A/N: So, it's been forever, I know, and I apologize. Life's been crazy for me, been crazy for my betas, and I'll bet it's been crazy for you, too. C'mon, admit it: it's been a long, hot summer, and the crazy just keeps on a-comin'. I finally have chapter 11 for you, and it's pretty apparent at this point that I'm going to need two chapters for the finale, so that's coming up the pipe.
Turn the Hourglass Over has been nominated at the SunnyD Awards, and I'm absolutely thrilled about it. I can't really post a link here, because of ff (dot) net rules, and by the time I replaced the dots and slashes, it would be just as simple to Google it. Hourglass has been nominated in several categories, I've been nominated for Best New Writer, and AllyPetals has been nominated for best beta. I hope all of you will head over there for a couple reasons: firstly, I'd really appreciate the votes and secondly, there are some truly great stories nominated over there. Give 'em a read, but I hope you'll still want to vote for me when you're done! Voting opens August 1, 2011 and ends August 31, 2011.
As always, I need to give a big shout out to the Imperfectionist and to AllyPetals; I absolutely could not do it without them. Also, a big thank you to everybody who reviewed, or added me or this story to a favorites or update list. You collectively rock my face.
"Seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow, I'm neither here nor there."
-Soul Asylum
Chapter 10
"Just get the bloody bandages." She had been hearing the voices for a while- how long had it been - but until now, they'd just been noise in the background, throbbing in time to ache in her head.
"What makes you the expert on First Aid?" another male voice asked, irritated.
"Because, I've patched up Buffy and the Bit more times than I can count." That's me, she realized: Buffy. Buffy am I. Buffy. The name seemed all sad and alone, like maybe there should be more, but there wasn't.
"And that only proves you can't keep them safe. I've been doing the whole fighting alongside people thing longer. I'm qualified," the second voice argued. Wow, those two should really get a room, Buffy thought, and apparently they aren't really people. Should I be more surprised by that than I am? Her consciousness must have drifted away again, because the next thing she knew was a stinging in her knuckles that made her eyes snap open.
"Have a nice nap, pet?" the voice was soothing, and the blue eyes that seemed to go with it filled her vision. The terror that shot through her when she awoke faded almost instantly. Whoever was patching her up was somebody her body seemed to trust. He rambled on, "We were dead worried about you, love. Red made with the mojo, tryin' to find you and me an' Peaches went to every demon joint we could find, all for naught. Then, there you were, right in front of us when we least expected." He tore a piece of tape with his teeth, and used it to secure the bandages that he'd wound around her hands while he talked. When he was finished, he raised her right hand and pressed a gentle kiss atop the doctored knuckles.
"Thank you." Buffy's voice was small as she took her hand back and cradled it against her chest, "It hurts less." The door opened again, and a large man came through, juggling an ice pack, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a glass of water. She didn't know him any more than she knew the blond man, but she felt like she should.
"You're awake," Angel said, relief coursing through his body. He set everything down on the night stand, and sat on the bed. She drew her legs up, closer to her chest, but her instincts told her that this man, too, was one she could trust. She really wished she knew why, or how she knew. Or, you know, their names. Surely, knowing their names wasn't too much to ask.
"What happened?" she asked, cursing that her voice was unsteady. She was pretty sure she wasn't an unsteady sort of girl. At least not when anybody was looking.
"We were hoping you'd be able to tell us, Buffy." The dark eyed man confirmed her name, and she felt absurdly pleased.
"I can't remember," she admitted, curling more tightly, her eyes shifting to meet Spike's blue ones. "Anything. I can't remember anything."
"Not surprising, what with the knot on your pretty forehead, love. I'm Spike, and this is Angel," he said matter-of-factly, pushing down the urge to make a dig at the older man. "We used to be vampires, but we both had souls, and fought the good fight. Now, we're human, but we're still here to lend a hand and watch your back."
Buffy's brow furrowed. "You used to be… dead. Right?" It made no sense at all, but she knew it was true when she said it.
"Yeah," he agreed softly, before he continued, "but, everybody in this room used to have a slight case of the not-living, pet."
"That's why I keep seeing you with a sword in your chest, isn't it?" she asked, turning to Angel.
He swallowed, wishing he could take her into his arms, but it seemed unfair, under the circumstances. "It was the only way to stop a demon named Acathla from pulling the planet into a hell dimension."
Buffy nodded, more flashes coming into her head, most of them involving violence and creatures that should cause nightmares. Another person she didn't recognize entered the room, almost timidly and closed the door softly behind herself. This one was a slender girl with red hair, and she was looking at Buffy with a worried expression that bordered on terror.
"New bird's called Willow; she's one of your best mates." Spike offered an explanation before Buffy had to voice the question. "She's the one made with the mojo, trying to get you back."
Willow's eyes flashed to Spike. "She doesn't remember?"
Despite the fear and the confusion bouncing around her head, Buffy's eyes sparked. "'She's right here and awake. No need to treat me like I'm brain-damaged, just because, you know, I might actually be brain-damaged."
