Part Three
Gunn had stepped out of the conference room and back into his own office for a few moments, in order to take an important phone call. He was just winding it up - and enjoying every moment of it. 'Yes I know,' he said into the receiver, 'but he wouldn't have pled nolo contendere if he had known about the exculpatory evidence being withheld by the prosecutor's office… look, look, set up a meeting with Judge Braedon. Closed chambers...Screw the D.A, he's the one trying to pull a fast one. Let him read about it in the newspaper.' He hung up the phone.
'Screw the D.A, huh?' he looked up sharply, and saw Doyle standing, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest and looking none too impressed with what he was hearing. 'Is that how you do things around here? Play chicken with elected public officials?'
Gunn raised an eyebrow - he had noted the hardness in the Irishman's voice. 'Just a little professional rivalry,' he said, keeping his own voice cool. 'If you wanna see ugly you should see us out on the links.'
'So that's how the system works in the Land o' the Free, huh? People's futures decided over games of golf. Well ... Makes me glad I'm not a citizen.'
'Sometimes you gotta work the system before the system works you.'
'That your new motto?'
'Is there something that you wanted, Doyle?'
The Irishman shrugged. 'I was just … checking in - seein' how things were goin' down this week.'
Gunn sighed, leaned back in his chair and fixed Doyle with a hard stare. 'Look - I know you chose a different path to the rest of us. I know you don't approve of the path we're on. And you know - you're right - our move to Wolfram and Hart hasn't been all flowers and candy, but we've been able to do some serious good here.'
'You've also done some serious harm here.'
It was Gunn's turn to shrug. 'Lives saved, disasters averted,' he listed '- all with our fingers and toes attached …'
'Threatening the D.A, endangering innocent people, plus some pretty top drawer flunkeying for demon Lords of the underworld,' Doyle listed right back at him
'We made the right choice coming here,' Gunn said, keeping his voice even.
'Is that a fact?'
'It is.'
'And the amount you've changed in the past six months - the things this place has done to y' … none o' that is a concern?'
'What this place has done? Doyle! This place has made me better. They've given me knowledge and purpose - and I can use all that to do more good than I ever could just hitting things with my axe. I get that sometimes folks just don't like to see a brother change, but this place has given me power - and I'm down with that.'
'Yeah,' Doyle narrowed his eyes, 'but if I remember my Sunday schoolin' correctly, the devil was always quick to promise shiny things … but they never came free. There was always a price. And last week … last week it was Cordy who paid the price of you sellin' your soul. Not you. So forgive me if I'm not as 'down' as you with your power upgrade.'
'Look - I'm sorry about what happened to Cordy. I am. And I swear it won't happen again. Working here is a balance. I get that. Now maybe at first I didn't get a hold on it right. But I'm getting better at it - weighing up the costs, playing with those shades of grey. There won't be any more innocent parties getting caught in the crossfire. I'm on top of it all.'
Doyle pushed himself away from the door frame and turned to walk away. 'I hope you're right,' he said, without looking back.
Spike and Andrew patrolled through the docks - still on the hunt. 'Mostly I talk to Rupert,' Andrew was saying. 'But we all check in. Xander's in Africa, he sent me a mbuna fish. And Willow and Kennedy are in Brazil. They're based in Sao Paulo but - uhm - every time I talk to them they're in Rio.'
Spike came to a stop and sniffed the air - there were traces of blood on it. If he could just follow the scent, it would lead him straight to the bint he was seeking. 'So … uh…' he started walking again and kept his voice overly casual, 'you heard from Buffy lately?'
'Yeah of course. She's in Rome. Dawn's in school there. Italian school.'
'Rome, eh? Never pegged her for the expatriate show.'
Andrew shrugged, she had been rounding up slayers in Europe and had decided that she liked it there. He thought she just needed a break from California… a thought suddenly hit him. 'Wait a minute. She doesn't know you're alive, does she?'
'No,' Spike said, uncomfortably, 'I don't think so. I mean, I don't know … does she?'
'No. N-no…' he thought about it for a moment. 'She can't. I mean - I would have heard about it. We would have had a conference call. Why haven't you told her?'
Spike sighed and made a telephone out of his fingers, holding them to his ear and mouth. 'Hello, Buffy. It's Spike. I didn't burn up like you thought. How's things?' His voice was heavily laden with irony.
Andrew nodded in understanding. 'Uh, do you want me to tell her? 'Cause I'm really good with those - uh - personal, delicate…'
'No,' Spike said quickly. Christ - of all the ways for the slayer to find out he was back in the land of the unliving … 'Don't tell her. I'll take care of it.'
