Buffy and James stood side by side in a blind alley, backs against the wall, fighting for their lives. Blocking their way, inhuman and growling, a gang of three vampires, their faces twisted with blind hate. And the desire to kill.
There had been six at first, all converging upon them at once, seeming to materialise from the very air around them. Not even Buffy, whose senses were more finely attuned than most humans, had known they were coming. One minute they weren't there, the next they… were.
But Buffy was quick, James almost as fast, to react to the ambush. Hand to hand fighting at first; a well placed kick here, an accurately placed punch there, feeling undead flesh give under her superior bodily strength, which she was more than glad she'd kept up to standard. And it felt good, didn't it, to stop thinking and give herself up to pure physicality? To forget what was morally right and wrong for once and just act.
The vampires were strong; certainly stronger than she and James put together. Six against two weren't good odds at best. Buffy had pressed the little button in her hand and the stiletto had slid into her hand; its weight was comforting and she held it out before her. Despite the poor illumination, the silver gleamed like holy fire.
I'll show James Sacred Duty, she thought grimly, seeing the nearest vampire's face change, seeing fear in his yellow eyes. With a scream, she leapt forward, feeling her power flow through her hand into the knife, so that her life became part of it. A thrust of deadly accuracy and the first one was dispatched, blowing into a cloud of dust that smelt of the death and decay that the creature was.
In the meantime, James had taken the slight breathing space to draw his own weapon. A cry of triumph and another dust cloud told her he'd been successful. She took a second to glance back; James had been transformed from the uptight man he normally was into some kind of war machine. His face was contorted with an emotion she'd never seen there before: pure loathing. Sweat poured from his brow; his dark hair hung over his forehead; his body was held tense and waiting, and she was aware, for the first time, of a muscular strength beneath the slim exterior.
Too long, that glance; she felt an arm go round her neck; heard words whispered in her ear in French that she didn't understand but grasped the meaning of all too clearly. She was going to die. James was grappling with his own assailant, a huge beast who snarled with all the ferocity of a wild Rottweiler with rabies. No help there.
As she smelt the foul breath of the vampire that held her, Buffy decided to let herself go limp. Better than fighting, when fighting wouldn't help. So she feigned faintness, falling forward against the brute's arm. She waited, hoping against hope that she hadn't misjudged it, until she felt cold breath on her neck, cold spittle and the sharp imprint of teeth. She heard James yell to her in desperation, saw him slam his stiletto into his opponent's chest, saw the beast explode as the blade hit home.
Three now, she thought hazily, watching James try to get to her as though he moved in slow motion. Then the pinprick of teeth, James yelling more, distracting her. But the moment was now, right now, and she thrust upward with her knife hand, felt silver sink into the vampire's face. Screaming, he fell away from her, clutching the wound she'd made, leaving her holding the knife for just a second before she sprang forward, knocked the howling vampire to the floor and plunged her knife into his heart. Seconds later, she was kneeling on cold pavement.
She grinned, looked at the remaining two opponents, who had lost much of their fight.
"Four down," she whispered, feeling the adrenaline pump through her, making her heart race and her need to kill these two urgent. She fought the killing urge; had to make at least one of them talk. Slowly she rose to her feet; James was beside her and they advanced on the two vampires.
"I'm going to let one of you live," she said, having no idea if they understood, but vaguely hearing James translate her words into perfect French, something else she had no idea he could do. "One of you's going to give me the information I want. Okay?" With that she moved quicker, and the vampires made to flee. The swifter of the two ran off.
"Let him go," she told James, who went to pursue him. "If he's from Chastaine, he can tell her we want her…" Was that sensible? She found she didn't care about sensible right then. "Help me catch this one."
"This one" - the slower to react - was also preparing to take to his heels, obviously knowing when his luck had run out. Buffy was faster thinking though; she second- guessed his actions and brought him down with a flying tackle that brought his legs from under him. Although he struggled under her, Buffy's strength seemed phenomenal tonight, and she held him fast.
"James," she snapped. "Hold him down, I want to question him."
James came forward, breathing heavily. Buffy saw that the front of his shirt was stained red; somehow, he'd been injured, but he didn't seem to notice any pain. Pain would come later, she guessed. It usually did. James took her place, rolled the struggling vampire over so he was on his front, and pulled his arms behind his back. Then he rolled him over again; now the vampire's arms were effectively useless. Putting an arm around the vampire's neck, in a similar fashion to the vampire that had almost killed Buffy earlier, James held him tight. Buffy sat on his legs in a way that meant escape was impossible. She waved the stiletto in the vampire's face, who moaned.
"Yeah, you feel it, right?" Buffy said. "This knife's made from blessed silver. Holy silver. If it touches you, it'll burn you." The vampire looked blank, apart from his obvious revulsion to the knife. "Translate," she snapped at James, who began to speak quickly in French. "Now, do you know Chastaine de la Villeneuve?"
"Non…" In response to James, who jerked his head back unnecessarily hard, causing a fit of pained choking.
"I don't believe you." Buffy put the tip of the knife to the vampire's face, which began smoking; when she removed the knife, Buffy saw a small hole eroded into the skin. The vampire was howling in agony, and James clapped a hand over his mouth. "You can save yourself a lot of grief if you just tell me." The vampire shook his head, and his feral eyes rolled. Buffy sighed. "Is she so bad you'd sooner face this than tell me?" With "this" Buffy brought the knife down again, harder, and a bloodless wound opened in the vampire's face, adding to the terrible hole that was even now spreading. The vampire began screaming through James's fingers, babbling like a child.
