Next chapter! Yeah! This story's so fun to write, hope it's fun to read. Anyway, I don't own them, never will. Thanks for the reviews. More soon. Think that's about it. Better get on with it.
To Catch a Thief
By Robinyj
It was almost dawn. There was no need to say this aloud, everyone in the car was painfully aware of the time. Angel was driving, surprisingly calm considering the circumstances, with a stoic Cordy in the passenger seat and Oz lounging in the back. The silence was broken only by the soft lull of the radio and the sounds of car horns blaring at each other in the background. It wasn't until they were a few blocks away from the building, a few blocks away from getting Doyle back, that Angel said anything.
"I know we went over this but I need both of you to remember that Spike's unpredictable. He doesn't like to play by the rules, so anything you think may happen, forget it. Spike has always liked being … unique." Angel explained. He knew that they both knew this but had to make sure they were prepared for anything, Doyle's life may depend on it.
"With fashion sense like that I'm not surprised," Cordy muttered, still staring away in the distance.
"How many vamps you think we're talking?" Oz asked from the back as he re-checked his crossbows.
"No way to know, but I don't think very many. Spike had to move here from Sunnydale pretty quickly, he probably didn't have time to take a whole lot of back up with him," Angel replied. Oz just nodded.
"So what happens when Spike figures out that we gave him a fake ring?" Cordelia asked, thinking into the future. To her this was like any other mission they had done before, here and in Sunnydale, and if you had a plan you succeeded. Therefore, since they had a plan, this job would be a synch. But then there was the future to worry about, which Cordelia did often.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, right now I just care about Doyle … and Spike," Angel's voice was venom as he suddenly turned the car sharply, at an almost ninety degree angle into a parking spot, causing Cordy and Oz to brace themselves against the power of the inertia it caused.
"I guess we're here," Oz said as the car was shut down. Angel got out first, fierce anger in his overloud steps. Oz and Cordy both got out slower, a bit more wary.
Once out of the jet black convertible Oz looked it over for the first time, appreciating it, "You know, this is a nice car." He commented, but Angel did not turn around, he seemed to be searching the night air, by sight and smell.
"Yeah, it goes with all of his outfits," Cordelia noted, obviously referring to the dark color of the vehicle as well as Angel's attire.
"You gotta be true to yourself," Oz pointed out, his words holding more meaning than the light comment would from anyone else. Cordy offered an appreciative half smile and nodded.
It was then they noticed that Angel had still not turned around.
"Angel, what's wrong?" Cordelia asked, coming up beside him.
"Something's not right. Doyle and Spike are both close by, I can smell them … or at least they were. There are a lot of scents in the air, mostly human," he shook his head as if to clear them all away. "It's probably nothing."
But Oz sniffed as well and had to agree with his first opinion, "You're right, there's been a lot of activity here recently."
That only motivated Angel more, "Okay, let's go." They were two streets down from the factory, it was in sight but anyone looking for them had most likely not spotted them yet. They started toward the paper mill, seemingly determined and confident
When they neared the front of the building Angel handed Cordelia the wire cutters he'd brought.
"The fusebox should be on the other side of the building. Cut it when you hear the signal," Angel instructed again.
Cordy stared at the wire cutters for a long time, then, taking a deep breath, she took them from him and smiled. As she jogged away from the two and disappeared around the corner she could be heard murmuring her usual mantra to herself:
"I am a somebody. I matter. People will be attracted to my positive energy and help me achieve my goals…"
Oz looked at Angel, "I usually hum Jagger, but whatever works for her."
Angel's gaze was directed firmly at the wooden door in front of them, "You ready?" he asked, his voice cold and hard. Oz stiffened and held up both his crossbows.
"Count on it." And he would. Oz was his back up and he may need him.
"Good." With only two steps, each filled with determination and strength, Angel reached the door and swiftly knocked it down with a powerful round house that sent the wood flying. Stepping inside with an arrogant smirk on his face, Angel was stopped in his tracks by the sight before him.
"This was insanely easy." He commented, slightly confused.
