Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. Whedon and Sorkin's only.
Summary: The First Daughter is missing, California's collapsing, the Slayers are having dreams, the First Family is falling apart in the mix... and CJ broke her favorite mug. Can the Sunnydale crew keep the Bartlet administration afloat?
A/N: (A late) Happy Fourth to all Americans reading this... and if you're not an American... you may not celebrate on July Fourth, but it's on your stinkin' calender — and yours doesn't give you whistling firecrackers that sound like sirens on an ambulance, so be thankful for small favours. As a patriotic treat, chapter six:
Chapter Six — Battle Ready
While CJ scoured the city for rosemary and Josh searched high and low for stake-sized chunks of wood (as well as weaponry shops offering swords and crossbows), Toby was let into Josh's building by the security guard who recognized him on sight and jogged up the stairs, eager to check on his friends before heading over to the hospital to see his family. At first, after letting himself into the unlocked apartment, he was afraid he'd barged into the wrong place. Though the surroundings appeared familiar, there was an unidentifiable couple twined in a compromising position on the couch though, thank the Lord for small favors, they seemed mostly clothed.
For one terrifying moment, Toby thought it was Josh and Donna there, a veritable press nightmare waiting to happen. Then, the couple pulled apart — and Toby couldn't quite decide if this was worse. "Will?" he spluttered, taken aback as his deputy and some unknown blonde woman set about righting articles of clothing. "What the hell? CJ said you were injured!"
Will, for his matter, had turned a rich shade of red. With Toby's demand, he grabbed at a large Band-Aid stuck to the side of his throat. "I am!" he protested. "I just — it's been a really confusing — I mean, I'm not — Toby, this is Buffy Summers, from Sunnydale, California. Buffy, this is Toby Ziegler. My boss."
The buttons on the girl's shirt were one off. "Erm — it's nice to meet you, Mr. Ziegler. Everyone around here seems to be talking about you. How are your kids?"
"Fine," Toby muttered cautiously. She seemed nice enough, but what kind of deranged parents named their child Buffy? (For that matter, what deranged parents named their kid Huck?) "Er... where's Donna?"
Will gestured down a hall. "She woke for a half hour early this morning to take more pain pills before passing out again. The glass did a number on her leg."
"Right. Right, just stopped by to... well, obviously you're alright. Uh.. where's CJ?" Toby frowned. "Not to mention Josh, Sam, and whomever else is around here."
"On some errands," Buffy offered. "I've got some first aid training, what with the coaching, so I'm here to... make sure no one springs a leak." She gave a strained laugh. "Right, I'm going to — I'll just be right back." She jumped to her feet and scurried in the direction of the bathroom.
Toby crossed to the couch in seconds and glared at his subordinate. "If you're up to necking, shouldn't you be at work?"
"I'm in tomorrow," Will promised. "I'm on injury leave." He peeled the bandage back to show off two rather large bruises, spaced just close enough to resemble a dog bite. "See? I lost a ton of blood."
"Women like to play nursemaid, I think," Toby stated. "Don't get your hopes up — she's too young for you."
Will snorted. "Six year difference. That's far closer in age than my dad and stepmother. Now... go away. I don't know when the others will be back. They're at Donna's." He shut his mouth, eyes widening as if he wasn't supposed to say anything. "Erm... don't go over there, Toby."
"Why not? Hiding something from me?" he demanded. He noticed Buffy coming back out of the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye, her blouse buttons corrected. "CJ was acting suspicious too. What's going on?"
"We're just — I'm not supposed to — It's a simple — please, don't make me -"
Buffy took a seat on the arm of the couch. "He's promised not to say anything, but they're having a Father's Day party for you, a little early. Once Miss Bartlet's been recovered, of course. Now, when the day comes, would you act surprised and pretend Will was a good boy?"
Will looked stricken, and Toby felt an odd sense of... pride. He didn't like parties, but... "Make sure there's beer," he commanded Will. "I'm gonna go see my kids." The rest would take care of itself.
+
After Toby left, Buffy sunk down onto the couch next to a blushing Will. "Well, that was bad timing," she noted simply.