"He says he'll tell," James told Buffy with a faint grin. She felt his free hand go around the hand that held the knife. "Ease up, all right?"
"Yeah… Yeah… okay."
The vampire was positively spewing words now. James was nodding and frowning. When he'd finished, James fired off a few rapid questions, and the vampire, eyeing Buffy's knife, answered them equally rapidly. When it was finished, James nodded.
"He's told me enough, for now," he said, and Buffy held his eyes for a few seconds, then the vampire gave a final cry as she reduced him to dust. James fell back against the wet grimy pavement with a groan and lay still for a few moments. When had recovered enough to talk, he said: "I think we can go back now."
They got back to their hotel, unhindered by further assault, at around four am. The desk man eyed them strangely but said nothing about James's bloodstained clothes, or their general state of disarray, although Buffy knew they must look terrible. Already she could feel a bruise raising itself around her right eye, and her body ached all over. Soon she could sleep. Better see to James first.
"I didn't know you could fight like that," she told James when they got inside his room. "I kind of thought… Well… I don't know…"
"There's a lot about me you don't know," he mumbled, pulling off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. In the stark overhead light, Buffy saw that the front of his shirt was drenched in blood; a rip across his upper chest - certainly from a vampire claw - showed her where it was coming from.
"That looks bad," she said.
"Feels bad," James agreed; his pale skin looked waxy, and he began to shake hard; delayed reaction. Buffy guided him toward his bed - every bit as lumpy, she noticed, as her own - and he collapsed onto it, eyes closed. Buffy went to him; couldn't leave him like this.
"Let me look," she said. He made no move to stop her as she began unbuttoning his shirt, but moaned in pain as she uncovered the slash - fully three inches long - on his upper chest. The claw had cut its way through a significant part of the pectoral muscle, and looked like it needed stitching. Not only that, the skin around the edges of the wound appeared somehow blistered, almost as though they were corrupted by some kind of poison. "Got to get you to a hospital, James," she said. He shook his head; his eyes remained closed.
"No. Not practical."
"James, it needs stitching up…"
"You do it."
"What?" Buffy had never heard anything like it. "James, I can't do that… Besides, we don't have the right stuff…"
"I do," James said. He opened eyes that were blurred with pain. "And there's something else you have to do, too."
"What?" Buffy felt panic rise. Oh, she could dust a few vampires, but put her here with an injured man and she went to pieces. "What, James?"
"Seal the wound with silver - the blessed silver of your knife. It's… it's the only way to cleanse a vampire wound, Buffy. That or holy water. God, it's basic stuff and you should know it…"
She nodded; yes she'd known that, just hadn't thought in the turmoil of the last few moments. God knew, Giles had told her often enough that if she ever received a wound from a vampire, she should cleanse it with a blessed item of some kind. That was what the blistered edges around the wound were; pure physical evil seeping into the flesh…
"It'll hurt," she said lamely.
"For God's sake," James muttered, "don't go all girly on me now. Just do it. Then I'll tell you how to stitch it."
With shaking hands, Buffy took her knife and began to bring it down. James stayed her hand.
"Wait…" He gathered up a handful of none too clean sheet and stuffed it into his mouth, obviously to muffle any cries he might make. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Buffy brought down the knife, and there was the hiss of metal against skin, as it burned and purified. James bit down on the fabric, writhing with pain; cold sweat poured from his head and broke out over his body, but he never tried to stop her. When Buffy had finished, the wound, although still raw and dribbling blood, had lost its inflamed, infected look.
"Well done…" James managed; he took a huge shuddering breath. "Now for the stitching. In my bag, you'll find a complete first aid kit. Stitching the wound will just have to be bringing the edges together for now, all right? It'll serve until… until this is over…"
"James, I have to tell you, Home Ec was never my strong point in High School." Buffy tried to make a joke of it as she rummaged in James's hold-all and found what she needed. "I mean, I can't even sew on a button…"
"Just as well I'm not asking you to do that then, isn't it?" James said, his tone curt with pain. "And you're not a schoolgirl anymore. Now, enough talking. Just follow my instructions."
Half an hour later - half an hour of cursing from Buffy and stoic instruction from an increasingly agonised James - it was done. Not perfect by any means but enough to put him back in action and prevent any more blood-loss. By then, it was five am, almost dawn.
"You've been quite amazing," James said; Buffy, vastly relieved, noticed he looked slightly better; at least, his face had more colour and his rapid breathing had slowed. "I take back everything bad I've ever said about you, Buffy. The Council is…" He stopped, shook his head, smiled. "Doesn't matter," he said.
"It's okay. Look, James, I've been wrong too. I mean, I thought you were just an ultra-stuffy Englishman - even stuffier than Giles. I thought… I don't know, you were just a millstone around my neck before. But I'm seeing a different James lately and tonight you were… Well, you were amazing too, okay? I don't know why you're helping me - and Angel, despite your dislike of him - and you're going to be in terrible trouble when we get back - if we get back - and… Well… Just thanks, okay?"
On impulse she leaned forward and smoothed away the stray lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead. James caught her hand.
"Don't you know why I'm here with you?" he said. Buffy shook her head instantly, but she did know. Angel had told her and now she saw it with her own eyes. Confusion flared as she suddenly realised the thought didn't repel her anymore. James struggled to sit up; he put a hand to the back of her neck, as he had the time he was drunk… Only two days ago, Buffy thought, dazed with unidentifiable emotions. His face was close, his lips almost touching hers. Suddenly desperate for physical comfort and closeness, Buffy closed her eyes, decided to go with the flow.
Then the door crashed open, destroying the moment.
"Well, well," Angel said, his voice like ice. "How very touching."
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