"Yep. She's Buffy alright," Willow said with a shy half-smile at her best friend. "They haven't figured out how to manufacture that kind of sarcasm in a laboratory yet. We're really glad you're back, Buffy. Especially Dawn - that's your sister - she was beside herself when you disappeared. We all were."
"Sorry." Now that Buffy's anger had dissipated, she felt hollow. "I'm tired," she told them, taking the ibuprofen Angel offered her, and putting the ice pack on the lump on the head.
"That means hit the road, busters. Not literally, I mean you can wait downstairs, but figuratively."
"And I suppose you'll be up here holding her hand while we cool our heels in front of the telly, right?" Spike asked her with raised eyebrows that silently added 'not in this lifetime.'
Angel ignored Spike, and launched his own argument against Willow's plan. "She might need us. It's not safe to leave her until we know where she went."
"And, what, you think poor little Willow can't watch out for her? Hello, almost destroyed the world single handedly? Activated all the Potential Slayers? I could probably take on a couple vampires, if I needed to, and now that you're all human, it wouldn't even be a challenge. I mean, I wouldn't do it because, you know, that would be bad. And then, I'd get all black-haired and veiny, which, by the way, ewww. But, I could…" Willow trailed off, thinking frantically. "I could give you tummy aches. Or itchy feet!"
"Itchy feet?" Angel asked incredulously.
"Have you ever had a really itchy foot? It's impossible to scratch with a shoe on, and then you either have to take your shoe off in public or just suffer."
"You are terrifying, Red," Spike told her, deadpan, turning toward the door. "Sleeping Beauty wakes up from her nap, yours truly had better be the first to know."
Angel hesitated, looking longingly at Buffy. It went against every instinct to leave her unprotected, but Willow made a good point; right now he wasn't best-suited for protection duty. The idea made his stomach clench, and not for the first time, he wondered if becoming human hadn't been a terrible mistake.
Greg's place was crawling with all the cops you'd expect to see at the home of a kidnapped little girl, but luckily for Xander, they weren't paying the slightest bit of attention to Greg. He was able to walk right into the apartment, unnoticed, where he found his friend sitting on the couch with a dazed expression.
"Greg," Xander caught his attention, and the man stood, towering over him. They clasped one another in a gruff, manly hug, slapping each other entirely too hard on the back. "What happened?" he asked, once they'd parted.
Greg fell back onto the sofa, running a hand over his bald head, and Xander sat down next to him, so that they could talk quietly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Nobody does."
"You'd be surprised," he encouraged. "I've seen some pretty strange things in my time."
Greg took a deep breath, before he began, eyes focused on his hands, "Me an' Gracie went to the carnival." Xander nodded, remembering how excited the girl was about it when he'd seen her a few days before. "She needed to go to the bathroom, and she's too old to go into the men's room now, so I sent her into the ladies room on her own, and waited next to the door. When she hadn't come out after five minutes, I asked a lady to check on her, but she was gone."
"What's hard to believe about that?" Xander asked him, hoping there wasn't more, that his friend wouldn't have to deal with learning about the darker side of life on top of losing his niece.
"There was only one door, an' no windows." Greg told him, shaking his head as though he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around the facts. "There was only one woman followed her in there, and I saw her come out before I sent that other lady in to check on her. Only reason the cops don't think I did something to her was we ran into Arnie and his boys not five minutes before."
"Carpenter Arnie or Electrical Arnie?" Xander asked, filing that information away.
"Electrical. You know he has those twins just a year older 'n Gracie? We talked about taking 'em swimming together next weekend." Greg slumped forward, elbows on his knees, "People don't just disappear, Xander. Where'd she go?"
"Any chance the lady you saw might have smuggled her out?" Xander bit his tongue to keep from adding 'like Mexican firecrackers' to the end of the question. Glib remarks were how he and the Scoobies dealt with the stress of their world, but he was pretty sure Greg wouldn't understand that.
"Not that I could see. She didn't have a big coat on, or anything, but she…" the big man trailed off, with a shudder.
"She what?" Xander asked, his heart falling. Somehow, deep down, he knew there'd be a 'but'.
"Nothing, exactly. It's just that…" he trailed off again, as if he couldn't make himself finish a sentence about the woman he'd seen.
"Greg, man, whatever it is, I promise I've seen worse. I've heard worse." Xander reached out, and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You can trust me."
Greg looked at him with bleak eyes, "When she walked out, we made eye contact, and for just a second – less than that – I thought I saw something else. Something that keeps me from closing my eyes for more than a second."
Xander sighed, and took his hand back. He'd never appreciated how tough it must have been for Buffy to talk to the people who'd just gotten a glimpse into the shadows. Sure, he'd helped round up some of the new Slayers, but between the superpowers and the dreams, they already had an idea that there was more to the world than they'd thought. "Greg," he told his friend in a solemn tone, "the bad news is that there's a whole lot of stuff you don't know about, and that stuff is probably responsible for kidnapping Gracie. The good news is that I know people who can help you."