Will buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry. Toby usually knocks at my place. And — I'm also sorry — I didn't mean to push you into anything and I'm afraid I have, since by your own admission, you're grieving for someone you loved -"
A rough punch to the shoulder shut the speechwriter up. "There was very little pushing going on. Do you think I wouldn't have thrown you across the room if I wasn't good with the thing? Slayer here? Right?"
"I'm sorry," Will said again. "I won't do anything. I mean, we should be thinking about rescuing Zoey and everything."
"They abandoned us," Buffy pointed out.
"They're a team," Will countered, voice sounding oddly dull.
Buffy grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. His were sad, downcast. "You're part of that team. Why did you make that story up about feeling dizzy?"
Will blushed. "You knew?"
"Of course." Buffy let out a snort. "You didn't lose that much blood. Do you really feel that left out by the group of them? ... Why don't you say something?"
"They've all got four years of comradery behind them. With Sam back here... They just click, the whole lot of them. I'm a third wheel. The odd man out. A fifth for foursquare. A romance novel in the economics section. A... weed among roses." Will's list of metaphors seemed unending.
"A vampire with a soul?" Buffy muttered, half to herself.
The information distracted Will. "But I thought Giles was saying that vampires don't have souls."
"They don't. I've only ever met two. The first... he was cursed with it by a group of gypsies who wanted him to feel guilt over the murders he'd committed." She smiled sadly, voice going softer. "The second went on a journey thing and got his soul back because he wanted to be able to feel guilt over something he'd done in particular."
Will peered at her closely. "Something he'd done to you," he picked up.
Buffy nodded shortly. "He was the one who died, when the Hellmouth closed. He was about a hundred and fifty years old. He gave it all up... because of me."
There was a long, comfortable pause before Will felt ready to speak again. "We're a bunch of killjoys, aren't we," he murmured, shaking his head.
"I guess. We don't have to be, though. I mean... I can't promise anything that'll mean — well, anything. I'm rebound girl after all. But we're both pretty lonely, it'll be a good hour or more before the others show up, and Ms. Moss is out cold." She ran her fingers around to the nape of his neck, running them through the tangle of sweat-drenched short hairs there. He shivered under her touch.
"You're absolutely sure this is a good idea?" he put in.
Buffy shrugged. "I'm not known for my good ideas. I just go with my heart."
+
The spell hadn't been powerful enough to knock them flat, but Willow had picked up a sort of heavenly glow, which was slowly fading. She smiled and bent over to take a closer look at the glowing dots covering the map of D.C. and the surrounding area. "There sure are a lot of them, Giles," she murmured.
Giles frowned. "More than there were supposed to be. But... there are three clusters. Here, here, and here," he said, pointing. "What are these places?" he demanded of the closest White House employee, who just happened to be Sam.
"That's the graveyard we were at," Sam said. "That's Georgetown University. And that's... that's the White House."
Josh crouched at Willow's side. "What do the lights mean again?"
"Each is a separate demon," she said, pursing her lips. "Er... is there any reason a horde of demons might be in the White House?"
Josh and Sam exchanged glances. "Well, I always thought Walken was up to something," Josh muttered.
Sam gave a nervous laugh. "Right. Walken, demon. Funny. Um... guys, the sun's gonna go down, and Zoey's going to die."
"We were near their hiding place when we were ambushed," Willow said, trying to get back on topic. "It must be a crypt. I can do a tracking spell or something, once we get there. Ms. Cregg? Do we have transportation?"
"My car," she said. "Donna's and Will's. Weapons?"
Josh dragged his bags over and pulled out a number of sharpened wooden dowels. "Thank God for Home Depot," he grinned. From another bag he grabbed several short swords. "There's a cutlery place in the Alexandria mall, the one closest to Home Depot," he explained as he passed them out. "I'd have gotten full swords, but they require more checks, and more money, and I didn't want to be caught coming out of a weapons store by the press."
"I'd skin you," CJ muttered, checking the balance of the new weapon on her hand. "It's not a bad knife though. Well, I think."
