most of the firm's staff for reasons Staavuz couldn't quite remember. After Staavuz had entered the building in a suit with a briefcase, he had known his way around sufficiently enough to be able to walk to George's office as if he had every right to be there. The office hadn't been snapped up yet and the dead man's fully loaded collection of guns were still present, though very dusty.
Taking the Magnum .357 and placing it in his waistband at the back, Staavuz had placed the semi-automatic machine pistol in his empty briefcase and walked out, making his way up to the floor that overlooked Angel's office, taking up position on the walkway overlooking the outer lobby, his task made easier by the fact that the doors were wide open, giving him a panoramic killing zone. Removing the semi-automatic from the case, he had taken careful aim at the girl. The sudden arrival of a posse who had swept up to take positions in the open doorway didn't bother Staavuz; the bullets would tear through their human bodies and still retain enough force to kill or injure whoever was beyond them.
He glared; he would've much preferred to be having his leg seen to before making for warmer climes, like Acapulco, but he had no choice. Under any normal circumstances he would have cut his losses when his initial attack on Spike failed, but this deal was just too sweet to throw away. Besides, Staavuz had already spent the two million he had been advanced for killing the little human bitch and the two million he would have when the job was done.
Moving carefully and slowly so as not to draw notice, Staavuz settled his aim on the doorway so that while most of his load would hit Dawn Summers, his arc of death would also cut down that smug English bastard and most of the others too. Thus, Staavuz made his last mistake, in that he failed to be aware at all times of everything that was going on around him. Forgetting that that even the most insignificant pawn can become the Queen, Staavuz made the fundamental error of focussing solely on his target; peripheral sight and sound became nothing more than a faint hum to him, instead of paying attention to what others were doing. They were nothing, just upright corpses that wouldn't fall until he pulled the trigger. He was therefore completely unaware of Harmony, who at her secretary's desk was doing what any sensible vampire would do with three Slayers standing less than six feet away – looking around her for a likely escape route.
"Buffy." Dawn looked at her sister and her friends calmly.
The blonde Slayer was the centre of the group, flanked on either side by Faith, Giles, Willow, Xander, Kennedy and Robin Wood. "Mind telling me what the hell you're doing?" Buffy ground out.
"I was being stalked by my murderous demon boyfriend, so I came to LA to ask Spike to kill him." Dawn answered promptly. "We kicked his ass this morning though, so we can go home now…unless you want to hit Rodeo Drive for an hour?"
"I already did the 'what is it with you Summers women and non-humans' gig." Lorne interposed as Xander and Willow exchanged glances.
"Spike." Repeated Buffy as it were a word in an unfamiliar language, looking at the blond vampire, who raised a hand in a half-hearted wave before replacing it on his thigh. Her voice began to rise shrilly as she went on, "A demon was trying to kill you…so you came to Spike?"
"Spike is Dawn's Champion." Wesley answered Buffy as coolly as if discussing the likelihood of rain at Wimbledon Tennis, "Just as Angel was once your Champion."
For an instant Buffy stared at Wesley, her jaw slack, then she looked past him at Angel for the first time, and she stiffened.
"DON'T be ridiculous, Miss Summers." Wesley's voice was a whip-crack that would have flayed the skin off a rhinoceros, "and I will thank-you not to drag the rest of us down to your level. Angel has been my Champion for five years and I do not, nor ever have had, any desire to have sex with him. A romantic relationship with a Champion is a rare, and entirely incidental occurrence."
Dawn straightened and glared at her sister as the group got the subtext and Team Angel directed hostile looks at the Scooby Gang.
"So I'm incapable of dealing with some testosterone-overloaded idiot?" Buffy had to struggle against the hard knot of pain in her stomach as she challenged her sister.
"Right now? In spades!"
That strident comeback was not the response Buffy or the others had expected from their usually cheerful, vivacious 'mascot' and they stared at the young woman. Dawn moved forward, spoiling for a fight, glaring at them. "Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately, Buffy? You're the poster child for nervous exhaustion. Has any one of you people worked a less than eighteen-hour day anytime in the last six weeks?"