Oz came up behind him after a few moments, curious as to the lack of corny bad guy banter or serious ass-kicking. Looking inside, he saw what had stopped Angel. Lowering his crossbow to his side he grunted and half shrugged his shoulders.
"That positive energy of Cordy's must pack quite a punch; these guys are out cold," Oz pointed out, stepping further into the room and nudging one of the still forms on the floor. The warehouse was littered with bodies, all clearly vampires, and obviously unconscious. There was little sign of a fight and no indication as to what had caused the massacre. The only movement in the factory was made by them; without a need for oxygen the demons did not even breathe in sleep.
Angel too was curious; the smell of humans was much stronger in here, but there was no fear as there would be with hostages, it was almost as if a group of men had done this.
"Why?" Angel asked aloud as he also checked the conscious level of a nearby vamp.
"Well like you said, it's unique. Knock yourself out before we get here, lull us into a false sense of security perhaps," Oz offered, but Angel wasn't listening. Any movement in the factory was obvious due to its stillness and across the room a single body was stirring from the floor and seemingly attempting to rise. Angel sprang forward, leaping over prone bodies until he reached the only moving figure on the floor; it figured, it was Spike.
"Cor, I need to get the number of that truck that hit me and the names and addresses of his family members," Spike muttered as he managed to get to his knees. The room around him spun wildly and his limbs were not responding properly. Then suddenly he was flying. The ground disappeared from beneath him and he was soaring through the air. Nothing could touch him; he felt free and he laughed. He was far too disoriented to notice that he had actually just been hauled up by the lapels of his coat.
"Where the hell is he? Spike! Are you listening to me? Spike!" Angel shook the smaller vampire again, trying to gain his attention. Spike just laughed again and held out his arms, as if he were an airplane.
"Wheeeeeeee….." Spike whispered and then the ride ended. Angel threw him across the room and into the closest wall with enough force to knock him back to his senses. Coughing and rubbing his head Spike slowly picked himself up from the floor and leaned against the wall for support. When his eyes focussed the glazed look was gone and it was clear he now understood where he was and what was happening. Angel stood before him, taking slow, meaningful steps to cover the distance between them, while Oz stood in the background, crossbow at the ready in case any of Spike's minions decided to wake up.
Spike sighed as Angel drew near him again, "Look you got your bloody whelp back. Do we really need to go through the whole 'get out of my town' speech and obligatory beat down of the bad guy?"
Angel's face contorted to its vampire visage and he took hold of Spike's collar once more, "I haven't gotten anything back! Now you can tell me where Doyle is now or we can talk about it as your arms are slowly severed from your body!"
"Now that's a bit harsh don't you think? Severed from me body, getting a bit gruesome now aren't we? A simple daylight threat would have …" Angel slammed him against the stone wall. Spike grunted, winced as his headache extended to down his spine and said slowly, "I don't know, all right? A bunch of very well armed, military brutes busted in here and … hey, is that my ring?" Spike's full attention was now on the hand around his lapel that was decorated with the fake ring of Amara. He even reached for it, quite carefully, as if expecting Angel to let him look at it if he promised to be gentle with it. Instead Angel released the Brit and struck him hard across the face with the very hand he had been admiring.
"I'm serious Spike, you have ten seconds." Angel promised, "One!"
"Look I don't know!"
"Two."
"Why would I bloody lie?"
"Three … oh screw it, I'm testing out my new ring. Ten!"
Spike held up his hands as Angel approached, knowing he would be no match for his sire while he wore the ring of Amara and coursed with its immortality. Of course, he had no clue that it was a fake.
"Honest, I don't know where your Mick is. Guys in fancy suits and very painful but spiffy looking guns came in here, fired up worse than Dru after feeding on a bloke with a drug habit. They took your mate and I wasn't too inclined to stop them," Spike assured the threatening figure.
Angel ceased his assault but was sceptical, "Who would want to …"
"Wolfram & Hart?" Oz interrupted from behind. Angel spun to see the musician crouched on the ground, just under a bloody set of manacles that hung from the ceiling. Angel had no illusions of what the restraints had been used for but kept his anger in check for now. If he killed Spike he might never find Doyle.
