In the Space of a Journey
Chapter Thirteen
England -- The Knight's Downfall
"I *hate* the Tube!" Cordelia muttered as she followed Buffy and Xander up the stairs to street level. "It's all grimy and gross. And the weird people! I'd much rather pay for a cab!"
Buffy turned and shot Cordelia a look. "On the way back, if you'd like to pay for the cab, we'd be happy to ride in it with you!"
Cordelia glared right back at Buffy and announced, "If you think..."
"Girls!" Xander interrupted her. "Not to stop this wonderful exchange you've got going on here, but I think that's it..."
The girls stopped glaring at each other and followed the direction of Xander's pointing finger. Nestled between a grocers and a cigar store down the block was a building with a bright red door. The sputtering neon sign in the window read:
The Kni ht's Downfa l.
"All right," Buffy said, "here's how we're gonna do this thing. I'm going to go in first, check the place out. Then you two will follow me inside. Give me... I don't know... five minutes." She gave Xander a significant look, followed by a glance at Cordelia, meaning that he was to take care of her. Xander nodded to indicate his understanding.
"Fine, whatever," Cordelia agreed. "I really don't want to be seen in there any longer than I have to, so let's get this over with."
"Look, Cordelia," Buffy snapped, finally losing her temper with the spoiled princess. "You may not care about Sonya or Doyle, but their lives ride on this. If we don't get a lead, we'll never be able to rescue them. As much as I hate to admit it, you and an ornery English vampire are our two best hopes. So, why don't you just shut up and do your job?"
Instead of the retort Buffy expected, Cordelia got very quiet. "After you, Buffy," she said, gesturing at the door to the pub.
Buffy gave Cordelia one last confused look, and then went inside.
Watching Buffy go without him, Xander felt a familiar pain in his heart. The twinge that always came when he watched Buffy go off into battle. Having been in her position once, he knew that it was inevitable, but he always wished he could protect her somehow. Xander sighed. First and foremost, Buffy was the Slayer. He loved her, and he would support and help in anyway he could, for her, for himself, and for all those that they could help. Right now, Sonya and Doyle. A soft voice next to him broke his train of thought.
"Do you think Doyle and Sonya will be all right?" Cordelia tucked a strand of shiny, straight brown hair behind her ear and looked at him with what almost appeared to be worry in her eyes.
Xander took a double take, and then answered, "Yeah, I think so. We'll find them."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because any other alternative is unthinkable." Xander glanced down at his watch, and then said, "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Cordelia squared her shoulders and then followed him into the pub.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The door slammed behind her as Buffy stepped into the pub. Everyone in the small room stared at her. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness and the smoke-filled haze. She walked over to the bar and perched gingerly on a stool covered with cracked green vinyl.
The bartender, a butch-looking woman with a hefty figure and mousy brown hair came over to her. "What'll ya 'ave?" she asked as if she were doing Buffy a huge favor just by waiting on her.
Buffy hesitated for a second before replying. "Um... I'm just here to meet a couple of friends. I'll wait until they get here to order."
"Want some advice?" The bartender continued without waiting for a response. "Get out of 'ere as soon as you can. This ain't the place for a nice-lookin' girl like you."
"Thanks," Buffy said, turning around on the stool, "but I can take care of myself."
"Well, just don't say that I didn't warn you." The bartender moved down the line to take care of someone else.
Buffy could feel the eyes of the pub patrons on her, but every time she looked around she couldn't catch any of them. A wave of nervousness overtook her. (You're the Slayer) Buffy told herself angrily. (You can do this! Lives depend on it, so quit with the shy crap!)
She straightened her shoulders and stood up. Buffy did her best to scan every single person in the pub, but she didn't see the one she was looking for. Turning, she was about to ask the bartender if she knew any guys with peroxide blond hair when a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
"Well, well, well. Lookie at what we have here, boys and girls. If it ain't the bloody Slayer slummin' it at the vampire bar."
A wave of reaction to that comment went throughout the pub, and some of the patrons hurried to leave. Others stood and glared at Buffy.
Buffy turned around to face the owner of that familiar accent. "Hi, Spike. It's been a long time."
Spike looked about the same -- white/blond hair, red shirt, black coat. A wide grin split his pale face. "Not long enough by my way o' thinkin'," he replied. "Now, tell me, did little Buffy come all the way down here by her itty-bitty self?"
"You underestimate me, Spike," Buffy told him. She heard the door open behind her, and Xander and Cordelia walked inside.
"Don't talk down to me, girlie," Spike said. "I remember when you was nothin' but a scared, little bit of a thing..." He looked up and saw Xander looming protectively over Buffy. "Why, if it isn't Xander Harris, the Pseudo-Slayer of Sunnydale! And the society queen of Sunnydale High, or so that slut Willow used to say." Spike leered at Cordelia. "I sure would like a taste of you, sweet thing." Cordelia shrank back, and Spike added, "What, did you all decide to take a bloody field trip?"
Buffy grabbed Spike by the collar of his shirt. "We came specifically to see you. I think you have some information on what happened to our friends. Sonya, and a psychic Irishman named Doyle. Some vamps who said they knew you kidnapped them from Cordelia's hotel." She tightened her grip on the collar, grabbing some skin as well. "Know anything about that?"
The other vamps in the pub growled menacingly, but they didn't seem too willing to get involved. Buffy figured it was her reputation as the Slayer. Sure, she couldn't take all of them, but she'd get some of them. Apparently none of them were willing to risk the chance of dying, at least not yet. She knew they'd have to hurry if they wanted to get out of here alive and well.
"See anything Cordelia?" she asked.
The brunette squinted in the hazy pub. "Not yet."
Spike chose that moment to grab Buffy's wrist and force her to let go of him. "I told them not to take the job, but the bloody fools insisted. An' I ain't seen 'em since."