Dawn didn't look up from the page she was supposed to be trying to decipher, but part of her attention had been diverted to trying to place the rhythm that Graham was absently tapping on the table in front of him. That, she thought, is the problem with rhythm. It all sounds familiar, but you never know what you're hearing until the melody starts.
Graham paused a moment to push his steel-framed reading glasses higher on the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Mr. Giles isn't a good friend to prose, is he?" he asked with a motion to the diary he was reading. "Fascinating stuff here, but I've read cookbooks with more gripping narrative."
Dawn giggled, remembering Spike saying something similar the night they'd broken into The Magic Box. Hell gods aside, she missed the days when she'd thought of Spike as somebody she could count on. She'd been glad to find him alive in the kitchen that day, but reality was creeping back daily, and she wasn't sure she could forgive him as easily as her sister had. Then again, maybe dying to save the world earned a second chance. She sighed, thinking about how complicated things could be, if you let them.
"That sigh tells me you agree, but are far too kind to say so," he said with a smile. "Alternately, it tells me you're bored out of your mind, and wish to be far, far away."
"Nah," she told him conspiratorially, "I figured out the key to overcoming boredom in the library years ago." She tipped the huge leather bound tome she was reading toward him, revealing a gossip magazine tucked into its pages. "Sometimes you just need a break from the slime and pustules."
Graham barked a laugh. "While your company does make the library a bit less dreary, there's no need for you to stay, if you'd rather be elsewhere. Maybe at home with your sister."
Dawn hesitated, then dropped her book on the table and pushed it away. "I think they have it under control without me for now."
"I'm sure Buffy would want her sister there," he assured her, hoping it was true.
"And I want to be there, but there's no way anybody is going to keep Spike and Angel from standing guard, and Willow actually needs to be there to see if she can figure out what happened to her. Add in the fact that Buffy hates it when people make a big deal out of it when she's at less than a hundred percent, and here seems like the best place to be."
"That's a very mature way of looking at the situation," Graham said, impressed. "I'm not sure I could do it, if I were in your situation."
"Yeah, not so bad for a five-year-old, huh?" Dawn asked absently, pulling her magazine back toward herself.
"Let me guess, you were born on Leap Day?" he asked, familiar with the joke.
"Nope. Wasn't born at all. I guess you haven't gotten that far, have you?"
Graham's mind raced, as he considered the possibilities that fit in with Dawn's rather cryptic statement. "No, I suppose not." By the time he finished speaking, he'd considered and discarded half a dozen theories about her origins.
"Well, I won't ruin the surprise," she told him with a smirk. "It's a real twist. How far are you?"
"Mr. Giles is waiting for Angel to bring him a copy of The Pergamum Codex. He's amused by the irony of a vampire being in love with the Slayer."
Dawn nodded. "That was right before she died the first time. I didn't know Buffy was the Slayer yet, and when I saw her walking with him one time, I thought she was dating a college boy and threatened to tell Mom unless she did the dishes for a week."
"When did you find out about it?" Graham asked interestedly. The Council had maintained a policy of separating Slayers and Potentials from their families whenever possible, to keep the Slayer focused on their tasks, and to keep the families safe from a Slayer's enemies. A sister, especially one who'd lived to adulthood was a rarity, and this one was pretty, to boot.
"Probably about a year later. I heard her and Mom fighting about it. It was right before she ran away that summer, after she sent Angel to that hell dimension."
Graham blinked. "Buffy sent Angel to hell?"
"No choice. Well, I guess there was a choice. She could have let the whole world get sucked into hell instead, but since Angelus opened the portal to start with, it seemed fair."
Graham nodded. "This would be when Angel lost his soul, and rejoined Spike and Drusilla."
"You knew about that?" she asked, surprised.
Graham reddened. "Spike is – was the Watcher equivalent of one of those celebrities," he motioned to her magazine. "We tended to keep up with him, and when he teamed up with Angelus again, it was a very exciting time. Also, terrifying," he backpedaled at her incredulous look.
Dawn rolled her eyes and motioned to Giles's diaries, "So, what else do you want to know?"
Buffy opened her eyes, saw the red haired girl peering at her with a worried expression, and closed them again, deciding that light was not really her friend. She groaned aloud at the ringing and pounding behind her eyes.
"I'm still thinking maybe we should do something wacky like take you to a hospital," she heard the girl say in an unforgivably loud voice.
"No hospitals, Will," Buffy told her, voice still weak. "I'll be good as new, once that whole Slayer healing thing kicks in."
"You called me Will!" the witch exclaimed proudly. "Unless you were just remembering being introduced again, and taking a lucky guess at a nickname."
Buffy shook her head and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. "I knew."
"Remembering is good news; it's a start." The witch's infectious enthusiasm was less infectious than she'd hoped. After a long minute of silence, Buffy spoke.