'Got it. You're a loner. Playing it cucumber - as in cool as a…'
'Just keep your mouth shut.'
'No problem, brother - you're a troubled hero. Creature of the night. El creatro del noche.'
''Please stop it.'
'Living by his own rules. Unafraid of anything or anyone…'
...
High above them, on the rooftop of a warehouse, Dana watched the two men walk through the docks. The bad man - the vampire, and the other one. Unseen and unnoticed, she trailed after them, hunting the hunters.
The three of them walked out of the elevator, back into the lobby. 'Hey, how'd it go?' Gunn greeted them.
'Great - if by 'great' you mean vague clues heaped onto the already vague ass stuff we already knew about her,' Cordy answered.
'We need to find out more,' Angel agreed with her summary. 'Gunn - I want you to find the guy that killed Dana's family. His name, his past, his whereabouts. Everything.'
'Police never caught him.'
'We're not the police. Search her files. Talk to her contacts. Raise the dead if you have to. Just find him. Doyle - I want you to help him, ask around - see if anyone you know remembers this happening. Ask if they know anything.'
'Checkin' with the lowlifes - got it.' The two men walked off and Angel spoke to Lorne. 'I wanna know where he took her after he abducted her. The psychic narrowed it down to a basement that smells like molasses. We can do better than that. Start cracking the whip.'
'You got it chief,' he walked away, calling for his assistant. 'Danny! We're gonna need a whip.'
Cordelia and Angel glanced at each other - and then headed back into the conference room.
Spike had picked up his pace, walking briskly down the docks. Andrew was having to jog to keep up, but unfortunately that didn't stop him from yammering longer than it took him to draw breath. 'And I say "well the two of us disagree with you hombre" and he's all "the two of you?" and I say "yeah me and my electric net" and then … what's wrong?' he broke off his anecdote to ask, as Spike came to a stop and looked around - alert and wary.
'Blood, smells different. Stronger.' He ran around the corner - Andrew chased after him - looking for the source of the blood, almost intoxicating in its closeness. This took them into an alleyway, where 55 gallon drums were being stored. They were filled with gasoline, and the smell mingled with the smell of the blood. 'Dead end,' Andrew said, looking around. The drums blocked the alleyway off - so the only way out was back the way they had come. It should be obvious that this wasn't a safe place to be … but Spike wasn't paying attention. Instead he was examining a streak of the ruby red smeared on the wall. 'It's her blood,' he said softly.
She dropped down behind them into the opening of the alleyway and - before he could even react, she punched Andrew in the head knocking him out cold. Spike turned to face her, realising he had walked straight into her trap. He punched her and she flew through the air and smashed into a stack of drums. But she got back to her feet and came back swinging. He grabbed hold of her and smashed her head into another of the drums, hearing the hollow clang - it didn't even slow her down, and she wriggled out from his grasp and kicked him in the face.
Down on the ground, Andrew came to. He rolled over - saw the fighting - and reached inside his coat to pull out a tranq gun. He couldn't take aim - they were moving too fast - and he didn't want to risk hitting Spike. But, once she had knocked the vampire to the ground, he saw his opportunity and pulled the trigger. She dodged the dart, and it flew harmlessly past her. Andrew grasped for a second dart, trying to reload as quickly as possible, but Dana kicked him in the face - and he was knocked out once more.
She turned and fled out of the alleyway. Spike struggled back to his feet and - without a backwards glance at Andrew - chased after her.
'No, no … it was about 15 years ago,' Doyle switched the phone from one ear to the other and listened to what Frankie Tripod had to say. 'Yeah, man, she was taken from a house over in Redondo Beach - was found a few months later, wandering the streets of Wilmington… yeah she was just a kid… yeah, it probably made the news.' He listened to the buzzing down the line as his old contact told him what he knew, and glanced up at where Gunn was combing through Dana's files. He rested the phone against his chest, for a moment, to muffle the sound at his end of the line. 'Found anythin'?' he asked.
'Why - you worried I might endanger someone's life with the knowledge?'
Doyle rolled his eyes, and put the phone to his ear again. 'No - just … any names of any sketchy guys from that area,' he said to Frankie, 'human, yeah, anyone who might have done a thing like that?... uhuh … uhuh ...OK… what happened to him?'
Gunn looked up from his file and leaned across the desk, taking an interest now it sounded like Doyle was getting somewhere.
