Chapter Nine: Miracle – Part One

A hush had fallen over the Winnebago during the long, hard hours of their journey south out of Sunnydale. The escape so far had been carried out at a snail's pace. Dragging every moment out to its longest extent, draining every once of energy out of the RV's passengers. Leaving them, for the most part, listless, fatigued, and extremely irritable with hair triggers, or some combination there of.

Spike squinted, through his dark goggles, as he stared out the small opening in the blacked out front windshield trying to force the RV to reach their destination that much faster by force of will alone. Sunrise was still more then an hour away, but he didn't see a point in taking any unnecessary chances if they could be avoided.

A crooked smirk appeared on his lips as he listened to his previous thought. His entire reputation was founded on taking unnecessary risk. From the first slayer he killed -- in one on one combat -- to throwing his lot in with the slayer and her band of buggered rejects.

Still a vampire had to know when enough was enough.

For him that came earlier when he let Giles spend a few hours behind the wheel. Getting off, and then back on, the freeway had been the adventure of a lifetime, right up there with watching paint dry, or grass grow.

Not quite as bad as having to listen to that bleeding sod Angelus go on and on about what a pitiful wretch the slayer was. How he had been the one to break her, left he so devastated she would never be able to stand up to him That he would have the run of Sunnydale. Right up to when she put a sword through his gullet and sent him to hell.

Watching the stuffy Brit transform a relatively simple K turn into something nearly as monstrous as Adam, was nearly the second worse thing he has had to endure in his hundred and twenty years of unlife.

The first being Dru leaving him.

The second being Dru leaving him.

With a quick glance in the rearview mirror he checks over the passengers in view.

On the right side of the RV, with the captain's chair swiveled around to face the opposite corner in the back, Dawn sat, her knees drawn up to her chest, engrossed in one of the books she brought with her. Harry Sodder, or some such. He didn't know, didn't really care all that much either. A story about some little prat who finds out he's a sorcerer and is sent to magic school.

Spike gives his head a scornful shake. Anyone that knows anything, knows that witches, warlocks, wizards, what have you, are either trained master to apprentice in an agreement closely resembling indenture servitude or in small cults. Not in grand old universities like Oxford or Cambridge, with professors and instructors and classmates.

A soft groan from further back draws his gaze. He can't help the small, malicious smirk that cracks his lips. He had warned all of them last night that the seafood was no good, had gone a bit rotten from being out. With the exception of Harris, everyone had listened to him and avoided the shrimp and crabmeat platters.

Now Xander laid on the fold down bed, green to the gills, with a damp cloth pressed to his forehead. He might have been all right if it wasn't for riding in the RV, motion sickness added on to a mild case of food poisoning. It was never a pretty sight.

Anya sat at the foot of the bed, facing its head. Her hands were wrapped firmly around Xander's in a grip that even Buffy would have a hard time prying loose. The same soft, but fervently whispered prayer -- more of a chant to Spike's sensitive ears -- passed her lips every few seconds.

She couldn't help herself. Xander had never been this sick before. Not even when he had the flu over the summer and he was vomiting day and night, would go from cold to hot in one heartbeat to the next. Not even when that irrelevant tribe of Indians had cursed him with an entire host of diseases.

Anya lifts her head slightly, her gaze shifting from Xander to his best friend Willow. "It would only be a small curse." She began quickly, earnestly with the hope that Willow will find her knew demeanor infectious and agree to her plan.

Willow looked up from across the RV, using a finger to mark her spot in the thin spine text she was currently reading. Still trying to find the reason why the Buffybot had ignored her programming and gone off on her own had Willow researching the spell once again. The act went against every single one of her directives. It should have been impossible for her to just wonder away after receiving a direct order, but she had done it.

The only thing that made sense was that the spell had done more then just duplicated and then spliced a fraction of Buffy's essence onto the machine. She couldn't think of anything else that could cause the sort of system wide failure the bot had experienced yesterday. She wasn't positive though, and the fact it had gone offline last night, and hadn't come back online, wasn't encouraging. A fact she was keeping from Buffy. Her friend had enough to worry about without adding what was, probably nothing more then a technical glitch to the list.

Her other hand continued to stroke Tara's long blonde tresses as the older girl's head rest on her lover's leg while she remained curled up on the bench. The powerful pain killers having done their work just a little too well.

"Just a little something to let them know they can't go around indiscriminately poisoning people," she pressed despite the red head's stern gaze.

Spike's snort of laughter cuts through the silence with the subtlety of a sledge hammer.

"Something you want to say Spike?" Willow asked the vampire. Her tone of voice making it quite clear as to where she stands on his presence with them. Not for the first time she wished she could see his reflection in the rearview mirror.