"I didn't remember, exactly. I just knew. Everything else is still foggy."
"But foggy means it might clear up, right?" Willow asked hopefully.
Buffy didn't respond; she just rested her head against her knees, trying desperately to force a memory to the surface, where she could put it in a full Nelson and make it tell her where its friends were hiding out. "Why can't I remember anything?"
Willow gave her a helpless look. "I'm not sure. It's like you have some sort of big anti-magic shell around you. Everything I try to touch you with just becomes… null. If I couldn't see you and touch you, I'd swear you weren't actually here."
"Maybe I'm not," Buffy pointed out. "I mean, I'm not all there, am I?" she motioned to her head, careful to avoid contact.
"It's something to consider, I guess. We still don't know much. Or, you know, anything, if you're me." Willow's eyes lit up, "Oh, what if I start just talking about normal everyday things? Maybe some good, old-fashioned gossip'll make your head' all function-y again."
"Couldn't hurt," Buffy agreed, giving the witch a half-smile. "Go ahead, and hit me with all the latest and greatest in wherever we are. Only, you know, don't actually hit, or I might end up in a coma."
While Willow babbled, Buffy listened, and tried to lose herself in the words. Every now and again, the witch's words would solidify in her head; Xander, Hellmouth, and Dawn all meant something, but Willow had steered clear of the two names she wanted to hear about the most. In fact, Willow had been avoiding anything romantic, she realized. Either they were a house full of clergy, and given the two men she'd awakened to she had her doubts, or Willow was hiding something.
"Ok, Will," Buffy told her matter-of-factly, her voice regaining its strength, "spill. What aren't you telling me?"
Willow's eyes widened in surprise. "Nothing! I swear, if I knew anything about what was going on, I'd tell you."
Buffy rolled her eyes, mostly because it seemed like the appropriate response to Willow's single-mindedness. "Not about that, ya mook. You're skimping on the juicy stuff, and I want to know why I haven't heard a word about your love life. Or mine, for that matter, and keep in mind if you tell me I don't have one, I'll scream and see if the two hotties downstairs agree with you."
"There is not a pole long enough to make me touch the crazy that is your love life, Buffy." Willow smiled at her friend.
"So tell me about yours," The Slayer prompted.
"I have a girlfriend," Willow offered, shyly. "Her name is Kennedy. She's the Slayer in charge of the training grounds in Vermont."
"Kennedy: dark hair, kind of bossy, right?"
"If you ever tell her I agreed with you, I'll tell her you're a liar and a scoundrel, and she'll believe me," Willow told her conspiratorially.
"So what's the what with you here and her there?" Buffy asked.
Willow shrugged. "As head of the training ground, she's the number three Slayer in the Organization. There was no way she could turn that down, and I wouldn't have wanted her to. We see each other whenever we can."
"So why are you here, then? Not that I don't appreciate you being here, and all." Buffy gave her an impish grin. "Probably."
"When she took over, we hadn't been together long enough to make it to the give up all that I hold dear to be close to you stage of our relationship, and besides, I'm needed here."
Buffy narrowed her eyes at the red head. "And how long have you been together now?"
Willow hung her head. "A little over two years."
"And is that long enough to get to the give it all up to be with you stage?"
"I don't know," Willow admitted, sheepishly. "I haven't gotten there yet."
"And that is so not the end point of that conversation," Buffy prompted her.
Willow rose, and paced across the room, to Buffy's dresser. Nervous fingers reached out and plucked a worn photograph from the mirror's edge. A few bits and pieces had come to Buffy from the ruins of Sunnydale in an unmarked box that she'd always thought Riley might have had a hand in delivering. She remembered the day Riley had taken it, shortly after Giles had purchased The Magic Box. Xander and Anya sat next to one another, comfortably, like they'd be doing it for another fifty years. Spike squatted next to Buffy, his arm slung possessively around her chair. He'd used vampiric speed to rush into the shot, smirking at Riley, just as he was taking the picture, and somehow her resulting glare almost looked like adoration. Giles was perched on the edge of the table, a satisfied expression on his face, likely pride in his shop and his Slayer. Then her eyes fell upon the woman whose face she tried not to think about every night as she fell asleep. Tara, frozen forever, looking up at her like somebody seeing the sun for the first time.
Willow closed her eyes, trying to block the image of Tara from her mind. "I miss Tara, everyday," she began, hoping that the name would jog a memory, because she was afraid if she stopped to explain, she wouldn't be able to start again. "I love Kennedy, but I don't miss her every day, and that makes me more lonely than not seeing her. Buffy, I'm terrified I'll never feel that way about anybody again, and I want to. Does that make sense?" When Buffy didn't reply, Willow opened her eyes, and turned toward the bed, finding it empty.
"Oh, boy," she said helplessly, sliding her cell phone out of her pocket to delay breaking the news to Angel and Spike.
"So, the thing that put Spike on the path of righteousness was-"
"An electronic chip put in his brain, courtesy of the US Army," Dawn finished with a smile.
