Chapter Six

This chapter's gonna have some lyrics threading through it. See if you can guess where from. It's fun...

Another day passed. Spike woke up, relied on Will to tell him what to do in the morning, and marvelled again that Buffy did it all without any fuss at all. He took his son to school and walked him right to the door, telling him before he left, "Don't go outside without the teacher, remember? And stay inside until I come to get you. Do not speak to anyone you don't know. Right?"

"I know, Dad. You tell me every day."

"Just don't forget. It's important. You hear me, kid? I bloody mean this."

When his father looked as fierce as that, Will was slightly afraid. He nodded. "Okay, I won't."

Spike hugged his son, eyes clenched shut. "And be good. You got everything? Okay." He kissed the boy's cheek, making him squirm. "Have a good day. Love you."

Will wriggled away and ran off to his friends. Spike straightened up and watched him: normal kid, happy with his mates. Didn't seem to realise anything majorly wrong was happening. Had no idea his father was crumbling inside.

A voice at his side startled him. "Any word?"

It was the teacher - he had to think for a second for her name - Miss Calendar. He shook his head.

"Nothing yet. We know who took them but not why."

"It's been how long now?"

Spike looked at his watch. "Eight days, twelve hours, thirty-seven minutes. Thirty-eight now."

She bit her lip and nodded sympathetically. "I hope you hear something soon."

So did Spike, although he knew the odds of hearing any good news after this long were not good. He couldn't remember a single missing person case he'd ever heard of where the person was found after more than a few days. If they ever turned up at all, it was as a body washed ashore or dug up from a shallow grave.

He sat in the car, willing himself not to cry. They weren't dead. They were coming back. They were going to be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

There's a light overhead, overhead. In the sky, overhead, overhead. And I'm with you now, in body, and music, and mind.

Buffy woke, cold and stiff, to the sound of footsteps and voices outside.

"Mommy," Alice reached for her. "What's happening?"

Buffy curled her fingers around Alice's. "I don't know. I think - I think we might be coming into port..."

And we're silent, and still: everything's so out of control tonight.

The phone rang and Spike snatched it up. "Yes?"

A second's pause, and then Riley's voice. "Spike. You still want information on Faith Andersen?"

"What've you got?"

"Not a lot. She's elusive. We've had a few intelligence reports she's involved with a South American drugs cartel... Uh, it's run by this American guy, we've been after him for years. Her name's only popped up recently as part of his gang... Name of Richard Wilkins III."

"Uh," Spike had a vague memory of being threatened by someone of that name, "think I've heard of him. What does he want with Buffy and Alice?"

"Old score to settle?"

At that, Spike went cold. That was it: back in the day when he was still smuggling drugs, before he'd got into art. He'd lightfingered a load of Wilkins's stuff to sell on - never really been all that interested in it himself - but he'd got caught. Taken out three of Wilkin's men, lost half the cargo, and escaped with a price on his head.

And now Wilkins was getting even.

"Where is he?"

In a plane that's flying fast, at a speed that makes me cry.

"So I don't even get to see where I'm going?" Buffy said as she was shuffled like a prisoner off the boat and into a waiting van, manacles still in place, a heavy hood over her head.

"Not having you make a break for it," Faith said.

"You think I'd run and leave my daughter in your care? Or lack of," Buffy added under her breath.

"Hey, I wouldn't kill a child."

"No, but you'd beat the living daylights out of her."

"Yeah, probably," Faith said, and shoved Buffy into the van so hard she tripped and fell, whacking her shins on the step. Someone picked her up and threw her in, and she landed, winded.

The doors clanged shut. In panic, Buffy cried, "Alice?"

Nothing.

"Alice?"

Silence.

Shaking now, Buffy tried to lift the hands that had been chained behind her back, and rubbed the blindfold off with her shoulder. It was dark in the van, but bright enough to see that she was alone.

Alice was nowhere to be seen.

Buffy started banging on the van walls. "Hey! Faith! Where is she? What did you do with her? Hey!"