"Dawnie," Xander gave her his patented goofy grin. "That's –"
"The whole point!" Dawn threw out a hand towards Buffy. "Look at her! She was only a size eight before she started the working-every-hour-without-food-or-sleep crash diet! I thought Stefan was cool, turns out he was a schmuck, and an obsessive-stalker schmuck at that. But hey, no problem, why should I deal with my own mess when I've got the Slayer to clean up after me? I'm sure you could all have juggled your crippling workloads to deal with pathetic Dawnie and her scuzzy ex-boyfriend!"
"Yes, we could have!" Cried Buffy, "I'm you sister, I'm supposed to –"
"Be so terrified you're going to lose me too that you have panic attacks when I take the garbage out?" Dawn cut her off. "You protect me because you're my sister and you love me. That isn't a one-way street, Buffy. I protect you because you're my sister and I love you. I looked at the people I love the most and saw that they were overworked and exhausted, so I chose your solution. I turned to my Champion."
"Dawn, just because Spike was my Champion when he closed the Hellmouth -"
"He was never your Champion."
"What?" Slowly Buffy turned her head to look at Wesley Wyndham-Pryce who had continued to stand, his arms folded across his chest, looking at her as if she were some undesirable ragamuffin who had wondered into his home from the street.
Angel moved forward but then paused as he reached a spot behind and to the right of Wesley, vacillating uncertainly as he faced protecting his best friend from the woman he loved, sending frantic telepathic commands to Wesley to 'shut up'.
The Englishman obviously wasn't receiving. "Spike has never been your Champion. Throughout Glory's days Spike was the one who supported Dawn face the trauma of adjusting to being human, not The Key, and Spike held Glory off long enough for you to get a clue as to how to save Dawn – and the world. And so on…if the First Evil had succeeded in opening the Hellmouth, Dawn would have been killed, so her Champion ensured it was shut. Ironically, that was the one thing that Wolfram & Hart never even thought about when they sent Angel to Sunnydale with the amulet, intending for him to be rendered a ghost within it and thus under their power and control. Like everyone else, they simply assumed that the Slayer was the only member of the Scooby Gang to have a specific Champion."
Angel and Spike, like everyone else, were exchanging shocked and uncertain glances at each other. Angel had been furious and deeply jealous when Buffy chose Spike as her Champion to close the Hellmouth. The blond vampire had taken the role for the sake of the woman he loved…
"Oh bollocks." Spike straightened as realisation, no pun intended, dawned. Finding himself the cynosure of all eyes he swallowed and went on. "I took the amulet 'cause I'm crazy in love with you. I thought I was being your Champion, but when it actually happened, the most important thing in my mind, the most overriding need in my head, wasn't saving you," he looked at Buffy, "it was saving Dawn. She had to live, at any cost."
"No." Buffy shook her head. Taking a calming breath, she opened her mouth –
"Yes." Wesley Wyndham-Pryce forestalled her. "And before you start one of your epic, heroic and tediously self-righteous oratories, Ms Summers, do I detect a hint of pique?" He raised one eyebrow almost to his hairline sardonically, "Could it be that the reason you are so resistant to the notion is because, if Spike is Dawn's Champion, then you can no longer retain sole place in the mystical spotlight as the only woman in the history of everything to have as her Champion a vampire with a soul?"
Everybody stopped breathing as they saw both Buffy and Wesley's eyes change, sort of slip-out-of-focus-but-not as they each went to that strange mental place that a human goes to inside his or her head when they are about to kill. Angel helplessly prepared to throw himself between the two of them, vowing that if he came through this, he was personally going to take Wesley and beat him to within an inch of his clearly insane life –
"DOWN!!!" Screamed Harmony.
Normally the warning wouldn't have been enough.
But these weren't normal circumstances, and these weren't normal people. They did not simply gape at the crazy screeching blonde chick. Nor did they just stand there and look around wildly, as if expecting to see someone carrying a helpful placard: I'M THE EVIL BAD GUY.