'Right - we'll check that out. Thanks - I owe y'.' He put the phone down, 'and I'm chargin' that expense to the evil empire,' he told Gunn. 'You guys can pick up the tab.'
'What did he say?'
'Can you pull prints from the police database?'
''Course we can.'
Doyle snorted. 'Right. Well F.T says he knew of this small time creep. Petty loser mostly - but with a real nasty vibe to him, seen him string up a cat for no reason - that sort o' thing… from the right area, right time.'
'And?'
'Police shot him dead in a liquor store robbery five or so years ago. If we match his fingerprints against any prints pulled from the murder house all those years ago…'
'Then that means we got our guy,' Gunn finished up.
Spike ran down the dock - his feet pounding against the asphalt - but he pulled up short, as he passed a doorway into a warehouse. Her scent lingered around there; she hadn't gone on, she had gone in. He followed her inside - and traced her steps, along the corridor and then down the concrete stairs, just by the smell of her. Sure enough - there she was, standing in the basement. 'Alright pet, no getting away. Got your scent locked in now. Could track you for miles.'
'No escaping,' she said, watching him come down the stairs.
'That's right,' he walked cautiously towards her. 'No escaping. Now all the same … I don't wanna hurt you.'
Dana wrapped her arms around herself and fidgeted. Her head was hanging low and she peered up at him through the dishevelled curtain of her hair, 'doesn't hurt if you hold still.'
'Right.' he shook his head - baffled as to what she was talking about. But Dana was straightening up - and there was a purposeful gleam to her eyes as she looked at the man in front of her. 'Head and heart..' then she collapsed inward again. 'Have to get home … doesn't hurt if you hold still.'
'You really are sack of hammers aren't you?' he chuckled to himself. 'But that's OK - I used to date a girl that wasn't all there…' Though this bird made Drusilla look like the cool ice queen of sanity. The Crown Princess of hold-it-togetheredness.
'Heart and head. Stab the heart. Cut off the head. Only way to be sure.'
He peered at her through the gloom. 'That's slayer talk isn't it?
'Keep cutting until you see dust.'
He remembered the time Buffy had gone briefly crazy. She had thought, due to the infection of a demon, that she was just a very sick girl in an insane asylum, living delusions of being chosen; having friends; fighting demons. It seemed to him like this girl must have lived that life for real, locked away in a hospital, seeing things of Buffy's life, Faith's life - and all the other girl's going back in time - and not understanding what it was she saw, but learning to be afraid anyway. 'Right, let me explain,' he said to her, matter of factly. He knew from long experience that you needed to be matter of the fact in the face of crazy - that humouring a hallucinating girl got you nowhere good. 'You got visions. Right? Vampire slayer memories kicking around in your head. Which is tough … 'cause it sounds like you're past midnight on the crazy clock anyway.'
Dana cowered away from him, 'please don't,' she whimpered, her voice small and terrified. 'I need to get home to my son, to my Robin.'
'Robin?' His face lit up with sudden understanding. 'Oh hey, you're talking about Nikki - the slayer I offed in…' Dana looked up at him, sharply, and he trailed off - remembering his crown accomplishment was maybe not something he should be bringing up in this situation. 'Uh, yeah, you probably don't wanna think about that, pet.'
'William the Bloody,' her voice wasn't a whimper anymore. It was more like a growl, angry and accusatory. He took a step back and held his hands up in protest. 'No no no. That's not gonna lead anywhere good. You need to focus on what's real.' He nodded at her encouragingly. She ignored him. 'Head and heart - don't be scared.'
'Now we're gonna…'
But Dana kicked out, suddenly, knocking him to the ground. And then she was on top of him, a needle in her hand. She stuck it in his neck and depressed the plunger. He smacked her away from himself and tried to get back up … but the drug was already taking effect and he staggered around, weak and disoriented. 'You little minx,' he slurred his words, and bent double - unable to stand up straight. 'What did you do to me?'
'Yellow makes you weak.' She walked up to him and glared into his eyes. 'Not weak anymore.' She hauled back her fist and started hitting him. He cried out and fell to the ground. 'Alright, now you've made me mad…' he said - still slurring, his eyes struggling to stay open.
'Don't cry. They can't hear you.'
Spike collapsed on the floor, and Dana stripped his leather jacket off him - the way he had once stripped it from Nikki Wood - and then dragged him across the cold ground by his arm. She remembered him carrying her across this room, holding her in his arms - like daddy used to. But not Daddy. He was taking her some place to hurt her. She dragged him to the pipes and began to chain him up. She remembered him chaining her to these pipes. She remembered her cries for help. 'Daddy's gone,' she told Spike, 'he can't hear you.' She got to her feet and walked away.