The van started moving. No one answered.

Have you left me now, to trouble that won't let me lie?

Spike hadn't been south of the border for a while. He'd thought about getting a plane, but someone like Wilkins'd have half an eye on the flight manifests, and he'd probably know all of Spike's aliases. There wasn't time to get hold of a new passport. He had to go now.

So he took one of his old ones, hired a truck, and drove down to Mexico. No one really looked at him. He'd dyed his hair back to its natural dark brown and he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a flannel shirt, his arm out of its annoying sling. Just like any other truck driver.

At Guadalajara he ditched the lorry and stole a tourist's hire car to drive into the interior. There was a chance, he reflected, that Captain Cardboard had given him fake information, but somehow he doubted it. Riley just didn't have the information. And besides, he wanted Buffy back safe and sound, too.

It took about a day and a half to get close to where he wanted to go. Mountains and forests, hot and sticky, plenty of fields full of stuff he knew wasn't legal. He'd been driving the whole time and his eyes were bleary with dust and sweat, but he'd finally got a handle on his feelings.

Right now he was powered by pure anger. If Wilkins had hurt one hair on Alice's tiny blonde head or broken so much as a nail of Buffy's, then he'd be dead.

Actually, he was dead anyway. But Spike'd make it extra painful if his girls had been hurt.

He drove into a small mountain town, ditched the car and paid cash for a room in a dingy hotel. And then, because he was too tired to sleep, he used the cell phone that had been in the tourist's car - his would be easily traced - and called Xander's house.

He'd sent Will to stay with his godfather, and Dawn too. And, because Anya wasn't in a position to do much protecting, he'd also ordered Willow and Tara to stay at the Harris house. He wanted as many capable adults around his son and his sister-in-law as possible - if such an epithet could be applied to Xander.

"Hey niblet," he said, when Dawn came on. "How's tricks?"

"I feel like I'm being quarantined," Dawn grumbled. "I'm a grown-up, Spike-"

"So's your sister. Look what happened to her."

There was a pause. "You haven't found her yet?"

"I'm a couple of miles away from Wilkins' plantation. Gonna get some shut-eye, then I'll go up there before it gets light."

"What's your plan?"

"Shoot everyone who isn't Buffy or Alice and then get them the hell out."

"Good plan," Dawn said. "You want to speak to Will?"

She put the boy on, and he told his father, "I could come meet you. Xander says Mexico's closer than England and I've been there."

"You were born there," Spike said, hit with rare homesickness.

"I got a gun," Will said, and Spike's nostalgia vanished.

"You got a what?"

"Willow told me to stop shooting at Miss Kitty with it. It bounces off her anyway."

"You - what?" Then he remembered the sucker-dart gun Will sometimes played with, to Buffy's chagrin. "Your plastic gun."

"I'm good with it."

"Yeah, love. Tell you what, I need you to look after Dawnie for me. I know she says she's a grown-up, but you and me know she's just a kid right?"

"She's kinda big for a kid," Will said doubtfully.

"Yeah," Spike smiled for the first time in ages, "she is a bit. But she still needs looking after. Now I'm not there, you're the man of the house, yeah?"

"What about Uncle Xander?"

"He's a bloody whelp and he knows it. You're my right-hand man, Will. Need you to protect the girls. Your Auntie Anya's in a delicate condition," he suppressed a smirk, thinking of her indelicate language, "and Dawnie's so much of a target she might as well have a bullseye on her head. Can you look after 'em for me?"

"Yes," Will said solemnly. "Will you bring Mommy and Alice back?"

"If it's the last thing I do."

"I miss them."

Spike closed his eyes. "Me too," he sighed.

There were some noises off, and then Will said, "Auntie Dawn wants to talk."

Abruptly, he was gone, and Dawn came back on. "Listen, Spike, I talked to Riley about this."

"You did? When?"

"Yesterday. I went over to see him-"

"Alone?"

"No, I took an entire SWAT team with me. I took Willow," she sighed. "I wanted to know about this Wilkins guy. He doesn't sound nice."