Buffy reached back and staggered Spike with a powerful punch to the jaw. "Who hired them? I'm not in the mood for cryptic messages. I've had enough of those today."
"They aren't here, Buffy," Cordelia inserted. "I know I'd recognize them again, and they aren't here."
Buffy glowered at Spike. "That means you are our only clue. So talk!" She prepared to punch him again.
A couple of hefty vampires finally found their courage and walked over to the end of the bar. One growled at Buffy. "I think you and your friends should turn around and walk out of here."
Xander pulled out a stake. "Watch it, buddy!"
The vampires growled again, and Cordelia made a small, unidentifiable noise. Buffy could sense the situation deteriorating.
"Look, Spike," she said suddenly, backing off a little bit, "we don't want any trouble."
"Oh yeah?" Spike leered at her. "You're askin' for trouble just by comin' in here."
"All we want in some information," Buffy replied calmly. "Tell us who hired your friends to pull that job at the Ritz, and we'll leave without a fuss. I'll admit that I'd like nothing better than to rid London of scum like you, but right now I've got more important things on my mind. Does anybody here *really* want to fight the Slayer? I might not be able to take you all, but I can take a good number of you before I go down."
Catching on to her plan, Xander added, "And she's got backup..."
"Yeah!" Cordelia added, pulling her stake out of her purse. "So you guys had just better..." Xander put his hand on her arm to stop her before she said anything more.
The vampire growls in the background settled down, as if they were thinking about what Buffy and the others had said. Buffy settled her eyes on Spike.
"What do you think, Spike? Wanna talk? Tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave. You know I'll keep my word..." Buffy held her breath as she waited for him to decide.
Suddenly, Spike grinned. "He was a tall bloke, wore glasses, and tweed. Lots and lots of tweed. He knew an awful lot about us for someone without the proper connections, if you know what I mean."
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Spike. Stop beating around the bush!"
"He hand picked us," Spike said. "The five of us, but I refused to take the bait. Don't work for humans, says I. But he knew just what to offer us that would be tempting. The others fell for it, but not me. He had to have inside information, and there's only one organization in these parts that keeps records on vampires."
"The Council," Buffy breathed.
"If I were you, I'd be checkin' out those bloke that are supposed to be Watchin' you, Slayer." Spike leveled a serious gaze on her. "Not that I care about you overmuch, or your pals, but I'd rather have a Slayer I know that some new one I don't know." That finished, Spike turned away and banged his hands down on the bar. "Linda, me love, bring me a pint of the good stuff." He turned back to Buffy. "And you three, get the bloody hell outta here, or..."
"Or what?" Buffy waved her stake at him. But after a second she turned and followed Xander and Cordelia outside.
They had barely gotten a foot away from the door when Cordelia asked, "What does that mean? Are Sonya and Doyle at that mansion in the country... what did you call it... the Compound?"
Buffy was pale, but calm. "If the Council has them, we're getting them back!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Angel's Apartment
It was mid afternoon the next time Angel woke up. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, for some reason completely lethargic and unwilling to move. He was warm and somehow happy, but sore all over. Finally, he decided enough was enough, and he opened his eyes and sat up. As soon as he did that, he realized it was a mistake. A rushing pain pounded through his head, and his stomach started to churn.
If he could have formed words, Angel would have asked what was going on. He didn't have any bodily fluids, so how could he vomit? Perhaps it was his body reacting to something that it remembered from a long time ago, or maybe it was just a natural reaction to all the tequila, but Angel didn't even have time to get to the bathroom before the dry heaves started. Luckily, because of the lack of fluid in a vampire body, there was no actual vomit. After a few minutes of heaving, Angel sank back onto the pillows, exhausted. The pain in his head ebbed a little, and he could think again. The first thing he thought about was what he'd done the night before to cause all this agony.
The memories were fuzzy. Angel followed the fuzziness back, trying to figure out where it all started. Faith... a bar... WAY too much tequila... no one at the motel... and then...
"We had sex!" Angel burst out as the memories came back a little more. "Three times..."
He turned and looked, but the bed next to him was empty. All Faith's clothes were gone from the bed and the floor where they'd landed in a the frenzy of the night before, and Angel's better-than-human hearing told him that she wasn't in another room.
"We had sex, and she walked out," Angel told himself. He wondered why she'd done that. (Maybe Faith does this all the time... Or perhaps she was embarrassed... Or she's regretting having a one night stand with a vampire with every fiber of her being...)
The last choice sounded very plausible to Angel, based on what he knew of Faith and the way she and her teammates had responded to him so negatively from the first moment they'd met him. As the waves of guilt began to wash over him, Angel wondered what would happen when he saw her again, and he began to dread the nightly meeting at the condo...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- Scooby Gang's Hotel
"So... now that you've heard it all, what do you think?" Giles sat back in his chair and waited, his eyes on Wesley. Giles had figured he had nothing to lose by telling Wesley everything, or almost everything, whether the younger Watcher was a spy or not. The Council already knew about Sonya, Xander and Buffy because he'd told them himself. And Faith was bound to have reported in and let them know about Angel. Giles had decided that he didn't think Wesley was a spy. The lad was too nervous and too worried about the case. If he'd been in on whatever was going on, Giles was more and more sure Wesley would have been calm and confident because he would have known he was going to lose.
Tugging on his collar, Wesley said, "Er... well... to be honest..."
"You think we haven't got a prayer," Giles supplied.
"Well, yes," Wesley answered bluntly. "You blatantly lied to the Council not just once but for months, you somehow stole a spell from the Compound itself and then took it upon yourself to Choose the next Slayer... Even the most liberal among us will have a hard time getting past that."
Giles sighed. "I know, but I had hoped, well, that someone might think about how it was for me. You know what was going on before I left England. That whole thing with Barrows..."
"It got voted down," Wesley reminded him.