Oz held up the business card, "Found it on the floor. Says it's a law firm. You heard of them?"
"Yeah, I have," Angel pulled an identical card from his front coat pocket. "Damn."
"Would they take Doyle?" Oz asked and Angel nodded to the affirmative, "Guess we better get going then."
Oz held out the card to Angel, showing him a message that had been neatly scrawled on the back.
A business deal is offered to you for one time only: the Gem of Amara in exchange for the brachen demon's life. If you agree to the terms of this settlement then be at the parking garage on Wellington at 10 am. Punctuality is appreciated.
"Who are these guys?" Oz asked, disgusted by their arrogance.
"Lawyers," Angel grumbled, turning over the card again.
"Hmm, worse than demons and twice as hard to kill," Oz pointed out.
Spike, attempting nonchalance, walked between them, shrugging off his headache, "Well, you seem to have gotten your answers so I'll just be off, it's been fun, as always." Smiling as if saying farewell to an old friend, Spike even reached out and shook Angel's hand vigorously.
"Been great seeing you again," he lied and when he tried to pull away, he couldn't. Angel held a death grip on his hand, whose fingers had nimbly been attempting to pry the ring from Angel's finger, and wouldn't let go.
"Don't even try it Spike," Angel warned as he grinded Spike's hand in his own. Long moments passed and the tension between the two grew as their eyes locked in a battle of wills. Angel smirked and to Oz it seemed he had just come up with a great idea, then he released Spike in disgust. "There's only way you're getting this ring."
"Prying it off your cold dead fingers? I can arrange for that," Spike promised, slowly backing out of the room, Angel's gaze fixed on him, as well as Oz's crossbow.
"Actually, there's another way. I'll give it to you." Angel's voice was deep with promise.
Spike snorted, "Yeah sure, give me a beating with it. You're more cracked than your whelp. You, giving up your one chance at sunshine and daisies, I'm sure."
"I will. You help us and the ring's all yours," Angel promised and Spike, foolish bloke he was, was starting to believe him.
"Me? Help you? Oh this is rich, and what would you have me do?" Spike asked, sauntering forward again and sitting to straddle a nearby chair.
"You'd be our wildcard. These guys have been keeping tabs on me, I know it. They probably already know Oz is here, but you. They'd never guess you would be backing me up. So, you help us get Doyle back, alive and I'll give you this ring that you worked so hard for." Angel offered and could see the wheels turning in Spike's head as he thought it over.
"Pretty simple, we get Doyle and you get the ring. You're not going to get a better deal," Oz chimed in, following Angel's line of thinking. Spike's eyes lingered on Angel's finger where the fake Ring of Amara rested.
"All right, you got a deal, you have to swear though," Spike announced.
"Swear what?" Angel asked.
Spike took a step forward, got in Angel's personal space and said firmly, "You swear on the head of your pretty little slayer that you will abide by the oral agreements we just reached here. Swear on her head, or no deal."
Angel smiled, "You seemed to have learned from our lawyer friends, makes me curious. But I'm game. I swear, on Buffy's life, that if you help us get Doyle back alive then I will give you this ring willingly." Spike nodded his appreciation of the gesture, until Angel added, "Now your turn."
The blond understood and raised his right hand in a mock boy scout salute, "I swear on the undead life of my dear Dru that I will help you get back your Mick before supper time, so we can all get pissed and I can get my ring." He didn't even cross his fingers. Angel looked pleased with that promise.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a posse," Oz commented, casually slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. It was then that the vampire behind him that had woken up decided to attack.
Taken totally by surprise, Oz fell hard to the ground when the vamp jumped on his back, levelling him and making his head spin. Having taken one down the demon jumped up and lunged for Angel, who casually grabbed his shirt and threw him into a large pile of metal support beams. A huge crash resounded through the factory as the poles fell into one another and rolled across the hard concrete floor. When the vamp managed to free himself from the jumble he moved to attack again but didn't get far as a shaft of wood suddenly penetrated his heart.