As the sound wave of Harmony's 'O' was still vibrating in the air, the entire assembly was hugging carpet like a lover, or diving behind whatever cover was available. In reflex action Staavuz fired, but his arc was aimed at the chest height level of people now imitating pancake. Glass, pottery, upholstery and wood were brutally slain as he sprayed the room with gunfire. Angel, having been involved in a war of nerves with the cleaners over the fact that he preferred his office couches flush against the wall underneath the outside windows, while they preferred to move them forward into the room a foot or so, mentally promised to apologise profusely as these gaps behind them provided ideal human-sized gopher holes. Over the hideous chudda-chudda of the gun, he heard tables and chairs crash over as they were turned into impromptu shields and Angel fidgeted as he tried to locate everyone's position, relief swamping him as he saw that there were no still shapes sprawled on the floor.
The din stopped abruptly to leave that brief, echoing silence where everyone tries to stop their ears ringing from the concussions and the stink of cordite obliterated your sense of smell.
"OOOOH, DAAAWWNIIIEEE!!" Trilled Staavuz, hefting the semi-automatic and viewing the scene with glee.
Dawn hissed but didn't respond as she crouched behind one couch, the one that was in the top left of the office as you walked in. Buffy, Xander and Robin Wood were on her right, the Slayer's face bearing an expression of fury. Xander retained his perpetual attitude of wry élan, but after all, being shot at did not rate that high a crisis on the Harris freak-o-meter. Robin's dark eyes were unfathomable as he hefted the crossbow he held. To Dawn's left, there was the reassuring chill of her Champion's body. Dawn laid a restraining hand on his arm as she felt the thrumming need to kill surge through him, amazed that he hadn't gone vamp-face yet. Set slightly back directly underneath the walkway that Staavuz was standing on was the best hiding place – behind Harmony's desk, and for all the gravity of the situation, Dawn smiled inside as she pictured Harmony's face as the ditzy blond vampiress crouched down – right next to Slayer Kennedy and Willow. Where was everyone else?
Dawn relaxed slightly as she looked to her left down the back wall of the room. Behind the second couch that was situated along the wall more or less directly opposite the doors crouched Giles at this end nearest to Spike, with Faith next to him, then Fred, who amazingly hadn't – yet – turned into that weird blue Illyria thing, and finally Wesley. Angel's large desk actually swept round in three angle sections, and Angel and Gunn were crouched on the extreme right side, peering warily around the edge of the desk. Where was Lorne - ? Looking to her right, remembering that Lorne and Gru had been at the top end of the room, the opposite end to where Angel's desk was, Dawn sagged as Lorne gave her a little wave from where he and Gru were huddled behind the conference table, having had the presence of mind to pull open those opaque-glass internal double doors to Angel's private CEO conference room.
Dawn licked dry lips; Angel or Spike could have turned Staavuz into a corpse within two seconds, the problem was getting across that large pesky expanse of open space providing him with a clear field of fire in order to reach him!
His back pressed against the back of the couch as he balanced on his haunches, Wesley pulled up his pants leg and liberated the handgun, automatically checking the clip; gambling that Staavuz's hearing was still recovering from his little display, Wesley pulled back the slide and released it, risking Staavuz hearing the familiar ratchet sound.
"You carry a gun here?" hissed Gunn from where he hunkered down next to Angel, drawing the others' attention to the couch.
"I carry a gun everywhere." Wesley adjusted the leather holder on his other shin, making sure he could pluck out the spare clip and insert it within a second if need be.
"You won't be able to make a shot from here." Robin Wood and Xander Harris whispered simultaneously.
As Wesley spared them a brief glance, Xander informed the room at large, "Turned into a Special Forces soldier by Ethan Rayne." Robin Wood shrugged, "United States Marine Corp. First Gulf War."
"Wes-ley." The lethal sibilant emphasis Angel was able to inject into the single 's' available to him was impressive as with a single word he warned the ex-Watcher not to even think about doing anything stupidly heroic, like leaving the safety of the couch and drawing Staavuz's fire.
"You know about Jerry Henderson at the Watcher Academy, look what happened to him," Giles put in to Wesley, his tone light as he tried to send similar telepathic commands for restraint to the younger man, "and he relied on his gun so much he would only take it off to shower…"
Wesley's mouth muscles twisted in a way that gave the false illusion he was smiling. "This model is waterproof."
Whatever response anyone would have made to this was lost as Staavuz impatiently yelled, "Come on, people! I'm the one holding a machine pistol here! Just push the little bitch out into the open and I'll take care of her for you…doesn't that constant yammering annoy you too?"