"True," Giles admitted, "but the undercurrents were still around. I was afraid for Sonya's life."
Wesley stopped fidgeting for a minute, and gave Giles a close look. "I believe you, Rupert. I even sympathize. But I doubt many others will. Because besides breaking traditions laid down from the dawn of the Council and all the lies, you are also guilty of loving the Slayer too much. You know a Watcher is not supposed to get emotionally involved, at least not to this extent. What would you have done on her eighteenth birthday when it was time for..."
"And that," Giles snapped, "is the most insane rule that the Council has ever come up with! Don't get emotionally involved with the Slayer! Hah! The thing is that most of the upper echelons of the Council have never be the Watcher of a Slayer. They don't know what it is like to be with her day in and day out, training her and helping her... Emotional involvement is unavoidable, unless you are some kind of automaton!"
"Er... well...," Wesley hesitated. "It makes sense in theory. A Watcher who is too attached to the Slayer will misstep trying to protect her from the darkness she must face every single day..."
"Yes, I took the class," Giles replied harshly. "It has nothing to do with reality. Human beings have emotions. They get attached. And Slayers get attached, too. When Barrows has a Slayer, then he can talk to me about the justifications of that rule."
Wesley began putting his things into his briefcase. "Yes, well, I suppose that theoretically, no one is qualified to judge you until they've been in your shoes, but, Rupert, tomorrow that's exactly what's going to happen. I do hope you don't plan on using the automaton speech as part of your defense."
Giles snorted in laughter. It was either laugh or cry. He chose to laugh. "No, no, I'm not."
Wesley looked at Giles over the rims of his glasses. "I heard you earlier telling Buffy to trust the Council. And yet you don't seem to, either now or then..."
"Yes..." Giles hesitated, and then decided to explain. "I know the Council will not work for me, but I hope that it might still work for her. She is an excellent Slayer, and I want her to have all the resources possible." He didn't add that if he found out that if suspicions about the Council's involvement in Sonya and Doyle's kidnapping became reality that he would have to rethink his position on that.
Both men stood, and Giles extended a hand. Wesley shook it with a surprisingly firm grip. "Thank you for your work here, Wesley," Giles said. "I don't know why you got stuck with this job, but you seem to be giving it your all despite the near certainty that you are going to lose. I appreciate that."
"I took Barrows' niece out on a date, and we didn't hit it off," Wesley said. "Or, rather, I should say that I didn't hit it off, but she did. Apparently she was just crushed when she told her uncle about it. That's why I got this assignment."
He couldn't help it. Giles had to laugh. "Next time, I suppose you'll think twice before taking out a member of the family of someone in the Proconsul's advisory circle."
"Yes, quite," Wesley replied. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, half an hour early so we can go over things one more time, correct?"
Giles nodded, and walked Wesley to the door. "Yes." He walked outside with the younger man, pausing by the door to the boys' room. "See you then."
Wesley was just turning to leave when the elevator burst open and Buffy, Xander and Cordelia came running full tilt towards them.
"Giles!" Buffy said quickly. "We've got to talk."
"Yes, I'm done with my meeting," Giles replied, noticing the flush in her cheeks. He hoped the excitement on her face meant she'd found a new lead. Hopefully one that did not have anything to do with the Council. He turned to Wesley. "Good night."
"Er... good night," Wesley replied, taking his eyes off Cordelia. Then he turned and walked down the hall.
They waited until they saw him get on the elevator, and then they went into the boys' room where Joyce and Oz were waiting.
Giles looked at Buffy seriously. "Now, tell me..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Amy's House
The house was quiet. Her dad wasn't home from work yet, and wouldn't be for a while. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the chirping of birds in the large oak tree outside the kitchen window.
Normally the kitchen was one of Amy's favorite rooms in the house. It was decorated in a bright, cheerful yellow color, and the afternoon sun shining in the windows made it seem warm and golden in there. But today no paint on the wall or sunshine in the window could brighten Amy's mood.
The smell of baking chocolate wafted towards her, and Amy stood up and moved to the oven. She peeked in and saw her double chocolate brownies were done. She reached in with a hot pad and pulled them out.
"Sunshine might not be enough," she muttered to herself, "but brownies help anytime."
She set the pan on the stovetop, and cut a small square while they were still hot. That was how she liked them best. The warm, soft insides melted gooily in her mouth, almost, but not quite, burning her tongue. When she was finished with the brownie, Amy finally felt ready to face the disappointment of her day.
She had been stood up. She'd gone to the Rose Cup at the appointed time, and Terrance had been nowhere to be found. No message, no phone call, no Terrance, no nothing. After waiting an interminably long half an hour, she'd come home. At first she'd been depressed. Things had been going so well, and Terrance was the first guy she'd liked since Raphael in Europe. And Terrance seemed like a much more stable, and yet still hauntingly good looking and intrinsically interesting, catch than the flighty, fiery Rafe had been. But now Terrance was showing his careless side.
Amy frowned. There was always the possibility that he'd been held up, or even hurt. He did go in for a dangerous line of work. Amy sighed. After Rafe and the carousing he'd done behind her back until she'd found out, Amy had a hard time believing excuses. She hoped Terrance would have a really good one.
The peal of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts, and Amy slowly walked down the hall to the front door. She pulled it back and was surprised to see the object of her thoughts standing there.
"Terrance," she said coolly. "I didn't expect to see you until tonight. At work."
"Amy, I must apologize for not meeting you this morning as we planned," Terrance said quickly.
"I'm sure you're sorry," Amy replied, still not opening the door to let him inside. "Got held up, did you?"
Terrance grimaced. "It was Faith. She took the night off last night, and apparently got out of her gourd on tequila and who knows what else. She didn't get back to the motel until almost eleven this morning." He paused and looked at her with his endearing smile. "Can I come in and tell you the rest of the story, please?"