"Save one for Will and Buffy," Willow commanded. "I think Donna should stay behind. You know, injury and all."
"I think Will could use a neck guard," Josh joked. "Or maybe a helmet with a throat protector."
"Thirty vampires or so, I'm counting," Giles put in, taking a knife of his own. "We haven't much time. The spell in question requires thirty five."
CJ nodded. "And we know this is the right spell?"
"She's direct descendant of one of the Salem witches," Willow put in. "She's the one they'd take. She's powerful, I can feel it. I'll probably smell it, too."
"Let's rock and roll," Kennedy muttered. "Get the backup and save the day."
+
"CJ?" Abbey Bartlet opened the door of the press secretary's office and poked her head in, ignoring the secret service agents standing just down the hall. The woman in question was not present, not even sleeping on the couch. "Claudia Jean Cregg?" Abbey demanded, as though such a command would cause the woman to appear.
It didn't work, of course. Abbey took a few steps into the office and caught sight of the darkening sky outside the window. She crossed and stood there, in the oranges and pinks and purples of the sunset.
It was too beautiful for words, and too beautiful when her daughter was tied up, or being tortured, or dead. Time was passing, and with every moment the possibility that her daughter would be found alive diminished.
Abbey turned, intending to return to the Residence, when she caught sight of a list sitting on the press secretary's desk; a very familiar list with one name circled in a bright red ink. Eyes narrowing, she grabbed up the paper. Elizabeth Mercy Stanton, the paragraph read, known as one of the dozens of women murdered in Massachusetts for witchcraft. Her whole story was there, but Abbey didn't bother to give it another glance — she knew it by heart. Elizabeth Mercy Stanton was her many-greats grandmother.
There was a note beside the circle, reading simply "Bingo! Call Giles!" in what could only be Will Bailey's handwriting. A whole stack of papers sat in a folder there, with the entirety of her family tree included.
Not Jed's. Hers. What could possibly be so important about her history? Were those damned Daughters of the Revolution giving more problems about her membership? Elizabeth Mercy Stanton couldn't be it — could she? A woman supposedly a witch? And why would they be bothering CJ now, amid tragic circumstances? Abbey gave a snort and chucked the papers back where they'd been lying, and looked up only to give a yelp of surprise.
"Pardon me, Mrs. Bartlet. I was just trying to find Ms. Cregg." Of all the people to be lurking around in the evening... President' Glen Walken took up the entire doorway with his bulk.
"Well, she's gone home, I guess. Damn good time for it," Abbey muttered. "What do you want with her?"
Lord above, he actually looked sheepish. "Just an apology. I said some things... well, I was intending to joke, but her assistant informed me I'd stepped over the line a bit. Then she got in that incident -"
"Incident?" Abbey demanded. Dozens of scenarios filled her mind.
Walken shook his head. "Pardon, you wouldn't have heard. She was picking someone up at the airport and the car died. A gang attacked. Everyone's alright, though. She was back in here today, plugging away with the press... I really should let her know she did an admirable job today. When things are like this..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Ma'am, how are you doin'? How's President Bartlet?"
"The best that can be expected." She turned to look out at the sunset, sighing tiredly. "I dream about her, now. Sometimes I see her in some crazy's basement. Sometimes... I should go back, before Jed worries."
The acting president crossed the room to stand beside her at the window. "We won't ever be friends, ma'am, but when times are like this, it's our job to band together against evil. Yes, someday I'd like to run for this job m'self... but I pray more than anything for your daughter to be recovered and for your husband to take his place again. We are not enemies, Mrs. Bartlet, not now. Not ever. We're all Americans."
"All Americans," Abbey repeated. Somehow that was calming... except for the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, the feeling that drove her to fight for what she thought was right — the feeling that warned her that it was an American behind the whole thing.
She didn't bring up her worries, and Walken didn't speak again. They stood in silence as the sun dipped behind the horizon.
A/N: See? Not quite so evil a Republican. Take that as you may ;). Don't forget to be a responsible reader and leave a review!