Graham shook his head. "The details of why there was a sudden change in Spike's behavior were always sketchy, and by that, I mean non-existent, of course. All we knew was that he'd suddenly started working with the Slayer from time to time; then all of a sudden he goes to Africa and comes back with a soul. When he died saving the world, it was like the big ending of one of those epic action films, but nobody could figure out why it happened. To think it was all because of a little piece of silicon."
"Silicon?" Dawn shook her head. "Spike didn't get a soul because of the chip."
"Why, then?" Graham actually moved forward to the edge of his seat, eyes glittering like a child on Christmas Eve.
Dawn gave him a long look that he couldn't quite decipher. "Because he tried to rape my sister."
A thunderous silence fell between them, and Graham looked down. "That must have been horrifying," he said quietly. "For both of them."
"Are you standing up for him?" Dawn snapped.
Graham looked at her, shaken, "No, of course not. It's just that…" Graham weighed his words, not sure if he should continue or not. "There is no record of Spike ever having raped anybody, even during his most brutal." Graham pulled off his glasses, and sat them on the table, rubbing the red spot on his nose where they rested. "If his reaction was to go and seek a soul, he must have been deeply disturbed by his actions. A vampire seeking out a soul would be like a human beating on the door of death row and demanding to be executed, or perhaps demanding to be thrown into solitary confinement for an eternity would be a better analogy."
"So, I should just forgive him because he's really sorry?" Dawn asked with a raised eyebrow. "Just forget the fact that I trusted him when nobody else did, and call it even?"
"No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply that you were wrong for being angry," Graham assured her. "I've studied Spike for years, and I know his CV practically by heart. That he tried to be anything other than evil at all is as mind boggling as, say, Britney Spears spending three months working in a soup kitchen without it being a condition of her probation. You'd be right to suspect that her motivations aren't entirely altruistic, but her supervisor would still have every right to be angry when she didn't show up to fulfill her responsibilities. Being angry on your sister's behalf is justified, Dawn. In fact, holding a grudge against people who tried to hurt your sibling is practically a pre-requisite for the job."
Dawn laughed, though the sound was dry. "I'm shocked you know who Britney Spears even is."
Graham flashed a half smile at her, raising an eyebrow, "I'm shocked you assume I'm out of touch with pop culture. It's because Mr. Giles and I share an accent, isn't it? You think I'm a hundred years old."
"I'll try to remember that you're young and hip," Dawn told him, rolling her eyes. She was quiet a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was quiet, "I just can't believe she's ok with it, you know? It's like she forgot all about it after he got a soul."
"How annoying for her to forgive somebody you hate on her behalf," Graham told her seriously.
Dawn laughed again, but this time, there was genuine amusement in the sound, "Yeah, something like that, I guess. Maybe the five-year-old isn't as mature as she thought."
"Now that's a story I'm dying to hear. Any chance you'll give me the Cliff's Notes version now, so it won't seem as boring when I read up on it later tonight?" he asked, hopefully.
"Sure, for a few millennia, I was a Key. Some monks made me all fleshy a few years ago and sent me to be protected by the Slayer. They did a real good job with the oogley-boogley to make it seem like I'd always existed, and voila: instant sister."
"What were they trying to protect you from? If you survived as a key for thousands of years, what changed?"
"Evil hell god named Glory. Wanted to go home, and end the world in the process."
"You're that Key?"
"How many are there?" she asked, surprised.
"Probably millions. You have to figure there are as many keys as there are things that lock," he reasoned with a shrug.
"Yeah, but how do you know about me?" she pressed, curiously.
"I don't know exactly what happened, but I do know that Travers and part of the Council went to visit Sunnydale, and came back crazy to find everything they could about Glorificus and the Key, that is, you. I was newly-inducted, so they locked me in the library with coffee and a bucket. And books, lots of books." He regarded Dawn silently, impressed with the strength it must have taken to survive what she'd been through without losing her ability to laugh or smile.
Before he could do anything as foolish as tell her what he was thinking, his cell phone rang. He answered it, and spent a few minutes on the line, talking as vaguely as possible. Finally, he flipped it shut, and regarded Dawn soberly. "That was Willow," he explained as quickly as possible, in case the Band-Aid analogy held true. "Buffy's gone again."
Willow's steps were heavy as she trudged down the steps to break the news to Spike and Angel. She wished she actually had something to tell them besides, 'we were talking about my love life, and she just poofed out.'
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, the good-natured argument the two men were having stopped abruptly, and the room was silent, except for the baseball game on the television. Angel stood abruptly, a smile lighting his handsome face. "Is she awake again? Can we see her?"
Spike's eyes narrowed when she hesitated, then spoke, "Yeah, she woke up."
"And then what happened?" he asked, knowing the answer before she said anything. Finding Buffy like that had been too simple, too easy, and easy had never been an option for them.
"We were talking, and she was starting to remember a little bit, and then she was gone." The witch snapped her fingers. "Just like that."