Amy relented, a little bit. She stepped back and let him in the house. He walked in and sniffed the air. "Brownies! My favorite." Before she could say anything, he was following his nose down the hall and into the kitchen. He stopped directly in front of the small, square, chocolate-filled pan. "Can I have one?"
"Sure, why not?" Amy replied. She sat down at the table and watched him delve with relish into the brownie he generously cut. "So..." she prodded after a second. "The rest of the story?"
Wiping a bit of brownie from his lips, Terrance sat down across from her at the table. "It's Faith. She's a gifted strategist, but she's not really fit for leadership, if you ask me. She gave us all the night off on the spur of the moment, and then went and got drunk out of her skull... What kind of example is that? Rio, Nicole and I didn't really want the night off, so we continued patrolling. Almost caught one of those feral vampires, too, but it slipped out of Rio's energy net. We tried to contact her, but her radio wasn't working, or something. In my opinion, that's extremely irresponsible. Then we spent the whole morning out looking for her, afraid she was dead or who knows what! And then when she got to the motel, she was barking orders up and down, like we had no brains. She didn't even ask us for our report. Instead she sent us out to patrol again -- in the daylight, no less. I don't know what she is thinking of."
Amy felt a little sympathy for him. She was starting to believe him. She knew what it was like to work under a demanding leader, but she supposed she was lucky that Jenny was very competent at all levels of her job.
Abruptly, Terrance leaned across the table and kissed her. She was stunned for a moment, but then she was kissing him back. She could taste the chocolate on his lips. When he pulled back, they were both smiling.
"I've been wanting to do that ever since I met you," Terrance admitted with a big grin. "So... do you forgive me for standing you up for breakfast?"
"Well, I guess so," Amy decided. "But never do it again."
"I won't," Terrance promised, still smiling. "So... want to come patrolling with me? It shouldn't be dangerous in the daylight."
"Sure," Amy replied, "why not?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Cell
Doyle sat in the darkness for a long time. After the emotional overload of earlier, he barely had the strength to move. The dried blood on his clothes had begun to crust over, but he just sat there in the corner, trying to keep his eyes off the puddle of old blood on the floor that showed up as a slick, dark spot in the dim light from the waning bulb overhead.
Then the metal door slid open. Doyle looked up, hoping they were bringing Sonya back, that her healing abilities had transcended even that horrible ordeal. Instead it was the guard, and Marcus. A blonde woman was standing behind them. She stared at him. Doyle looked away.
The guard and Marcus stepped into the cell. The guard had a mop and two buckets of water. He set one bucket next to the wall, and the other near the puddle.
"Don't try anything," Marcus warned, giving Doyle a pleading look. "If you do, you'll never have a chance to get cleaned up."
"Where is she?" Doyle asked harshly. "What have ye done we' Sonya?"
"She's being taken care of," Marcus answered simply. "That's all you need to know." Next to the bucket of water on the floor, he set a towel, a washcloth, a bar of soap and some clean clothes. The guard quickly finished mopping, and took the other bucket out of the cell.
Suddenly, Doyle shot to his feet and advanced on Marcus. "Is she alive or dead! Tell me, or I'll..."
"You do what?" Marcus asked, taking a step back. "One more move, and the guard will hit the shock button."
"Wi' you in here, too?" Doyle demanded, but he didn't move closer. "Pretty heartless o' him!"
"Sonya is recovering well from the tiger whiskers she ingested. It is quite impressive, actually. Ingesting ground up tiger whiskers is like ingesting broken glass."
Doyle looked at the blonde woman in shock, giving Marcus the chance to get out of the cell. He slammed the barred door shut. Doyle took a step forward to the woman, holding out a hand. "Why? Why are ye doin' this to her? To us?"
"Rest in the fact that she's fine, for now," the woman replied, and then turned away.
As the metal door slammed shut and locked, Doyle heard the lady and Marcus talking.
"Ms. Post! You shouldn't have told him that," Marcus objected loudly.
"It calmed him down enough for you to get out of there, didn't it?" she replied in a cold voice. "Never question me again, Marcus. I have reasons for all that I do, and you could never understand them..."
The voices fades away, and Doyle sighed. At least he knew Sonya was alive, for now. But the question still remained. Why would the Council want to torture her, or either of them for that matter? If they thought Doyle and Sonya were in the way, why hadn't they just killed them straight out? Doyle sighed deeply, and walked over to the soap and water. At least he would be able to get clean. That was something.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Jenny's Apartment
The good thing about vacations, Jenny decided, was that she could do whatever she wanted during the day. That day, she'd slept in, cooked a luscious brunch for herself and her cat, Sam, and then luxuriated in a warm bubble bath. By mid afternoon, she wrapped herself in a thick, cotton robe and settled down to read her newspaper.
Sam jumped up next to her on the red brocade sofa. Jenny grazed the cat's head with her fingertips. "You think you just own this place, don't you...?"
Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on an article in the bottom right-hand corner of the front page. The headline read: Two killed by mysterious means. She continued reading, her eyes glued to the page. The article said that two teenagers, last seen leaving The Cellar in Calvin the night before, were found in the woods, lifeless husks. Their bodies were charred, blackened and somehow drained of all fluids, bones and organs, but the skin was only blackened and the clothes were intact. Theories abounded, the most popular being that they ingested a super-powered acid in the guise of the latest designer drug of choice, or some kind of spontaneous combustion. Both popular cover stories in Sunnydale. The two teens had been identified by the information in their wallets, strangely undisturbed.
Jenny leaned back on the couch and sighed deeply. She knew this was more than it seemed. And she thought she'd heard about something like this before. She walked to the phone and dialed the now familiar number. Help was needed, and the only person she could turn to was the person she was most supposed to hate.
"Angel," she said, as soon as he picked up the phone on his end. "Something's happened. It looks like there's got a Kun'gi demon loose in Sunnydale."