From his position on the ground Oz mumbled as he slid away the crossbow he had just fired, "Not my day with vamps." Angel reached out a hand to help him back up, which Oz took and then stood unsteadily on his feet. He had been pretty sure he had a concussion since Spike had first floored him at Doyle's, but now, as the room spun around him, he was positive. No time to complain about it now though, they had bigger things to worry about.
Angel shot Spike a death glare before turning to Oz and asking, "You okay?"
Oz shook his head to clear away the cobwebs; it only helped slightly, "Yeah, I'm good. No big."
Angel glared at Spike once more.
"Oh come on, like that was my fault. Not as though I have some psychic connection with my idiotic crew do I? You should know most of all how hard it is to …." Spike stopped. It was suddenly very dark, "Um, what happened to the lights?"
"Cordelia," Angel mumbled, "She must have thought the crash was the sign."
"What sign?" Spike asked, still unable to see anything. It was too dark for the eyes of either vampire or werewolf.
"The sign to cut off the power," Oz replied, his voice getting further away. He was heading for the door. "Cordy, it's okay. Turn the power back on!"
"What?" Cordy called back.
"Turn the power back on!" Oz shouted a bit louder, not used to speaking above his usual monotone.
"Back on! That was never part of the plan!" Cordy argued.
"Just do it!" Angel urged her, not moving from his spot in the room.
"This sounds an awful lot like improvising, you know how I feel about that!" Cordy yelled.
"For bloody sake, just do it!" Spike screamed, easily aggravated.
"Spike? I'm taking orders from Spike now? Oh, I do not think so!" Cordy exclaimed, appalled by the idea. With a collective sigh and eye roll the three in the factory began to make their way out in the dark, moving slowly to avoid tripping over any more of Spike's unconscious lackies. Once they reached the doors it was easy going with the beginning rays of dawn lighting up the sky. Angel and Spike winced and kept to the shadows.
Cordelia, still at the back of the building was looking over the fusebox she had been assigned to and continued shouting as though the boys were listening, "How exactly am I suppose to 'turn it back on'? Snip the wire, the power's out, okay? I can't unsnip it! Am I supposed to be Martha Stewart or something? And why is Spike … Ah!"
She screamed and held the wire clippers up as a weapon as a hand fell on her. Oz held up his arms to deflect her wrath, "Easy, we're leaving."
Cordelia sighed dramatically and held a hand to her chest, "Way to give me a heart attack! What were you doing in there? Where's Doyle?" The last question was asked in such concerned urgency that Oz flinched.
"He's not here. We've hit a bit of a snag. Angel can explain better I think," Oz replied, hating to see the hope drop from Cordelia's face. She followed him to the car with defeated obedience. When they got back to the car Angel had already manoeuvred Spike into the backseat and was leaning on the hood waiting for them. Cordy ran up to him, her face holding the questions she wanted to ask.
Angel looked back at Spike briefly, as if warning him to stay put, then led Cordy away to speak with her, leaving Oz to watch over Spike.
"Okay, here's the situation. Spike doesn't have Doyle," Angel began.
"But Oz said ...." Cordy didn't finish.
"Oz was right, he did, but he's not here now. Wolfram and Hart, those evil lawyers I ran into, kidnapped him."
"He was kidnapped from his kidnapper? Oh my god, could life be more complicated?" Cordelia complained, hating what she was hearing.
"They want the ring too," Angel finished.
Cordy couldn't believe this and slapped his arm, "You are such an idiot! I can't believe you destroyed that thing; look how many people are after it! You could have made a fortune on e-bay or something."
Angel easily stopped her rant before it began, being gentle because he knew she was worried about Doyle too, "Cordelia, we've got a few hours to come up with a new plan and Spike's going to help us. Right now we just have to stay focussed okay, I'm …" it was hard for Angel to admit, "I'm going to need your help"
She was taken aback by his raw sincerity and finally realized he was as scared as she was, "All right, no problem."
Relieved he could count on her Angel turned back to the car and instructed her, "You're in the front. Oz, watch Spike."