"Must be eating you up inside," Spike starts off. He couldn't help the taunting quality of his tone. Buffy had made it clear to everyone that he was staying and they all hated it. Hated him. "That when it's all said and done, slayer trust me to keep the bit safe… Much as she does you."

Willow's glare intensified on the back of the captain's chair Spike was occupying. It would be such a simple incantation and no more annoying vampire. Only Buffy was right and Spike was needed. Still it didn't mean she had to be nice to him.

"The only reason you're here Spike is because Buffy doesn't have to worry if you got hurt… Killed," she adds with a slight smile. "Face it Spike, you're just cannon fodder."

"Against the likes of Glory, who isn't?"

Willow freezes as she realized Spike was right. Even with all her power, she's still nothing but a stop gap, a speed bump in Glory's path.

"Can you guys please stop it?" Dawn pleaded softly. Her voice coming out sounding like the despairing wail of a small child. People were going to get hurt when Glory finally came after her, Tara already had been. People were going to die.

And it was all her fault.

She knew that, even if nobody said it out loud, and that was tearing her up inside. What she didn't need, didn't want, were the people she cared about the most doing Glory's job for her.

Willow swallowed the retort she had been about to hurl back at Spike. She couldn't believe she had forgotten Dawn was sitting between herself and the vampire. The girl had been so quite it was like she wasn't even there.

Spike glared menacingly at the road ahead. His knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. He mumbled something incoherently, but still loud enough to be heard.

At times he really despised himself. The reckless, brash and impulsive habits and behavior he has cultivated for more then a century. He's spent so long speaking without thinking that it has become ingrained into his nature.

Most of the time he wouldn't change that for all the slayer blood in the world. But sometimes, on those very rare occasions he wished that he could remember what it was like to be William. To be able emulate his naïve and bumbling ways.

Even if it was just so he could put Dawn at ease.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Buffy groaned softly, grinding the her palm of her right hand into her temple. They were going to have to stop soon. One stop, for gas and food -- that had turned Xander into a heaving mass of pulp -- in almost twenty-four hours, simply wasn't going to cut it.

Everybody was on their last nerve.

And that was frayed to the breaking point if Willow sniping at Spike was any indication.

"Are you all right?" Giles inquired sincerely from his seat on the wall mounted sofa across from the tiny blonde slayer.

Buffy can hear the concern coloring his voice. She closed her eyes, nodded slowly, feeling completely drained by the events of the previous weeks.

Spike declaring his feelings for her. Her mother's surgery, recovery, and finally unexpected and untimely death. Logan's sudden appearance and even more startling revelation.

Her father. Blood of her blood. Flesh of her flesh. The man responsible for her life.

Events had spiraled out of her, or anybody else's control after that. She had quickly realized she had less and less control over what had been going on around her. That was why they had to run.

So they could regain the control they had lost.

"Fine," she murmured quietly after a moment.

Giles gave a short, sharp nod. He doesn't believe her, but he was willing to take her at her word. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Any idea about our destination?"

"Not San Francisco," Buffy answered as she raised her head. A faint smile tracing her lips. "That Chucky guy was right. With that Hulk thing running loose up north…" She stops letting her words hang in the air.

There wasn't any reason to finish. They had both seen the news footage of the green behemoth. The creature could demolish main battle tanks with his bare hands. Like an overgrown child throwing a tantrum.

She had enough on her plate dealing with Glory. The last thing she needed to do was add an extra helping of gargantuan beast to the mix.

Let the United States government deal with their problem and she would deal with hers.

That was her motto.

Unless she could set the Hulk up in Glory's path. Maybe, with all that raw brute strength at his disposal, he might be able to teach Glory a long over due lesson.

Giving her head a rueful shake she disregarded the idea. No matter what he is, man or monster, Glory is still a god. An insane god, but still a god.

Worst of all Glory was her problem to deal with, and no matter how tempting the idea, she couldn't simply dump her off in somebody else's lap.

"Yes, well." Giles began as he pushed his glasses back up, giving them a more secure position on his nose. Standing up in the small room he glanced back at the door leading to the RV's main section. "Be that as it may, we still need a definitive destination. Something that everyone will be able to focus on. It may keep them from each other's throats for the time being… Though I seriously doubt that."

Buffy looked at him, the surprise clear on her face.

Giles graced her with an amused smile. "You don't have to enjoy the heightened senses of a slayer to pick up on the fact that everyone… With the possible exception of Tara, which is quite understandable considering the dosage of medication she is on… Is on the ragged edge. All you have to do is spend five minutes in the same room with them."