Chapter Thirteen
England -- The Knight's Downfall
"I *hate* the Tube!" Cordelia muttered as she followed Buffy and Xander up the stairs to street level. "It's all grimy and gross. And the weird people! I'd much rather pay for a cab!"
Buffy turned and shot Cordelia a look. "On the way back, if you'd like to pay for the cab, we'd be happy to ride in it with you!"
Cordelia glared right back at Buffy and announced, "If you think..."
"Girls!" Xander interrupted her. "Not to stop this wonderful exchange you've got going on here, but I think that's it..."
The girls stopped glaring at each other and followed the direction of Xander's pointing finger. Nestled between a grocers and a cigar store down the block was a building with a bright red door. The sputtering neon sign in the window read:
The Kni ht's Downfa l.
"All right," Buffy said, "here's how we're gonna do this thing. I'm going to go in first, check the place out. Then you two will follow me inside. Give me... I don't know... five minutes." She gave Xander a significant look, followed by a glance at Cordelia, meaning that he was to take care of her. Xander nodded to indicate his understanding.
"Fine, whatever," Cordelia agreed. "I really don't want to be seen in there any longer than I have to, so let's get this over with."
"Look, Cordelia," Buffy snapped, finally losing her temper with the spoiled princess. "You may not care about Sonya or Doyle, but their lives ride on this. If we don't get a lead, we'll never be able to rescue them. As much as I hate to admit it, you and an ornery English vampire are our two best hopes. So, why don't you just shut up and do your job?"
Instead of the retort Buffy expected, Cordelia got very quiet. "After you, Buffy," she said, gesturing at the door to the pub.
Buffy gave Cordelia one last confused look, and then went inside.
Watching Buffy go without him, Xander felt a familiar pain in his heart. The twinge that always came when he watched Buffy go off into battle. Having been in her position once, he knew that it was inevitable, but he always wished he could protect her somehow. Xander sighed. First and foremost, Buffy was the Slayer. He loved her, and he would support and help in anyway he could, for her, for himself, and for all those that they could help. Right now, Sonya and Doyle. A soft voice next to him broke his train of thought.
"Do you think Doyle and Sonya will be all right?" Cordelia tucked a strand of shiny, straight brown hair behind her ear and looked at him with what almost appeared to be worry in her eyes.
Xander took a double take, and then answered, "Yeah, I think so. We'll find them."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because any other alternative is unthinkable." Xander glanced down at his watch, and then said, "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Cordelia squared her shoulders and then followed him into the pub.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The door slammed behind her as Buffy stepped into the pub. Everyone in the small room stared at her. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness and the smoke-filled haze. She walked over to the bar and perched gingerly on a stool covered with cracked green vinyl.
The bartender, a butch-looking woman with a hefty figure and mousy brown hair came over to her. "What'll ya 'ave?" she asked as if she were doing Buffy a huge favor just by waiting on her.
Buffy hesitated for a second before replying. "Um... I'm just here to meet a couple of friends. I'll wait until they get here to order."
"Want some advice?" The bartender continued without waiting for a response. "Get out of 'ere as soon as you can. This ain't the place for a nice-lookin' girl like you."
"Thanks," Buffy said, turning around on the stool, "but I can take care of myself."
"Well, just don't say that I didn't warn you." The bartender moved down the line to take care of someone else.
Buffy could feel the eyes of the pub patrons on her, but every time she looked around she couldn't catch any of them. A wave of nervousness overtook her. (You're the Slayer) Buffy told herself angrily. (You can do this! Lives depend on it, so quit with the shy crap!)
She straightened her shoulders and stood up. Buffy did her best to scan every single person in the pub, but she didn't see the one she was looking for. Turning, she was about to ask the bartender if she knew any guys with peroxide blond hair when a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
"Well, well, well. Lookie at what we have here, boys and girls. If it ain't the bloody Slayer slummin' it at the vampire bar."
A wave of reaction to that comment went throughout the pub, and some of the patrons hurried to leave. Others stood and glared at Buffy.
Buffy turned around to face the owner of that familiar accent. "Hi, Spike. It's been a long time."
Spike looked about the same -- white/blond hair, red shirt, black coat. A wide grin split his pale face. "Not long enough by my way o' thinkin'," he replied. "Now, tell me, did little Buffy come all the way down here by her itty-bitty self?"
"You underestimate me, Spike," Buffy told him. She heard the door open behind her, and Xander and Cordelia walked inside.
"Don't talk down to me, girlie," Spike said. "I remember when you was nothin' but a scared, little bit of a thing..." He looked up and saw Xander looming protectively over Buffy. "Why, if it isn't Xander Harris, the Pseudo-Slayer of Sunnydale! And the society queen of Sunnydale High, or so that slut Willow used to say." Spike leered at Cordelia. "I sure would like a taste of you, sweet thing." Cordelia shrank back, and Spike added, "What, did you all decide to take a bloody field trip?"
Buffy grabbed Spike by the collar of his shirt. "We came specifically to see you. I think you have some information on what happened to our friends. Sonya, and a psychic Irishman named Doyle. Some vamps who said they knew you kidnapped them from Cordelia's hotel." She tightened her grip on the collar, grabbing some skin as well. "Know anything about that?"
The other vamps in the pub growled menacingly, but they didn't seem too willing to get involved. Buffy figured it was her reputation as the Slayer. Sure, she couldn't take all of them, but she'd get some of them. Apparently none of them were willing to risk the chance of dying, at least not yet. She knew they'd have to hurry if they wanted to get out of here alive and well.
"See anything Cordelia?" she asked.
The brunette squinted in the hazy pub. "Not yet."
Spike chose that moment to grab Buffy's wrist and force her to let go of him. "I told them not to take the job, but the bloody fools insisted. An' I ain't seen 'em since."