Buffy looked down the room to Angel and their eyes met; they needed to come up with a plan, some distraction that would enable at least one of them to make it up to that balcony and pulverise Staavuz into a bad memory…but anyone providing a diversion would end up like a sieve and that was not acceptable –
"There's no point to this, Staavuz!" Wesley's yell made them all start. "Leave now and you'll still have your life."
Staavuz's laugh echoed loud. "Oh, don't you sound scary, not. Don't think so, Brit boy. In case your bunch of sitting ducks missed it, I've got a clear field of fire and a semi-automatic machine pistol that rocks on my side!"
"And I've got three Slayers, three vampires, the world's most powerful witch, an unconquerable hero, two demons and assorted pissed off bad-asses on mine!" Wesley roared back. Letting the disconcerted silence hang for a beat, he called out again, "You've brought a knife to a gunfight, Staavuz. Cut your losses and walk while you still can."
Staavuz ignored the nagging feeling that he should do exactly that, uneasiness creeping over him like cold fingers as he listened to the Brit's recitation of what exactly was in the room with him. Three Slayers? "Like to oblige, Brit boy," Staavuz called, "but this is kinda a ham and eggs breakfast situation. Chicken's involved, but the pig's committed, and well, I'm not the feathered contingent here. So I think I'll just shoot my fish in that sweet little barrel of yours."
"Just how stupid are you, Staavuz?" Jeered Wesley. "You've been strummed like a guitar, you idiot. You'll never be paid for this hit!"
"Hit? What hit?" demanded Dawn for all of them, struggling to follow this sudden ball from left field.
"Yeah, what you talking about, Brit boy?" Staavuz jeered back, though with none of his previous sneering arrogance – the Brit sounded too confident, too sure of himself, especially for a man about to be shot to death.
"There never was any cash, Staavuz! Come on, think about it! I'll bet your employer is paying you way over the odds for this job – what is it, two million dollars, three million? Just for one talkative teenager. You've been paid to take out troublesome girls before – inconvenient sisters, daughters, wives and such. Doesn't it strike you as odd that your boss should desperately need one insignificant girl to be so dead?"
"Four million, actually," Congratulated Staavuz, relaxing a fraction, the guy was just fishing. He had intuition, not facts. "And well, since I've already spent the two million advance, I gotta –"
"There was no two million advance, you moron!" Wesley moved slightly towards the edge of the couch, ignoring the fact that he had the rapt attention of everyone within hearing range. "Let me tell you what happened: your boss sat there and let you watch while they tapped a few computer keys and set two million United States dollars to a Swiss bank account for you, and then promised you the next two million when Dawn was a corpse."
"Yeah, so?" Staavuz demanded harshly, the British man having spoken so accurately it was almost as if he had invisibly been in the room when –
"So, that two million dollars was removed from that account and put back in your employer's kitty by the time you got to the bottom of the yard!" Wesley bawled back at the assassin. "It's all smoke and mirrors, Staavuz. The reason your boss could afford to be so generous with the killing fee was because whoever he or she is, they knew you'd never live to collect."
"So you think!" Staavuz yelled with fear-fuelled-anger, hearing the convincing ring of truth in the human's claim. Beyond his greed, he had wondered at the unusually large sum being promised to kill Dawn Summers.
Wesley didn't look at Dawn's white, wide-eyed face, feeling the weight of their stares upon him. "I don't think, I know, and I'll tell you why. How right am I about this part, Staavuz: your boss throws a friendly arm around your shoulders, takes you to some teenage party, points out the cute kid across the room and says, " ' I'll give you four million dollars to whack that girl over there, name's Dawn Summers. It'll be a cakewalk 'cause she's got nobody except a deadbeat sister to bother about her.'" What d'you say, am I close?"
Damn near verbatim. "Maybe!" Hedged Staavuz. "So what?"
"So, my dear duped Staavuz, your boss never bothered to mention to you that Dawn Summers elder sister was The Slayer."
"What?!" Staavuz was unable to prevent the blurted exclamation.