The color drained from Angel's face, taking the eager expression with it, and he fell back onto the couch with a graceless plop.
"Any chance you were able to use the mojo to figure out where she went this time?" Spike asked, his jaw clenching so that the muscles stood out.
"I tried every spell I could think of, but there's no sign that Buffy was even in that room, let alone anything that might lead us to her. She's just gone." Willow's voice was small, crushed under the weight of guilt and fear.
"You were supposed to protect her." Angel's voice was still shocked and blank, but when his eyes met Willow's there was a spark of cold anger.
"Angel, there was nothing to protect her from," she tried to explain. "Buffy was there, and then she was gone."
Angel stood, and Willow shivered at the tightly expression on his face. She'd seen Angel upset, and concerned, and she'd almost been a snack for Angelus once upon a time, but she'd never seen him truly angry before now. He shook with barely suppressed rage as he swept to the door, taking his coat from the rack, and sliding into it so that the leather popped forcefully. Spike was beside him in an instant, duster in place, ready for whatever lay ahead.
"Angel, where are you going? We don't even know where to start looking," Willow tried to reason with him.
"I'm going to find Buffy and get her back," Angel snarled at the witch. "And you'd better hope she's in one piece when I do, because I'm holding you personally responsible for every scratch." He stormed from the room.
Spike shot an apologetic look at Willow, who looked like she'd had all the air knocked from her chest. "I'd say he doesn't mean it, pet, but I think he actually might," he told her. "Get everybody working on this, and I'll try to slow Captain Forehead down before he does something more noble stupid than usual." Spike shook his head, and walked away, muttering under his breath, "Angel loses his bloody temper, and it's up to me to make peace with the natives."
Willow watched the two mean leave, trembling at the thought of what Angel might do in his state of worry. Acid churned in her stomach, and she swallowed it back, before she grabbed her keys, and rushed out into the night.
"Man, I always knew there were things you didn't tell me. You get that look in your eyes sometimes, like a soldier seen too much, or a man who done time. Never figured you for a jailbird, but I never figured those battles involved hell spawn, neither." Greg shook his head in amazement.
"And, hell gods. Don't forget the hell gods. God knows I never forget the hell god. Goddess. Did I mention she was crazy?" Xander asked.
"So, these Slayers… You really think they got a shot at getting Gracie back?" Greg asked him hopefully.
"I think they have a better shot than the well-meaning boys in blue." Xander motioned to the police officers, still milling around.
"What's something like that gonna cost me? Don't matter how much you say, you know I'm good for it," Greg rushed to assure him. "Just might take some time."
"Whoa, slow down, Nelly," Xander stuttered, shocked. "We don't charge people to save their loved ones from demons. Action, and sometimes a whole mess of scars or missing body parts, is our reward. We could use some information, though. Whatever took her put effort into taking her somewhere else, which makes me think it wasn't random. If we figure out why they wanted her, we have a better shot at figuring out who has her."
"She's seven. Outside of her favorite cartoons and snack, there's not a lot of information to have. She hasn't had time yet to-" Greg stopped as his voice cracked.
Xander looked at him with sympathetic eyes. "You're right. At seven it's less likely that it's something she's done than something she is."
Greg composed himself. "She was my baby brother's little girl. He wasn't but eighteen when she was born and his girlfriend was a couple years younger. Kids that age have a baby, and nobody really wishes 'em well, you know? But, Mikey was a good kid. Got himself a job working nights in a factory, so he could be at home with Gracie during the day while Christie was at school. And, Christie, god she was a sweet girl, but she had issues," he shook his head, remembering his brother's too short, too hard life.
"What kind of issues?" Xander prompted him, hoping there'd be more than just bad memories in the story.
"Mental ones, I think. She had these dreams… Night terrors, I believe they call 'em. Poor girl was afraid to sleep, drank coffee all night to try and stay awake."
"Any idea what kind of nightmares she had?" Xander asked, thinking he'd found a clue, after all.
"Mikey said that it was like a never-ending horror movie in her head. Sometimes, she couldn't wake up, and I'd see him all covered in bruises. He never said she did it, but I could guess."
"Jinkies," Xander said softy.
Greg looked at his friend with wide eyes. "You don't think she was one of 'em, do you? 'Cause she always seemed like a good kid, and that would make Gracie part whatever, and there ain't the first thing bad about that little girl."
"A demon? No, man, I don't think Christie was a demon," Xander assured him.
"But you think she was something, don't you?" Greg pressed.
Xander's cell phone began to chirp, and he pulled it out to find a message from Willow. Buffy is gone, it read, we need you back ASAP.
"Greg, I have to go, but I promise I'm going straight back to put a team to work on this. We're going to find Gracie," he promised, opening the phone and heading for the door.
"Angel, mate, this is a bad idea," Spike rushed to keep up with the taller man who tore through the alley like a demon on a mission, which was only half true.