Spike was barely conscious now, his head slumped on his chest. 'Goin' down, love,' he mumbled, 'one way or …'
She came back to him, now holding the box of syringes. 'Piece by piece,' she crouched down in front of him and checked her needle, just like the bad man used to, letting some of the drug squirt out. 'Yellow makes you weak. Brown makes you sleepy.' She jabbed the needle into his neck. 'Can't hurt me anymore.'
'You crazy little...' he couldn't raise his head anymore, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth, his words were barely understandable - and his brain was so foggy he couldn't think to the end of his sentences. 'I never hurt…'
'Shhh - hold still. Count backwards from ten. 10 9 8 7…'
Her voice became more distant and her face became more blurry until - long before she reached zero - everything faded to black.
Doyle and Gunn had joined the others in the conference room and were now helping with tracing Dana. 'Frankie Tripod gave us a great lead on the guy who did this,' Doyle was telling the others, 'we've tracked him down - now all we need is to find out where he took her.'
'Frankie Tripod?' Fred wrinkled her nose. 'What is that - some kind of three legged demon?'
'No - he's human,' Cordelia told her, absently and without looking up, still skimming through the files on Dana. Fred considered this for a moment: 'ew.'
'Good - that's good - but what do we know?' Angel asked. Gunn pointed to the map. 'Tactical found the body here - fourth and Camden.'
Angel looked at the map, seeing where it was Gunn had indicated. 'Oh great, she's staying in the area. Let's get aerial surveillance up. Thermal imaging. Have them go block to block, 5 mile radius.'
Doyle raised his eyebrows at that, and whistled long and low. 'Man - you guys got all the gadgets now. How'd you ever used to get the job done when it was just us, the hotel and the Plymouth?'
'Don't be forgetting my sweet girl,' Gunn said. A look of worry fleeted across his face, 'you guys are taking care of my baby, right?' Cordelia nodded - and he looked relieved and then turned back to the question in hand. 'What exactly do you want tactical looking for?' he asked the CEO, 'I mean, this is an industrial area - most of the buildings have a basement of some sort.'
Angel turned to Lorne and asked if the psychics had had any more luck narrowing things down. But it was the same old story. Cold, creepy and smelled like molasses.
'How about,' Wesley stopped himself and laughed sheepishly. 'I almost said the words 'molasses factory' out loud.'
'Whisky!' Fred cried out getting to her feet.
'Oh god bless you, kitten, I was just about to suggest the same thing,' Lorne said, just as Doyle said, 'now you're talkin'!' But Fred shook her head - she wasn't suggesting a stiff drink, she had the answer. When you cooked up whisky it made the whole room smell like molasses. The team looked at each other, excited. 'Look for a distillery,' Angel started barking out orders, 'get maps from ten years ago.'
''This is how they did it when it was just us and the hotel,' Cordy muttered to Doyle, under her breath. 'We never needed any of this hi-tech gadgetry and thermal imaging whatsits … just each other.'
He smiled wryly, 'right - the whole team.'
'Working as one.'
There was a flurry of activity as the team gathered up maps and pulled up business information on the net - until Fred suddenly noticed Andrew standing in the doorway. His face was bloodied and beaten. 'Andrew!'
'We were attacked,' he told the team. He was breathless and his voice was trembling. 'I think she got him. I think she got Spike.'
Spike faded back into consciousness. His head was heavy and his sight was still blurry and his mouth felt like it was packed with cotton wool. He could hear Dana talking away to herself: 'piece by piece.'
'What'd you do?' he slurred, he was having trouble moving his tongue - and he couldn't lift his head all the way up. And he couldn't feel ... he was numb, he couldn't feel anything below his neck.
'Shh,' she hushed him, 'stay quiet. I'll let you go.' It was the words he'd used on her - time and again - the bad man - back when she was weak. Not weak anymore.
'You're homicidal. What did you do … to me?'
She crouched down in front of him, holding her bone saw. 'Losing all your pieces. Not weak. Can't touch me anymore.'
What did she .. what did that … even through the fog of the drugs, he felt a jolt of dread at her words, as their meaning penetrated the haze of his mind. Slowly - so slowly - unable to feel a thing - he raised his arms so that he could see them. What was left of them. They now ended midway down his forearm. Dana had cut off his hands.