"Exactly! You've been royally suckered!" Wesley pressed home his advantage, calling out loudly and rapidly but making sure his speech was intelligible. "Your boss knows your M.O. Staavuz, that's why they hired you to be their fall demon. You kill the Slayer's sister and there is nowhere on this planet or any other where you could run fast enough or hide yourself deep enough; no dimension you can flee to that's far enough away to stop the Slayer hunting you down and ripping you into a thousand little pieces of shredded flesh. Even if you managed to pull your cornered-rat escape act and get the cops to do their usual shoot-out thing to your chest, you'd still be dead, because Buffy Summers wouldn't be sat at home weeping for her sister, Staavuz. Buffy Summers would make one hundred and ten percent sure that her sister's killer was deader than flares, and that means when you jumped off that mortuary slab with your tender orange flesh all regenerated, you'd find Buffy Summers right there waiting for you to stroll out the doors. Dawn's sister is Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, and just like the Terminator, she's relentless and remorseless and she absolutely will not stop until you are dead."
The words, buoyed up by complete, ringing conviction seemed to hang in the air like invisible wind chimes for a tense eternity.
"You're lying!" Staavuz half screamed, his voice cracking as panic began to set in, the fact that Dawn Summers had some major mystically empowered figures on her side finally impinging on him.
"I can prove it!" Wesley roared back, feeling sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades. This was it – right here was where he either lured Staavuz close enough to take him out, or else blew it and saw several of his friends get shot to death in a protracted gunfight.
"What are you talking about?" Staavuz could hardly think past the surging pain in his leg.
"The computer on Harmony's desk!" Wesley called as he slipped his gun into his waistband at the back of his pants. "I can show you that the two million dollars has been taken out of the account. That'll prove you've been set up!" Sucking in a breath, Wesley came to his feet from behind the couch, his arms raised and spread palms up in the universal sign of surrender. He heard Angel growl but did not take his gaze off Staavuz, his muscles reflexively tensing against the half-expected impact of bullets tearing into his flesh.
Staavuz came to a decision; step by cautious step he made his way down the steps to the lobby, the barrel of his gun never wavering from Wesley's chest as the human slowly moved forward, keeping his hands spread in the gesture of surrender. The others with the human also stood up but froze when Staavuz's finger flexed on the trigger of his gun as it pointed as Wesley. Staavuz didn't take his eyes off the human, but he could feel the burning gaze of the Vampire With The Soul boring into his brain and knew that it was Angelus who was standing within a few feet of him.
As the three women slowly stood up from their hiding place behind the secretary's desk, Harmony without ceremony shoved Kennedy into Willow and stood square in front of them, her face so white it was completely colourless. Wesley risked giving the vampiress a tiny inclination of his head in gratitude; bullets wouldn't kill Harmony, and her action would fool Staavuz into assuming she was one of the three Slayers, blinding him to the real twin dangers of Willow and Kennedy. Reaching the desk, Wesley went around the back, placing his own frame in front of Harmony as double protection for Willow and Kennedy so he could reach the computer. Now he was facing the members of the two Circles of Nine, Team Angel and the Scooby Gang, who looked back at him with strained, frightened…and furious faces. If I make it through the next five minutes, Angel is going to kill me; Wesley snapped back into it as Staavuz thrust the gun towards his favourite skull.
Wesley's body was jolted as Staavuz ripped the gun from the back of his waistband and shoved it into his own pocket. For a moment death hovered as Staavuz's finger trembled, then the demon moved his finger away again. "Do it!" The demon snarled, twitching the barrel nervously as the Slayer behind Wesley shielded the redhead and the brunette with her body, unnerved by the fact that those two women were looking at him with homicidal rage instead of fear.
Tapping keys while standing upright wasn't the easiest thing to do, but Wesley had no intention of sitting down – not only would it have meant leaving Harmony in Staavuz's line of fire, but would restrict his ability to shave vital microseconds off his reaction time should he need to move fast. Wesley could only hope that in the aftermath of this little terror interlude that nobody asked him exactly how he had come by this deeply criminal knowledge regarding untraceable Swiss bank accounts, but he had experience of how tenacious these people could be.
"The screen your boss had up probably looked something like this," Wesley pressed a finger momentarily on the flat-screen monitor, keeping his voice low and calm, making his body stance submissive, acutely aware of the way that the gang were creeping closer to them like leopards stalking inch by frozen inch closer to the plump, oblivious gazelle.