"You think someone who'd kidnap Buffy and Alice would be hugs and puppies?"

"No - Spike, stop patronising me. Riley says his place is guarded like a fortress. If his guys can't get in-"

"Bunch of pussies," Spike dismissed.

Dawn ignored him. "You're one man with one gun."

"Two, actually."

"And you're still hurt. Spike, maybe you should get some backup."

Spike sighed again. "Niblet, I appreciate your concern, but I have done this sort of thing before. I escaped Wilkins last time, I can do it again."

There was a pause. Spike could clearly picture Dawn's frustrated expression: she'd tried before to stop him doing dangerous things, and it had never worked.

"Just be careful," she pleaded eventually. "I couldn't bear to lose you too."

Spike ended the call and lay there for a while in the still, thick air of his cramped room. He knew Dawn cared for him - as he cared for her, deeply - but was she right? In the last five years she'd lost her mother to a brain tumour, nearly lost Spike to a fire and now she'd lost Buffy and Alice, to God only knew what.

Was he risking too much here? Should he wait?

He got out his wallet and stared at the picture there. It was a bit old: Alice was still toddling, her little face chubby and tearful because Will had been tormenting her just before the camera clicked. He was grinning out of the picture with the sort of instant innocence you lose when you grow up; and Buffy had her arms around them both, an expression of fierce pride and love on her beautiful face.

Had there ever been a woman like her? She was perfect to him: a goddess. She'd given him these perfect, beautiful children, glorious living representations of their love. Sometimes - in fact, quite frequently - he had to pinch himself to see if it was all real. How could someone like her love someone like him?

But love him she did. She'd proved it over and over. She adored him, and he was helpless to do anything but adore her in return.

He put the picture back inside his coat, set a piece of tape on the door, and went down to the bar for a nightcap.

I'm awake all the time. You know where I stand: holding my plastic gun.

As the very dim light in the van dimmed even more, Buffy raised her head and wiped her sore eyes and resolved that as soon as they opened those van doors she was going to make her escape. Possibly it might kill her, but-

Oh, hell, Alice.

What if it did kill her? Who would protect Alice?

She had to go along with them until she got Alice back.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, her dreams full of her dead husband.

So turn and run, you cold killers of innocence. Against us, there's no defence. Your flash and your wickedness... You can't break our love.

He'd asked around in the bar about Richard Wilkins III. The response varied from fearful silence to terrified fleeing. No one would say anything.

Spike figured that was probably for the good: Wilkins had created a lot of terror, but no one actually knew anything. He had a drink or two, then went to sleep with a piece of string tied between the door and his finger so he'd know if anyone tried to get in.

No one did. He woke when the morning was still dark, and left the room via the window. Someone else's car took him the rest of the way to Wilkins' estate: a big, high-walled fortress. He sat watching for a while, and eventually got the measure of the place.

Spike shot the nearest guard and vaulted over the wall. So Riley's guys found that difficult, did they?

Tie my hands behind my back; put a gag on top of my mouth. But I won't give you up 'til silverware's covered in dust, and my shoes fall apart; the tumbleweed runs over my desert heart.

It was dark when the van stopped and Buffy was taken out, re-blindfolded, and walked through a courtyard - she could tell by the way the sound bounced - and into a building with cool marble floors. Her feet were still bare, dirty and sore, and she tripped a couple of times, always pulled back upright. One of her escorts was Faith; the other was a man, bigger, with rougher hands. He handled Buffy with no gentleness, but Faith seemed to have lost some of her violence.

Once or twice she even muttered, "Y'okay?" when Buffy had tripped.

Somehow, this made Buffy even more nervous.

Eventually, she was brought to a halt standing on a soft rug. She dug her toes into the deep fibres appreciatively, and tensed when someone pulled at her blindfold.

"You okay, B?" Faith asked, and Buffy nodded mutely. "He'll be here in a sec."

"Who?"

"The big man."