She gave him a grin, one that he hasn't seen in a long time. One that would easily light up an entire room with how radiant it was. "You sound like we should take a vacation. Head down to Florida… A little fun in the sun. Maybe hit up Disney Land?"

"Not quite what I had in mind," he mused softly. "But…"

Seeing the look on Giles face, Buffy arched an eyebrow stopping him before he can give voice to his objection. The same objection she has been hearing since before they left Sunnydale. "Spike stays," she says softly. Her tone firm, filled with conviction.

Giles bowed his head slightly. His lips turn up in a small grin. "You remember when the Initiative captured Spike… First implanted him with that chip?"

The grin that blossomed on Buffy's face shone like a new star. "How can I forget? Spike showing up on your doorstep… Making a nuisance of himself."

With a small chuckle Giles murmured, "he was quite the pest," in agreement with Buffy's statement. After a brief moment he becomes serious again. "I once asked him if he thought he might not be destined for something… A grander purpose."

"And?" Buffy urged.

"He laughed," Giles answered simply.

The tiny blonde shook her head at her mentor. "What did you expect? He spent the last hundred years, a blood thirsty killer… Then has it all taken away. Of course he laughed. He didn't have anything."

"It's been little more then a year. What could have possibly changed in that time?" He demanded.

Buffy shrugged, a tiny raising and lowering of her shoulders. "Us? Him?" She shrugged again. "I really don't know and I don't really care. He's on our side now and that's all that matters to me right now."

"For how long?"

"He kept Dawn's secret from Glory," she reminded him with a stern gaze. "Do you really think he's going to betray us now?"

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

A large, wooden x had been hastily constructed and then mounted on one of the many walls in Glory's palatial abode. Secured to the X, nails -- closer in size to railroad spikes -- were driven through each wrist and ankle was former detective, current Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Nick Wolfe.

Pain. Agony. Excruciating. Inescapable. Never ending. Every nerve on fire. Every inch of his skin dipped in acid.

He had thought he was strong, capable of withstanding anything life could throw at him.

That was before Sabretooth.

A ragged gasp escaped Nick as a nail, sharp as any razor, sliced open the sensitive flesh along his ribs. "Looks like our boy's waking up," Creed announced to everyone in the room. His voice rasping softly.

Glory flounced up off her red velvet divan. "We're not really getting anywhere this way," she murmured twirling a few of her blonde tresses in her fingers. "He stays dead too long… Just like the rest of the putrid bags of flesh, he isn't very talkative in that condition."

His thick mane of dirty blonde hair sways side to side as Creed gave his head a feral shake. "Two at the gallery didn't take nowhere near as long to recover." A sharp jab to Wolfe's gut punches a deep hole into Nick's abs starting a fresh stream of blood flowing. "Course their scents were a hell of a lot stronger."

Glory lets out an explosive yet despondent breath from where she leaned against the doorframe. After a brief pause she pushed herself off of the stained wood and walked back to stand in front of Nick. She reached out, a long nail finger lifting his jaw up. A look of pure disgust from touching his grimy, sweaty, stubble laden face. "Here's a novel idea… If you kill him half as often he'll have twice as much time to tell us what we want to know."

Nick glared at her. The hatred burning in his eyes caused Glory to smile predatorily. "Suck my left…"

Glory's fingers wrap around his throat in a vice like grip that chokes off his voice. "Choose your next word carefully," she growled in a menacing tone. Her grip tightening with each word. Her sharp nails dug into his flesh drawing little rivulets of blood. "You wouldn't want to make me angry would you? After all, pain and suffering… They are sort of my forte."

Once she finished speaking her grip loosened allowing Nick to draw in a deep breath. He shook his head angrily. Locking eyes with her he steels himself for what he's about to do. Taking a more normal breath he answered saying one word, "nut," in a deep clear voice.

Creed smiled, a slight upturning of his lips. He felt a slight touch of admiration for the man. As far as he was concerned Nick had himself a set of brass balls. Course that might cost him one, the large mutant mused silently laughing softly.

"Find something amusing?" Glory asked Creed without taking her eyes off Nick.

"Lots of things," Creed rumbled completely unconcerned by the threat implicit in her tone. He's been alive a long time, more then four hundred years and counting. He has faced a lot of people, creatures strong as Glory. That he was still alive and they're not is all the proof he needs that there was nothing out there that was a serious threat to him.

Glory smiles at his reply. Then, with a ruthlessness that Creed loved, her right arm streaked forward punching a hole through Nick's chest as if it were nothing but single ply tissue paper. Nick gasped at the intense pain that surged through his body, then slumped forward dead.

Again.