Harmony craned her neck to see what was on the screen, raising her hands in a placatory gesture identical to Wesley's earlier one as Staavuz growled at her, but the vampiress's action had enabled the encircling predators to gain another inch and a half of ground on Staavuz's position; I may actually live through this after all. Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley saw how Willow's lips were trembling slightly, but not out of fear. The world's pre-eminent sorceress was mouthing words in silence to herself…go, girl.
"Then your boss typed in a few passwords." Wesley suited actions to words and then reaching out, turned on the computer's speakers, assuming the money transfer program was state of the art. "Finally, you have…
"YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DEPOSITED TWO MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLAR CURRENCY INTO THIS ACCOUNT." The computer said in a mellifluous female tone to match the message on the screen.
"Am I right?" Wesley finished.
"You're not showing me anything I don't already know." Staavuz's finger caressed the trigger.
Wesley smiled, not nicely. "Ah, but now I'm going to show you what went down after you left the room and went on your merry murderous way, in the fond belief that you were rich beyond the dreams of avarice." With exquisite care, he entered another code, tapping keys as two more screens came and went. Finally the screen came up with a large message in red font that it also intoned in the same syrupy female voice:
"YOU HAVE DEPOSITED THIS SUM WITHIN THE LAST FIVE MINUTES. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO WITHDRAW THIS SUM?"
Clicking on the YES button, Wesley watched the screen dissolve and then:
"THE SUM OF TWO MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLAR CURRENCY HAS BEEN WITHDRAWN AND RE-DEPOSITED IN THE ORIGINAL ACCOUNT."
Irrational fury swamped Staavuz as the sight of the solid evidence of how he had been played, set up to kill and then be killed, the fall guy. Unaware he was howling in his mindless rage, his arm lashed out to smash the human back across the desk, bringing up the gun and tightening his finger on the trigger to tear the human male's body apart with it's deadly load. From a standing start five feet away, a blue blur somersaulted through the air and crashed through Harmony's desk, reducing it to kindling as something smashed into Staavuz's torso and hurled him fifteen feet clear across the room to land on his back, the semi-automatic spinning lazily away in another direction.
Scrambling backwards on his butt, oblivious to the soft whimpers he was emitting, Staavuz grabbed the Magnum and let loose, blasting straight at the chest of the glowing blue skinny chick. She merely stood there allow the shots to hit her torso before striding forward without a mark and plucking the empty gun that Staavuz kept trying to fire from his hand, crushing it like a coke can.
Lifting him up by the throat and dangling him like he weighed no more than a feather, Illyria turned it's head to where its mate was now sort of standing, supported either side by the two Dead-That-Lived. The other humans were watching it with due reverence. Illyria looked at the Dawn human spawn, this one's intended prey. "Most remarkable." It commented.
"We noticed." Xander-human commented, giving Illyria a smile.
The Xander-male appeared less afraid than the other humans and Illyria caught the faint vestiges of a demoness's scent over most of his body, including his human genitalia and nipples…ah, Xander-human was a demon's mate, as Wesley-human was Illyria's. Turning it attention back to the Staavuz-thing, Illyria considered it. "This is a demon species, yet it is inferior to the human insects."
"Really…in what way is it inferior to us…insects?"
Illyria looked at the tall man who had pulled off his spek-tah-kals and was polishing them with the edge of his jacket. There had been an undertone of challenge in his tone, a lack of the due respect. Illyria looked closer; this male was a Mahju, as was her mate. The Fred-human's memories indicated that this was one of the Mahjai known as Watchers, as Illyria's mate had been. The Mahju was aged and wise in his power.
"I slept for millions of years until the human plague passed, but their grip is stronger than ever on this world. I did not understand how they could last, such a weak species. No horns or spines, no armoured flesh, not even any consistent powers of the spirit. Yet they have great skill and cunning." Illyria answered the older Mahju. "They will work together against a common enemy and lesser ones will die to give the great warriors time to attack. This is most bizarre, for in battle, the only goal of each of the warriors I commanded was to survive. The Dawn is not the spawn, or the mate, or even the species of the white-haired vampire Spike, yet he was prepared to sacrifice his endless life so she could perpetuate her ephemeral existence in this world. My mate also was willing to have his life ended so that you all could live." Illyria looked at her mate, whose flesh was beginning to mottle and darken in the manner indicating many burst blood-vessels beneath the skin. "I will discuss your actions later, my mate…at length."