Buffy reached back and staggered Spike with a powerful punch to the jaw. "Who hired them? I'm not in the mood for cryptic messages. I've had enough of those today."
"They aren't here, Buffy," Cordelia inserted. "I know I'd recognize them again, and they aren't here."
Buffy glowered at Spike. "That means you are our only clue. So talk!" She prepared to punch him again.
A couple of hefty vampires finally found their courage and walked over to the end of the bar. One growled at Buffy. "I think you and your friends should turn around and walk out of here."
Xander pulled out a stake. "Watch it, buddy!"
The vampires growled again, and Cordelia made a small, unidentifiable noise. Buffy could sense the situation deteriorating.
"Look, Spike," she said suddenly, backing off a little bit, "we don't want any trouble."
"Oh yeah?" Spike leered at her. "You're askin' for trouble just by comin' in here."
"All we want in some information," Buffy replied calmly. "Tell us who hired your friends to pull that job at the Ritz, and we'll leave without a fuss. I'll admit that I'd like nothing better than to rid London of scum like you, but right now I've got more important things on my mind. Does anybody here *really* want to fight the Slayer? I might not be able to take you all, but I can take a good number of you before I go down."
Catching on to her plan, Xander added, "And she's got backup..."
"Yeah!" Cordelia added, pulling her stake out of her purse. "So you guys had just better..." Xander put his hand on her arm to stop her before she said anything more.
The vampire growls in the background settled down, as if they were thinking about what Buffy and the others had said. Buffy settled her eyes on Spike.
"What do you think, Spike? Wanna talk? Tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave. You know I'll keep my word..." Buffy held her breath as she waited for him to decide.
Suddenly, Spike grinned. "He was a tall bloke, wore glasses, and tweed. Lots and lots of tweed. He knew an awful lot about us for someone without the proper connections, if you know what I mean."
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Spike. Stop beating around the bush!"
"He hand picked us," Spike said. "The five of us, but I refused to take the bait. Don't work for humans, says I. But he knew just what to offer us that would be tempting. The others fell for it, but not me. He had to have inside information, and there's only one organization in these parts that keeps records on vampires."
"The Council," Buffy breathed.
"If I were you, I'd be checkin' out those bloke that are supposed to be Watchin' you, Slayer." Spike leveled a serious gaze on her. "Not that I care about you overmuch, or your pals, but I'd rather have a Slayer I know that some new one I don't know." That finished, Spike turned away and banged his hands down on the bar. "Linda, me love, bring me a pint of the good stuff." He turned back to Buffy. "And you three, get the bloody hell outta here, or..."
"Or what?" Buffy waved her stake at him. But after a second she turned and followed Xander and Cordelia outside.
They had barely gotten a foot away from the door when Cordelia asked, "What does that mean? Are Sonya and Doyle at that mansion in the country... what did you call it... the Compound?"
Buffy was pale, but calm. "If the Council has them, we're getting them back!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Angel's Apartment
It was mid afternoon the next time Angel woke up. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, for some reason completely lethargic and unwilling to move. He was warm and somehow happy, but sore all over. Finally, he decided enough was enough, and he opened his eyes and sat up. As soon as he did that, he realized it was a mistake. A rushing pain pounded through his head, and his stomach started to churn.
If he could have formed words, Angel would have asked what was going on. He didn't have any bodily fluids, so how could he vomit? Perhaps it was his body reacting to something that it remembered from a long time ago, or maybe it was just a natural reaction to all the tequila, but Angel didn't even have time to get to the bathroom before the dry heaves started. Luckily, because of the lack of fluid in a vampire body, there was no actual vomit. After a few minutes of heaving, Angel sank back onto the pillows, exhausted. The pain in his head ebbed a little, and he could think again. The first thing he thought about was what he'd done the night before to cause all this agony.
The memories were fuzzy. Angel followed the fuzziness back, trying to figure out where it all started. Faith... a bar... WAY too much tequila... no one at the motel... and then...
"We had sex!" Angel burst out as the memories came back a little more. "Three times..."
He turned and looked, but the bed next to him was empty. All Faith's clothes were gone from the bed and the floor where they'd landed in a the frenzy of the night before, and Angel's better-than-human hearing told him that she wasn't in another room.
"We had sex, and she walked out," Angel told himself. He wondered why she'd done that. (Maybe Faith does this all the time... Or perhaps she was embarrassed... Or she's regretting having a one night stand with a vampire with every fiber of her being...)
The last choice sounded very plausible to Angel, based on what he knew of Faith and the way she and her teammates had responded to him so negatively from the first moment they'd met him. As the waves of guilt began to wash over him, Angel wondered what would happen when he saw her again, and he began to dread the nightly meeting at the condo...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- Scooby Gang's Hotel
"So... now that you've heard it all, what do you think?" Giles sat back in his chair and waited, his eyes on Wesley. Giles had figured he had nothing to lose by telling Wesley everything, or almost everything, whether the younger Watcher was a spy or not. The Council already knew about Sonya, Xander and Buffy because he'd told them himself. And Faith was bound to have reported in and let them know about Angel. Giles had decided that he didn't think Wesley was a spy. The lad was too nervous and too worried about the case. If he'd been in on whatever was going on, Giles was more and more sure Wesley would have been calm and confident because he would have known he was going to lose.
Tugging on his collar, Wesley said, "Er... well... to be honest..."
"You think we haven't got a prayer," Giles supplied.
"Well, yes," Wesley answered bluntly. "You blatantly lied to the Council not just once but for months, you somehow stole a spell from the Compound itself and then took it upon yourself to Choose the next Slayer... Even the most liberal among us will have a hard time getting past that."
Giles sighed. "I know, but I had hoped, well, that someone might think about how it was for me. You know what was going on before I left England. That whole thing with Barrows..."
"It got voted down," Wesley reminded him.
"True," Giles admitted, "but the undercurrents were still around. I was afraid for Sonya's life."