Extracting her blood smeared hand Glory turned her attention to Creed. "Why don't the two…"

Creed's head snaped around as his ultra sensitive hearing picked up a distinct sound approaching at incredible speed. "Something's coming," he informed her in a low growl.

A look of irritation settles over Glory's face as she glared at the back of Creed's head. She didn't hear a thing and the thought that this abomination of human genetics was capable of hearing something she couldn't infuriated her to no end.

Before she can act on her baser desires though she hears it. A low level thrum, a pitch or two below what humans are capable of hearing. There was a feeling of untapped power radiating from whatever was approaching.

Then, before anyone could react, it was overhead. The pressure from its thrusters, pushing down on everything underneath, was incredible. But, while most people -- even Creed -- struggle to stay upright and not be forced to the floor, Glory simply ignores the pressure wave as if it were nothing more inconvenient then a mild breeze.

The pressure stays constant for nearly a minute before it begins to taper off. Steadily growing duller and deeper the closer it gets to the ground until it finally reaches a pitch too low for Glory to hear.

"Someone doesn't turn that damn ship off I'm gonna use their spine for a toothpick," Creed vowed in gruff voice.

Glory shifts her gaze to the large mutant, her eyes narrowing as she began to realize just how sensitive his senses were.

Suddenly Murk burst into the room. "Oh… Your most magnificent entity. His lordship, Victor Von Doom's personal craft has landed just beyond the back terrace."

"Tell me something I don't already know," Glory snapped as she turned her gaze heavenward.

Murk opened his mouth causing Creed to smile. He was hoping the demon would make the mistake of responding to Glory's utterance. Victor was practically dieing to kill the obnoxious little demon. Murk saw the gleam of anticipation in Creed's eyes and his mouth promptly snapped shut for a brief moment. "Of course there is nothing that I could possibly tell you your radiance that you don't already know. How could I, your most splendiness? Me? Your humble servant, who without your wisdom and guid…"

"Whatever," Glory uttered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Why don't you go do something useful. Like clean out the sewers… Or I don't know. Show Doom' troops inside and bring their commander…"

"That would be Lieutenant," Carol Danvers announced from the door at the opposite end of the room.

Creed smiled at the woman's nearly silent approach. She was a warrior to the core. Everything about her screamed it. From the tone of her voice, to her body language, all the way to her scent.

His smile quickly faded as a squad of troopers flank her. No sound, no scent. Nothing to them. Nothing human.

In a voice like the low rumble of thunder in the distance Creed growls, "I hate robots."

Glory kept her gaze focused on the tall blonde at the far end of the room. Curiosity lighting her eyes as she took in the stranger standing before her. There was something about her -- a sense of confidence, a lack of fear -- that Glory takes in instant dislike to.

It could be the way she was dressed: dark military styled garb, gun on hip, ammo clip, utility belt. All in all a very utilitarian look.

Maybe it was her attitude. That whole I'm here and I'm in charge kind of thing really had a way of ticking her off.

In less time then it takes for the heart to beat a single time Glory is across the room, her fist around Carol's throat and Carol being held easily off the floor. Carol instinctively grabbed hold of Glory's wrist and forearm. Glory tightened her grip saying, "maybe you're not familiar with how things work around…"

She stops as the whine of a dozen high powered rifles fill the air. Shifting her gaze from side to side Glory smirks fractionally at the men, and the weapons arrayed around her. "If you don't order them to put down their weapons… I'll snap your neck," she informs Carol.

After a small pause she loosened her grip enough for Doom's lieutenant to talk. "You'd find the consequences for that action to be extremely undesirable," Carol replied smugly despite having to talk in a near hiss. Glory shifted her gaze back to the woman. "Lord Doom has been aware of your presence for some time now and has taken measures to ensure your… Good behavior."

Glory blanched at her audacity. The urge to nap her neck, destroy the machines occupying her home, and then pay Lord Doom a visit was nearly overwhelming. Only there was no hesitation in Danvers' tone. She was completely unafraid of Glory's reaction. It was as if she had an ace up her sleeve.

"My good behavior?" She murmurs incredulously.

"Specifically your more fragile side. Those rifles were designed with one specific purpose in mind. To disrupt the magic that enable you to maintain this form." A wicked smile spread over Carol's face. "They emit both low level harmonics, on rotating frequencies, and energy of varying spectrums and wavelengths. I understand its similar to being cooked in a microwave. For you that means reverting back to your human persona. They, being robots, kill your human host."

"And what happens if your fancy, high powered toys don't work like they're suppose to?" Glory questioned with scathing anger.