"The dog watching the vamp, what a tangled web we weave ourselves," Spike commented sarcastically from the back.
"Actually, I don't think we're the ones weaving it," Oz added as he stepped in beside Spike slowly, wary for any sign of deception.
"If we were it'd be a lot prettier," Cordelia said as she jumped into the passenger side and Angel got behind the wheel.
"Life isn't meant to be pretty," Angel finished, speaking from long years of experience. There was silence as they pulled away.
~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~
From the outside, Wolfram and Hart law offices looked like your everyday law firm. A clean, tall building with the latest technologies and highest earning lawyers, a salad bar on the third level and executive bathrooms; no one would ever guess that their clients were the darkest evil the world had ever known and mostly demons. They also wouldn't suspect that there was a level, just below the basement, comprised of cages and cells made of cold concrete with no light shining in. It was in one of these cells that Allan Francis Doyle awoke in.
Blinking open his eyes, Doyle was glad it was dark; any light would have made his headache even worse. It was of little help though since his entire body radiated with pain. His back was a mixture of bruises, long slashes that had finally stopped bleeding, and a few small burns from Spike's tazer and cigarettes. The cuts were most likely infected and his ribs had felt broken for some time; now every breath nearly brought tears of pain to his eyes.
He was sitting on a cold floor with his wrists once again manacled above him, attached to a short chain on the wall. He could stand if he wanted but felt no urge to do. His skin felt tight all over, like it didn't fit his body and he thought he felt sweat dripping from his forehead, despite the coolness of the room.
Great, he thought, now I'm running a damn fever.
He also had no idea where he was and found his head beginning to hurt not just from his headache, but from trying to follow the crazy path his life had been on lately.
"Now where the hell am I?" He asked aloud, not expecting an answer. He knew he wouldn't get one but he was bored so started yelling, "Hello! Is there anyone out there? I think there's been some kind of mix up here cause if you people are lawyers you really shouldn't be breaking the law with this whole kidnapping thing! Hello! Someone answer me, dammit!"
As he shouted the last few words a horrible coughing spell hit him and he keeled over as his body spasmed with the pain each exhalation caused.
"Oh, not good," Doyle muttered when he could breathe. Then his attention became focussed on the door.
Footsteps were approaching, several sets of them. They drew nearer and nearer until they reached Doyle's door. There was a whir of electronic locks and then the steel door slid open silently, revealing a light skinned man with an air of confidence so bold it was intimidating. He had short brown hair, wore a loose white shirt with casual blue jeans and a quirky smile that would be associated with a jester. His most defining features though were his eyes; one was bright blue, the other a pure white, but Doyle had a feeling he could see clearly from both. The eyes stood out against his common appearance and reminded the Irishman of the sky on a cloudy day.
Doyle watched the man closely who didn't seem the least bit interested in the shackled half-demon before him. Eventually Sky met Doyle's gaze and smiled; it felt condescending and cold. Then he pulled a small pouch from his pocket and began to hum under his breath as he came further into the room.
"Hey there, I'm Doyle. Is this your cell cause it's fabulous. You got your chains, your bed, your door, everything a bloke could ask for, except a view. What can I do for you exactly?" Doyle asked, attempting to somehow charm his way out of the situation.
Sky continued to ignore him, he just moved closer, still humming (or was it chanting), and opened up the small pouch he had been carrying. When he was directly in front of Doyle he crouched down and poured the contents of the pouch onto the floor, forming a strange half circle around his body with the dark black powder that was inside. Sky chanted louder.
"That's a nifty little tune you're humming; don't quite recognize the words though. What's the name of that one?" Doyle asked, insanely desperate to get some information out of this man.
The humming grew more intense, but Sky's lips were no longer moving. The sound was reverberating through the room on its own. Doyle was getting very frustrated.
"Hey buddy, talk to me here! What the hell is going on?" Doyle demanded, leaning forward despite the spikes of pain it caused through his spine. "What? Are you deaf or something? Dumb perhaps? Little bit of both?"