Staavuz gurgled desperately. "Kill them! We're both demons, here! We should stick together -"
Illyria looked at the creature in bafflement. "The Dawn is still a spawn of her species, yet she has great wisdom, for she saw that you are not worthy as a mate. You have caused great inconvenience to me. You even dared to strike my mate."
"Illyria -!" Wesley tried to gasp out, then winced as his abused ribs protested the movement. Braced either side of him, each one helping him stand by having one of their arms around his waist while he had one arm each across their respective shoulders, Spike and Angel clamped down their grips, holding him still effortlessly, neither best pleased with him for setting himself up as Staavuz's main target.
Bored with the creature's struggling, Illyria simply tore its head from its shoulders and dropped the twitching carcass on the floor. Snapping out one arm without even a single glance, Illyria effortlessly caught the spear weapon tossed to it by the Xander-human, and spinning it in its grasp, plunged it down into the carcass's undamaged leg, straight through the third vital organ of the demon; the corpse went into spasms for a moment, then stopped moving.
Illyria dropped the head and turned to examine its mate up close, completely uninterested in the dead thing. "I like her." Xander-human commented to the room generally, making Illyria's mate give a funny little growl in the back of his throat and his eyes looked at the other male with a hot glow in a manner that indicated displeasure.
The two Dead-That-Lived wisely separated themselves from Illyria's mate, and it carefully traced the marks on his torso, noting the redness and unnatural heat of his flesh indicating injuries. "The Fred-human is very loud and annoying inside." Illyria commented irritably as its mate stood and let its fingers trace the wounds made. "I will allow her to emerge now so she will stop the noise. We will speak more of this later, mate."
The Scooby Gang stared as the armoured blue demon seemed to slump and shrink, and then a long-haired, skinny brunette was standing in front of Wesley. She had big, soulful puppy eyes, which were now a smoky almost-black reminiscent of a very angry junkyard dog. Wesley gasped anew as she punched his chest right where Staavuz's blow had thrown him back. "Were you trying to commit suicide!! What crazy-assed plan was that!"
"One that worked." Wesley retorted. "Do you mind if we do the S&M later, dear?"
Fred's jaw dropped and then she seemed, finally, to recall that they were standing in the middle of a crowd. "Oh…ah…"
"It's okay, they get you like that." Faith assured Fred with perhaps more enthusiasm in her tone that was healthy. "Men – can't live with them, can't live without occasionally kicking hell out of 'em."
Xander turned his single eye upon Robin, "And this is the love of your life?"
"Yeah – and which of us was going to marry the vengeance demon, again?" Robin tossed back.
"We're not done here."
Everyone stopped at the quiet but lethal tone.
Buffy Summers folded her arms in front of her chest and regarded them with one raised eyebrow, her mouth tight. "Not that I don't appreciate you putting on some light entertainment, Angel, but we're not through with the fact that my sister –"
"Yes, we are done." Dawn moved to stand in front of her sister. "I didn't come to LA because I don't trust you to help me or whatever other paranoid crap is swimming through your brain right now. I came because I love you and I was trying not to burden you with any more problems than you're already trying to deal with. I did what I had to do to fix things. Obviously you don't agree with what I chose to do, but that's tough. I would do it again, and if I feel I need to in the future, I will do it again. Get over it."
"This is not a game!" Buffy yelled at her sister, pointing at the remains of Staavuz with a finger, "That thing was going to kill you. I have good reason for not wanting you to be involved with the Slaying, Dawn, because you could get killed and I can't lose –"
"You will lose me." Dawn said flatly. "Like I lost my mother, and like I lost my sister once before – you were dead for forty-seven days, remember? I can't guarantee that I'll outlive you, Buffy. I could be killed tomorrow or live to be a cranky nonagenarian. None of these people who care about you can promise you they won't die. All I can do is promise I'll do my best to live for you. But one thing – I am involved. I can't live my life pretending your world doesn't exist. I can't not help you do what you do. So our world is far more dangerous than most people's, yeah, but then I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, or take a fatal header down a flight of steps. You can't protect me from that."