"I'll already be dead," Carol responded giving the impression of an indifferent shrug. "But being machines they'll follow their programming to the end, which includes physical conflict. And since each one has been field tested…"

Glory tightened her grip pressing her back into the wall. "You should know I don't respond well to threats."

Despite the pressure Carol still managed to say, "not a threat. Simply a precaution. You have a somewhat dubious reputation…"

"Dubious," Glory parroted letting go of Carol.

Carol stretched her throat, twisting it from side to side. "The thousands of insane people you leave in your wake," she informed her. "It makes tracking your movements childishly easy. You should really consider killing them. Kind of like that poor slob," she finished pointing to the corpse hanging on the X.

Glory scowls at Carol completely unable to believe the woman's audacity. "You would, would you?" Personally she enjoyed leaving them alive to wallow in their insanity. It was also ironic to leave their deaths in Ben's hands.

Carol shrugs, "just my opinion." The twelve androids lower their weapons as they spread out.

Creed eyes the robots warily. These weren't like the one he had run into earlier. These constructions had been built for combat not pleasure. Taking one of them out would be a challenge, all of them would be… Fun.

"I should apologize for my heavy handed entrance," Carol began while not sounding all that apologetic. "The key however is of great interest to Lord Doom and my charge is to secure its location and prepare it for transport once you've used it for your return home."

Glory laughs softly, a very girlish giggle. "Seems somebody's been slightly misinformed."

"What do you mean?" Carol demanded sensing the nature of the deception. Glory didn't have the key. "Where's the key?"

"I'm in the process of acquiring it," Glory replied smoothly. "You're more then welcome to join us."

Carol cursed softly. Her choice of epitaphs perking Creed's interest. Then again her scent had perked his interest once he had gotten a whiff of it. Human, but something else as well. Not demonic, something else entirely. Something he's never come across before.

Absently he wondered if Glory noticed the fact that Doom's Lieutenant wasn't entirely human. He doubted it. For a god she was extremely unaware of events going on around her. If he was any kind of ally he would inform her. Only it was going to be much more interesting to let things play out without his interference.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

A soft sigh escaped from Bobby's mouth as the young man hung up the phone. Things had definitely gotten out of hand. Buffy and her friends had pulled a runner leaving Kurt and Logan behind. Professor Xavier, Ororo, and Peter were on route to Washington D.C. to pick Illyana, Peter's little sister.

Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but for some inexplicable reason none of their phones were working. Without the phones there was no way to contact them.

Maybe if Dr. Grey was here, he thinks to himself. She might have been able to contact the professor Telepathically or maybe used Cerebro.

Another deep sigh, a touch of frost filling the air, slipped past his lips. Nothing had been the same since Alkali Lake. Dr. Grey was dead, giving her life so the rest of those present would live. Scott Summers had taken a leave of absence and while he was due back any day now it was still unclear as to whether or not he would be staying on.

"So?" Marie asked. Her impatience shining through loud and clear.

Bobby could understand why. Logan had taken on the role of, if not surrogate father then at least that of over protective big brother to Marie.

"Still nothing," he answered. "The operator says there's some kind of electrical interference in the area. They haven't got a clue as to when it's gonna clear up."

Marie sat down heavily on the sofa looking for all the world like she just lost her best friend. Bobby sat down next to her putting his arm around her back and gently rubbing her lightly clothed arm. "Everything's going to be all right," he commented confidently. "Logan's tough he'll keep things together until Professor X can get out there."

She looks up at her boyfriend, a feverish light burning in her soft eyes. "We need to go," she said with an intensity he's never seen from her before.

"Go where?" he asked even though he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

"California."

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment after hearing the one word he had hoped beyond hope not to hear. Opening them he looked at her sincerely saying, "it would take us close to a week to reach Sunnydale."

"Not in the Blackbird," she reasoned quickly. "A few hours…"

"We can't take the Blackbird!" He exclaimed in a strangled voice even though he had been half expecting the statement. A little part of him was thrilled at the thought of taking the modified SR-72 Blackbird out all on his own.

"You've been training."

"On the simulators," he answered quickly. "There's a big difference between that and the real thing."

"They need help," she whispered softly. Pleadingly. "We're all there is. What would Logan do? Or Scott? Kurt? Professor Xavier?"

Bobby sighed again knowing the battle, skirmish really, was over. All of them would do whatever was necessary to help their fellow X-Men. Risk life and limb. Even Scott if Logan was in trouble and just as surprisingly the same held true in reverse.

How would he ever be able to call himself an X-Man if he wasn't willing to do the same.

"I'll start prepping the Blackbird," he told her rising to his feet. "You keep trying to get in touch with the Professor."

He just knew that, once all this was over with, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Hopefully he would still be alive to do the explaining.