Sky continued on with his work and as the chant reached its crescendo he ran his hand over the dark half-circle. A ray of black energy floated up from the powder and was absorbed by the man's hand, which grew dark with the power. When Sky was finished his whole arm was a dark black. Doyle sat mesmerized, now unable to speak.
In a flash the spell to seemed to break. The chanting, which had become loud and strong, disappeared, and the black energy that had been building in Sky's arm shimmered then died away. Doyle wondered whether the energy had diffused into his body or simply disappeared. He got his answer when Sky looked up. His eye, which had previously been bright blue, was now a frighteningly dark black, contrasting sharply against the white of his other eye. The condescending smile returned to Sky's face as Doyle flinched from the sight.
Then slowly, as if enjoying the moment, Sky ran a finger through the black powder on the floor, drawing a path and darkening his hand with it, as if he had been smudged with coal. Drawing forward, and humming lowly beneath his breath once more, he came towards Doyle.
"Back off pal, I'm not some science experiment for your little voodoo thing. Stop!" Doyle demanded as Sky held his head in one place with one hand and then drew his blackened finger along Doyle's neck, leaving a dark line in its place. After it was drawn, Sky released him and stopped humming once more. He took a step back as if admiring his handiwork, then made a simple gesture with his arm that caused the powder on the floor to disappear in a puff of smoke.
"What the hell was the point of that?" Doyle asked, exhausted and confused by the entire ordeal. This whole situation was out of control and getting stranger by the minute. It was bad enough being tortured and kidnapped twice in one day, but add creepy Houdini wannabes and it just made life frustrating.
Still unmoved by Doyle's pleas and insults Sky continued with his silent observation. Then the man spoke for the first time and the black of his eye dimmed as he said, in a disturbingly low voice, "Metreon."
As the word was said Doyle's air disappeared. It felt as though a metal collar had been placed around his neck and squeezed too tightly. It was painful and frightening as he found his oxygen supply depleting quickly since he hadn't had time to take in an extra breath. He writhed in tortured agony, pulling at his chains and arching his back as his body responded naturally to the loss of air. It wasn't long before his lungs had constricted as much as possible and dots speckled Doyle's vision.
Another flick of the wrist and a simple word, "Zegrack," and the invisible collar was gone. Doyle could breathe once more and greedily sucked in a large gulp of air as he slouched against the wall.
Satisfied that his work was done, Sky turned and left Doyle panting and confused. The silent door slid open and Sky left the cell once more, never taking a moment to look back.
TBC
Woo hoo, another chapter done. Hope you're all enjoying the fic I'm having a fabulous time writing it. I've got lots of ideas and twists still planned and I thank you all for reading. I'm still taking story suggestions, though I have a pretty firm plotline now I'm always open to new ideas. Hope to hear from you!
Special thanks to my reviewers:
Lunacat – My favorite episode too, and my favorite characters. Hope the fic is shaping up to be all you hoped it would be.
Irish-dancer – There really aren't a lot of Oz fics anywhere! If you know of any good Oz sites I'd love to see 'em. I got a lot of Doyle already.
Reyvin – Good, someone else who bawls during "hero". I hate watching it, cause the whole time you're thinking "he's just going to die at the end of the ep anyway, none of this matters". Least I do anyway. *sigh* I wish he wasn't dead. Anyway, thanks for the review, much appreciated.
Kelso – He definitely gave up the ring too easy, after all the work he did to get it.
Tap Dancing Widow – Thank you. I changed my error, it was Lilah. Don't know how I messed that up. I think I was going with just sounds cause I've never read her name before actually. Haven't seen Underworld yet, I'm waiting for it on DVD
Templa Otmena – I save my evil laughter for my evil cliffhangers. J So happy you liked Doyle's speech, I was debating to keep it in. Yep, lots of Doyle torture in the future. There's Oz and Spike torture too. Not as much Spike, but there's some. Hope you'll be there.
Catlyn 88 – Thank you as well. Where did I get Delilah? I fixed it though. There are lots of twists in this sucker. Enjoy.
Please R&R everyone. I love you.