"I'm not your mate, and I care enough to do anything to find Buffy, even if you don't," Angel ground out.
"Anything except listen to reason, apparently." Spike snapped, "Do you think Jeremy's going to be sitting in that hole, just waiting for you to shake him down again? You have to think, man."
"That's rich coming from you, Mr. I-had-a-plan-but-I-got-bored." Angel kept striding through the maze of allies, never looking back at the younger man.
"Exactly, and if even I can tell that you're being rash, don't you think it might be a good idea to stop and think things through?" Spike pleaded with him. He didn't trust Angel like this, and between difference in size and their newly human muscles, he didn't think he could restrain him. Knock him out and leave him hog-tied behind a dumpster, sure, but restrain him? Probably not.
"I tell you what," Angel whirled to face him, an uncharacteristic snarl on his face, "you go back and talk things over with the damn witch that let her go to start with, and I'll go do what needs to be done to find her."
Not for the first time, Spike wondered if becoming human and having an uncompromised soul had blurred the line between Angel and Angelus just a bit. Poufter was still noble, but he he'd only seen that savage look in his grand-sire's eyes once since he'd snacked on that gypsy girl in the1890s. "Red didn't let the Slayer go anywhere," oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought rolling his eyes inwardly, defending the prats that hated me not a year and a half ago. "I don't think she was completely here to start with. Whatever took her still had part of her."
"Why are you fighting me on this, Spike? You don't have the stomach to rough up some demons, fine, but why are you trying to stop me?" Angel's jaw clenched.
"Because, you idiot, if you go in there demanding to know who's taken the Slayer or where they've taken her, they all know she isn't here, and all her hard work to stabilize this little hamlet goes down the drain. If you think she'll thank you for that, you're sadly mistaken." Spike said, his own anger starting to shine through.
Angel took a stride forward, so that he was only inches from the blond man, and lowered his head to lock eyes with him. "I'll live with it, if she's alive."
"Not about what you can live with Peaches, it's about what she can live with," Spike spat at him. "You an' me, we tossed around the word 'Champion' like it meant something attached to the likes of us. Buffy's the real thing, and she's given up everything she ever loved or valued for the greater good, 'cept her kid sister. She gave her own life to keep from making that sacrifice. If you think she could live with you compromising that for her safety, you know even less about her than I thought."
Spike never saw the swing as Angel's fist collided with his jaw. There was only quick jolt, a shower of stars that would have made Drusilla proud, and the rush of concrete to catch him as he fell. Spike chuckled darkly as he stood, wiping the blood away from his lip. "Struck a nerve, then, did I?"
Spike dodged a second blow, and landed a sharp jab into Angel's stomach as he moved. "Not as hard as I did," Angel taunted him, giving Spike's split lip a meaningful look.
The two men traded blows in a flurry of fists that left bruises and the odd cut in their wake, but Spike danced away in time to avoid a round kick that probably would have taken his head off. There was no question that the taller man was more powerful, but so far Spike had been careful to stay out of reach of his heavier hits and to pepper him with a hail of much lighter, faster punches when he could.
"Feeling a little less cocky now, or would you like me to break your nose instead of bloodying it?" Spike taunted, after landing a good swing.
"I'm not cocky, Spike, I'm confident. You've always wanted what I have, and sometimes you manage to have them when I'm gone, but then you always lose when I come back."
"You know, Peaches, we've had this conversation before, out in the desert. Ended with me drinking flat Mountain Dew out of a bedazzled brandy snifter.
"I know what's really on your mind, even if you aren't man enough to admit it," Spike taunted him as he circled. "When you came back to Sunny Hell, found us together, you figured it had to be just because she couldn't be with you." Angel lunged, and Spike gave him a quick jab as they locked up. "It never occurred to you," he grunted against a hard fist that caught him in the brisket, "that she might actually care about me."
The two separated, out breath and aching, as Spike continued, "While you were happily, or not so happily, as the case may be, mooning over Cordelia, you expected little Buffy to still be pining for her lost hero.
"Meanwhile," and it ought to be illegal to enjoy a look as much as he enjoyed the one of sick rage on Angel's face, "your little Slayer grew up, turned into a helluva good woman, and you missed it." Spike locked eyes with him. "I didn't."
"Buffy didn't 'become' a hell of a woman," Angel snarled. "She always was one, even if you couldn't see it until you managed to get her in your bed."
"And that's where you're wrong. She was always a great fighter, but she only had potential back when I met her. And, it wasn't your tragic little tangle in the sheets made a woman of her. Girl walked into a battle against a god, knowing full well she wasn't walking out of it alive. That made her a woman. It was having everything she'd ever wanted ripped away, and not letting it beat her that did it. And, contrary to popular belief, it wasn't pain or loneliness that drove Buffy into my arms. She needed a man strong enough to hold that for her, even if it was for only a few minutes."
"And you were the only one around," Angel reminded him with a cruel smile.