Wesley stopped fidgeting for a minute, and gave Giles a close look. "I believe you, Rupert. I even sympathize. But I doubt many others will. Because besides breaking traditions laid down from the dawn of the Council and all the lies, you are also guilty of loving the Slayer too much. You know a Watcher is not supposed to get emotionally involved, at least not to this extent. What would you have done on her eighteenth birthday when it was time for..."
"And that," Giles snapped, "is the most insane rule that the Council has ever come up with! Don't get emotionally involved with the Slayer! Hah! The thing is that most of the upper echelons of the Council have never be the Watcher of a Slayer. They don't know what it is like to be with her day in and day out, training her and helping her... Emotional involvement is unavoidable, unless you are some kind of automaton!"
"Er... well...," Wesley hesitated. "It makes sense in theory. A Watcher who is too attached to the Slayer will misstep trying to protect her from the darkness she must face every single day..."
"Yes, I took the class," Giles replied harshly. "It has nothing to do with reality. Human beings have emotions. They get attached. And Slayers get attached, too. When Barrows has a Slayer, then he can talk to me about the justifications of that rule."
Wesley began putting his things into his briefcase. "Yes, well, I suppose that theoretically, no one is qualified to judge you until they've been in your shoes, but, Rupert, tomorrow that's exactly what's going to happen. I do hope you don't plan on using the automaton speech as part of your defense."
Giles snorted in laughter. It was either laugh or cry. He chose to laugh. "No, no, I'm not."
Wesley looked at Giles over the rims of his glasses. "I heard you earlier telling Buffy to trust the Council. And yet you don't seem to, either now or then..."
"Yes..." Giles hesitated, and then decided to explain. "I know the Council will not work for me, but I hope that it might still work for her. She is an excellent Slayer, and I want her to have all the resources possible." He didn't add that if he found out that if suspicions about the Council's involvement in Sonya and Doyle's kidnapping became reality that he would have to rethink his position on that.
Both men stood, and Giles extended a hand. Wesley shook it with a surprisingly firm grip. "Thank you for your work here, Wesley," Giles said. "I don't know why you got stuck with this job, but you seem to be giving it your all despite the near certainty that you are going to lose. I appreciate that."
"I took Barrows' niece out on a date, and we didn't hit it off," Wesley said. "Or, rather, I should say that I didn't hit it off, but she did. Apparently she was just crushed when she told her uncle about it. That's why I got this assignment."
He couldn't help it. Giles had to laugh. "Next time, I suppose you'll think twice before taking out a member of the family of someone in the Proconsul's advisory circle."
"Yes, quite," Wesley replied. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, half an hour early so we can go over things one more time, correct?"
Giles nodded, and walked Wesley to the door. "Yes." He walked outside with the younger man, pausing by the door to the boys' room. "See you then."
Wesley was just turning to leave when the elevator burst open and Buffy, Xander and Cordelia came running full tilt towards them.
"Giles!" Buffy said quickly. "We've got to talk."
"Yes, I'm done with my meeting," Giles replied, noticing the flush in her cheeks. He hoped the excitement on her face meant she'd found a new lead. Hopefully one that did not have anything to do with the Council. He turned to Wesley. "Good night."
"Er... good night," Wesley replied, taking his eyes off Cordelia. Then he turned and walked down the hall.
They waited until they saw him get on the elevator, and then they went into the boys' room where Joyce and Oz were waiting.
Giles looked at Buffy seriously. "Now, tell me..."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Amy's House
The house was quiet. Her dad wasn't home from work yet, and wouldn't be for a while. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the chirping of birds in the large oak tree outside the kitchen window.
Normally the kitchen was one of Amy's favorite rooms in the house. It was decorated in a bright, cheerful yellow color, and the afternoon sun shining in the windows made it seem warm and golden in there. But today no paint on the wall or sunshine in the window could brighten Amy's mood.
The smell of baking chocolate wafted towards her, and Amy stood up and moved to the oven. She peeked in and saw her double chocolate brownies were done. She reached in with a hot pad and pulled them out.
"Sunshine might not be enough," she muttered to herself, "but brownies help anytime."
She set the pan on the stovetop, and cut a small square while they were still hot. That was how she liked them best. The warm, soft insides melted gooily in her mouth, almost, but not quite, burning her tongue. When she was finished with the brownie, Amy finally felt ready to face the disappointment of her day.
She had been stood up. She'd gone to the Rose Cup at the appointed time, and Terrance had been nowhere to be found. No message, no phone call, no Terrance, no nothing. After waiting an interminably long half an hour, she'd come home. At first she'd been depressed. Things had been going so well, and Terrance was the first guy she'd liked since Raphael in Europe. And Terrance seemed like a much more stable, and yet still hauntingly good looking and intrinsically interesting, catch than the flighty, fiery Rafe had been. But now Terrance was showing his careless side.
Amy frowned. There was always the possibility that he'd been held up, or even hurt. He did go in for a dangerous line of work. Amy sighed. After Rafe and the carousing he'd done behind her back until she'd found out, Amy had a hard time believing excuses. She hoped Terrance would have a really good one.
The peal of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts, and Amy slowly walked down the hall to the front door. She pulled it back and was surprised to see the object of her thoughts standing there.
"Terrance," she said coolly. "I didn't expect to see you until tonight. At work."
"Amy, I must apologize for not meeting you this morning as we planned," Terrance said quickly.
"I'm sure you're sorry," Amy replied, still not opening the door to let him inside. "Got held up, did you?"
Terrance grimaced. "It was Faith. She took the night off last night, and apparently got out of her gourd on tequila and who knows what else. She didn't get back to the motel until almost eleven this morning." He paused and looked at her with his endearing smile. "Can I come in and tell you the rest of the story, please?"