"Dawn, it's too dangerous." Buffy said in helpless frustration; didn't anyone standing here like giant lemons understand that she was trying to protect her sister? Dawn might not get it, but Angel sure as hell did, and Spike. "I don't believe how either of you could let her –"
"Because it's her right." Spike, who had moved back from the tense group to lean against the only still upright piece of Harmony's desk, now straightened up. Folding his arms across his chest, his manner authoritative in a way that he had never displayed before, Spike went on, "Dawn isn't a child, and she doesn't need protecting from the world anymore – you defeated Glory, remember? Dawn is as much a part of the Scooby Gang as Giles, and Xander and Willow and the simple fact is, Slayer, that you need her – actually more than she needs you."
"I need Dawn to risk her life for me?" Buffy's eyes flashed dangerously.
"No, you need her to fight by your side, which is where she should be. You might be the one who always gets the Emmy, pet, but you wouldn't have a chance if weren't for this lot working their asses off in the background who never get the credit. Batman needed Alfred and Robin, Clark Kent needed Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen and Perry White at the Daily Planet. Captain Kirk needed Bones and Spock. You're the car, pet, but these people standing around you are the gas in your tank."
"Spike, we understand what you're saying, but –" Giles began softly.
"No, you don't. Let me elaborate: 'if any man does not know how to care for his own household, how will he then care for the congregation of God?'"
"First Book of Timothy Chapter Three Verse Five?" Robin said on the heels of the quote, staring at the blond vampire incredulously.
There was a startled pause, then:
"Spike quoting Scripture? This I have to hear." Buffy challenged defensively.
Good, because Saint Paul was spot on." Spike shot straight back at her. "What you're doing is great. Training all these new Slayers, making sure they're not alone and not scared out of their minds for longer than necessary. Making the Watcher's Council useful instead of what that bunch of conceited ponces made it – great. But you need a higher purpose to do all that for, because if you haven't got that then you lose hope and once you lose hope, you end up a moping depressive, like tall dark and dreary over here."
"And my higher purpose would be…?"
"Dawn, and every other person you care about. St Paul was making the point that a guy couldn't very well claim to be qualified to look after all the other Christians if his own family was in trouble."
Spike moved unconsciously to the centre of the room, holding the rapt attention of everyone as he shrugged with a nonchalance that belied the fervour of his words. "The next Apocalypse Express is on its way into town, people, in fact according to some it's already at the station, and only one thing about an apocalypse that you can count on – there'll be bodies. This is the eternal war between Good and Evil, people; it's not pretty, and there are no rules."
Spike paused significantly and nodded approvingly as Buffy – albeit with obvious effort – refrained from retorting and actually listened.
"Just because you're a Hero doesn't mean you get to kick Big Bad ass and then with a single bound be free. Ask Tara, Anya, Cordelia, Kendra, or Jenny Calendar…or Fred, standing right over there, who has to share her sweet Texas self with a ten million-year-old hell demon. Some of us are going to die, but the reason we keep fighting against impossible odds and ever-bigger hordes of slimy demons is because we all have – in whatever form it takes – our own Dawn. You each fight for the Dawn in your life, which is great, but you need to make your Dawn part of your life, not push him or her away, because that way you'll lose them, one way or another, in some cases that will be literally. The moral is this, grasshoppers: There's no point getting into Paradise if the people you've done it all for aren't there to share it with you."
"I just –" Buffy stopped and bit her lip.
"Love, we all 'just'. But the day you start trying to control those you love because you think you know best is the day you become Staavuz. You don't toss Dawn a battle-axe and send her out to go mano-a-mano against an Ethros demon, but she's just as much a part of your support network as Brainiac Giles, Uber-Witch Willow, Fearsome Faith, Roistering Robin, Xander the King of Carpenters, Killer Kennedy, et cetera, et cetera, so treat Dawn with the respect that position deserves."
"How'd you get so smart?" Buffy whispered, her eyes glistening.
"Natural born genius." Spike shrugged. "And now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going home to my nice, noisy, massively haunted hotel. Passions is on in half an hour, and Timmy's down the well again."
To be continued in Chapter 7…
© 2008, C. D. Stewart