Spike shrugged, though the reminder that he'd only ever been a substitute for Angel stung him as deeply as it always did. "Not a lot of men in this world able to stand up to the task. Soldier Boy sure couldn't do it, hard as his corn-fed little heart tried. And don't underestimate being the only one around. Goes further with the girl than you think."
"I don't think it's enough to get you back in her pants anymore, anyway."
"Yeah, well whatever you're selling isn't enough either, and I'm willing to call that a win." Spike smirked.
"Oh, come on, Spike," Angel's switch into the cold, measured voice he associated with Angelus wasn't lost on Spike, "I know you want more than a draw, even if you won't admit it. And, I know you won't admit it because, deep down, you know you won't win."
"That's it then?" Spike asked him. It had been a while since he'd had the pleasure of having his flesh cut from the bone by his grandsire. "You think you're the big winner?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But it won't be you, Spike," Angel's voice stirred old memories, painful ones, at that. "You're beneath her."
Angel turned and walked away, but he wasn't heading in the direction of the bar, so Spike let him go. "I'm guessing the Groosalug has a better chance than you, you poncey bastard," he called after him. "Not better than me, though," he muttered under his breath, as Angel's laughter receded into the night.
Xander was frustrated, and nothing that had happened since he'd heard about Gracie had made him less tense. He'd hurried back to Headquarters, only to find that there was absolutely nothing he could contribute to finding Buffy, except maybe a donut run for the people who might actually be able to figure that one out.
It wasn't bad that he'd left, though; as much as he wanted to stay with Greg and be support-o guy, his time was better spent finding Gracie. Unfortunately, all of the Slayer teams were in the field, following other leads. As much as he wanted to pull them all from whatever they were working on to find the little girl, he knew their cases were just as important to the people who wouldn't die because of them. If, you know, the nearly-murdered knew about them.
Footsteps followed him up the hallway; their echoed rhythm was faster, but the distance between them stayed more or less the same. One of the girls, he guessed, probably a Slayer, and they don't want to yap at me in the hallway. Tuesday was the only girl he could think of that had a beef with him, and he steeled himself for the confrontation looming on not-so-distant horizon.
When she walked into his office, about ten seconds after he did, he was leaned against his desk, arms crossed, obviously waiting for her. Tuesday rarely wasted time with pleasantries, and this was no exception. "I heard there's a little girl missing, taken by demons."
Xander nodded. "Yeah, she's a friend of mine's niece. Good kid, named Gracie."
He didn't expect the softness that flashed across the Slayer's face, but her voice was hard as steel when she spoke, "Put me on the case."
"Tuesday-"
She cut him off. "I know what you're going to say, Boss. I understand the 'whys' for taking me off active duty, but you don't understand me. I ain't traumatized because I staked that guy. I'm mad as hell, but I ain't traumatized, and I don't have less respect for the sanctity of life, or any of that shit."
Tuesday took a deep breath, as if she expected to be talking for a while. "It's Angel's own fault he got staked. He knew what I was, he knew what I thought he was, and he didn't do better than a half-assed explanation that he wasn't a demon. Not only that, but he did everything he could to antagonize me. Who does that?"
"This might be my extreme dislike of Angel talking, but I don't disagree," Xander told her with a smirk.
"I'm not swearing I'd have listened, if he'd tried to explain. Maybe I'd have staked him anyway, and then i'd have felt guilty. Maybe I'd need all this damn counseling y'all're trying to shove down my throat. But right now, there's a little girl needs my help, and there ain't a reason I can think of not to give it to her."
Xander closed his eye, trying to firm his resolve to do the right thing, play by the rules.
"I swear I won't ever tell anybody."
He lost the battle, then, reaching behind him to pick up a card off the desk. "This is the shrink we found for you. She's part demon, but don't stake her, unless you want to find out about the Slayer retirement package we haven't quite set up yet. She wants to see you once a week for the next month, but has cleared you for a probationary return to active duty. You met with her earlier today, but you didn't want to talk about it until it was official."
Tuesday grinned widely, something Xander had never seen before. It took the edge off the hard angles off her face, making her almost pretty. She took the card and slipped it into in her pocket. "I'm going to call the team. You mind bringing me up to speed when I'm done?" She turned away before he could reply, phone already in hand.
Damned pushy Slayers, Xander thought, irritation and amusement warring within him, she's fresh out of the Slayer doghouse, and she's already acting like she's the boss.
Then Tuesday turned to him, and flashed him a cocky grin that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she was perfectly ok with that because, hey, she was going to save the day. Xander put on his serious face, steering the Slayer into the hallway. "Call me to the library when your team arrives," he told her curtly, closing the door in her shocked face with a click. He liked his girls confident, but if he let them, they'd act like a pack of hyenas. Hyenas were not a thing he wanted super-powered girls acting like. He'd been down that road far enough to know that that way lay principle-chomping madness, and he was the closest thing to school administration they had in Miami.
Thanks again for reading! Please review, and please, please vote for me at the SunnyD Awards!