Amy relented, a little bit. She stepped back and let him in the house. He walked in and sniffed the air. "Brownies! My favorite." Before she could say anything, he was following his nose down the hall and into the kitchen. He stopped directly in front of the small, square, chocolate-filled pan. "Can I have one?"
"Sure, why not?" Amy replied. She sat down at the table and watched him delve with relish into the brownie he generously cut. "So..." she prodded after a second. "The rest of the story?"
Wiping a bit of brownie from his lips, Terrance sat down across from her at the table. "It's Faith. She's a gifted strategist, but she's not really fit for leadership, if you ask me. She gave us all the night off on the spur of the moment, and then went and got drunk out of her skull... What kind of example is that? Rio, Nicole and I didn't really want the night off, so we continued patrolling. Almost caught one of those feral vampires, too, but it slipped out of Rio's energy net. We tried to contact her, but her radio wasn't working, or something. In my opinion, that's extremely irresponsible. Then we spent the whole morning out looking for her, afraid she was dead or who knows what! And then when she got to the motel, she was barking orders up and down, like we had no brains. She didn't even ask us for our report. Instead she sent us out to patrol again -- in the daylight, no less. I don't know what she is thinking of."
Amy felt a little sympathy for him. She was starting to believe him. She knew what it was like to work under a demanding leader, but she supposed she was lucky that Jenny was very competent at all levels of her job.
Abruptly, Terrance leaned across the table and kissed her. She was stunned for a moment, but then she was kissing him back. She could taste the chocolate on his lips. When he pulled back, they were both smiling.
"I've been wanting to do that ever since I met you," Terrance admitted with a big grin. "So... do you forgive me for standing you up for breakfast?"
"Well, I guess so," Amy decided. "But never do it again."
"I won't," Terrance promised, still smiling. "So... want to come patrolling with me? It shouldn't be dangerous in the daylight."
"Sure," Amy replied, "why not?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
England -- The Cell
Doyle sat in the darkness for a long time. After the emotional overload of earlier, he barely had the strength to move. The dried blood on his clothes had begun to crust over, but he just sat there in the corner, trying to keep his eyes off the puddle of old blood on the floor that showed up as a slick, dark spot in the dim light from the waning bulb overhead.
Then the metal door slid open. Doyle looked up, hoping they were bringing Sonya back, that her healing abilities had transcended even that horrible ordeal. Instead it was the guard, and Marcus. A blonde woman was standing behind them. She stared at him. Doyle looked away.
The guard and Marcus stepped into the cell. The guard had a mop and two buckets of water. He set one bucket next to the wall, and the other near the puddle.
"Don't try anything," Marcus warned, giving Doyle a pleading look. "If you do, you'll never have a chance to get cleaned up."
"Where is she?" Doyle asked harshly. "What have ye done we' Sonya?"
"She's being taken care of," Marcus answered simply. "That's all you need to know." Next to the bucket of water on the floor, he set a towel, a washcloth, a bar of soap and some clean clothes. The guard quickly finished mopping, and took the other bucket out of the cell.
Suddenly, Doyle shot to his feet and advanced on Marcus. "Is she alive or dead! Tell me, or I'll..."
"You do what?" Marcus asked, taking a step back. "One more move, and the guard will hit the shock button."
"Wi' you in here, too?" Doyle demanded, but he didn't move closer. "Pretty heartless o' him!"
"Sonya is recovering well from the tiger whiskers she ingested. It is quite impressive, actually. Ingesting ground up tiger whiskers is like ingesting broken glass."
Doyle looked at the blonde woman in shock, giving Marcus the chance to get out of the cell. He slammed the barred door shut. Doyle took a step forward to the woman, holding out a hand. "Why? Why are ye doin' this to her? To us?"
"Rest in the fact that she's fine, for now," the woman replied, and then turned away.
As the metal door slammed shut and locked, Doyle heard the lady and Marcus talking.
"Ms. Post! You shouldn't have told him that," Marcus objected loudly.
"It calmed him down enough for you to get out of there, didn't it?" she replied in a cold voice. "Never question me again, Marcus. I have reasons for all that I do, and you could never understand them..."
The voices fades away, and Doyle sighed. At least he knew Sonya was alive, for now. But the question still remained. Why would the Council want to torture her, or either of them for that matter? If they thought Doyle and Sonya were in the way, why hadn't they just killed them straight out? Doyle sighed deeply, and walked over to the soap and water. At least he would be able to get clean. That was something.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale -- Jenny's Apartment
The good thing about vacations, Jenny decided, was that she could do whatever she wanted during the day. That day, she'd slept in, cooked a luscious brunch for herself and her cat, Sam, and then luxuriated in a warm bubble bath. By mid afternoon, she wrapped herself in a thick, cotton robe and settled down to read her newspaper.
Sam jumped up next to her on the red brocade sofa. Jenny grazed the cat's head with her fingertips. "You think you just own this place, don't you...?"
Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on an article in the bottom right-hand corner of the front page. The headline read: Two killed by mysterious means. She continued reading, her eyes glued to the page. The article said that two teenagers, last seen leaving The Cellar in Calvin the night before, were found in the woods, lifeless husks. Their bodies were charred, blackened and somehow drained of all fluids, bones and organs, but the skin was only blackened and the clothes were intact. Theories abounded, the most popular being that they ingested a super-powered acid in the guise of the latest designer drug of choice, or some kind of spontaneous combustion. Both popular cover stories in Sunnydale. The two teens had been identified by the information in their wallets, strangely undisturbed.
Jenny leaned back on the couch and sighed deeply. She knew this was more than it seemed. And she thought she'd heard about something like this before. She walked to the phone and dialed the now familiar number. Help was needed, and the only person she could turn to was the person she was most supposed to hate.
"Angel," she said, as soon as he picked up the phone on his end. "Something's happened. It looks like there's got a Kun'gi demon loose in Sunnydale."