"Where's Alice?"

"It's cool, she's okay."

"Where?"

"Just... Somewhere else."

Buffy was not particularly happy with that answer; but despite Faith's recent softening towards her she did press the issue for fear of a further beating, and she knew her body couldn't take much more.

The door opened, and a man came through. He was probably about as old as Buffy's father - probably, because Buffy hadn't seen him in about twenty years. He was well-dressed, and he was smiling, although there was something of the politician's greasy smile about him that Buffy didn't trust for a single second.

"Miss Summers!"

"Dashwood," she corrected warily. "And it's Mrs."

"Of course, the famous double marriage. Allow me to introduce myself: Richard Wilkins III - like they say, third time's the charm!" His voice was genial, his manner friendly. Still she didn't trust him at all - well, he had her in chains, didn't he? "Good journey, Faith?"

Faith shrugged. "Five by five. Had to take a detour - Navy was bugging us. But I got her here."

"Excellent. Any trouble?"

"I think I got the fight out of her."

You have no idea, Buffy thought.

"Right, well, then. You can run along."

Faith didn't move.

"Faithie?"

"I think I was promised something," she said.

Wilkins beamed at her. "Absolutely. Carlos will have it."

Faith looked wary, but she gave a slight nod. "And what about the kid?"

For the first time Wilkins' confidence flickered. "Kid?"

"My daughter," Buffy said. "We were separated when we landed. Where is she?"

"I have no idea," Wilkins said. "But we don't need to be bothering with her. Faith - deal with it, would you?"

Buffy whirled around and grabbed Faith's arm. "Don't hurt her," she said passionately. "Don't you dare hurt her."

"Relax, B, I'm not gonna do anything. Hey," she added to Wilkins, "why did I go to all the trouble of bringing her here? She could be excellent leverage."

Leverage? What were they talking about? Buffy was confused. Who were they trying to... lever?

"Leverage?" Wilkins laughed. "Aw, Faith, you're still a comedian. I don't want leverage."

"But - I thought - weren't you going after something of his-"

"My husband didn't have anything of value," Buffy said quickly.

To her horror, Wilkins smiled, and he looked like a snake. "Well, you're quite right," he said, "and also overwhelmingly wrong. What he did have," he reached out and stroked her face, and Buffy shuddered, "is you."

Buffy stared in revulsion. "Get off me."

"You know, you were wrong too," Wilkins said to Faith, his hand still on Buffy's cheek. "She's still got some fight left in her."

"You lied to me," Faith said.

"No, I don't think I did. I said any methods possible, I wanted to get what was most valuable to him. I don't care about art or money, Faith, I got a lot of both. I want to hurt that little guttersnipe," his manicured nails suddenly dug into Buffy's dirty cheek, "and take what was dearest to him."

"What about the kid?" Faith said, her voice low.

"What? Oh, kill her. I don't really care."

"No!" Buffy began, but Wilkins suddenly struck her, and she fell to the ground. Kicking out, she knocked him off balance, but before she could go for him any more Faith yanked her back, and aimed a gun at Wilkins.

"I thought this was about money," she said.

"No, Faithie. It's about revenge," Wilkins said with a touch of condescension.

"You'd kill the kid-?"

He shrugged. "What does she mean to me?"

"And Buffy? You want her to - to-"

"She'll do for me what she did for him," Wilkins narrowed his serpent eyes at Buffy, and Faith fired off three shots: one hitting his knee, one his hip, and one his elbow.

"Come on, B," she said, and fired two more shots to break Buffy's chains. She hauled the astonished blonde after her out of the room as Wilkins yelled obscenities after them, jammed the door shut with a chair, and stormed through the house.

It was a big house, and a nice one, but Buffy hardly paid any attention as she raced on tired limbs after Faith.

"What the hell was that?"

"I thought he was ransoming you," Faith said tightly.

"There's nothing to ransom me for," Buffy said. "Not anything that'd make a dent in his fortune, anyway," she added, looking around at the opulent house.

"Yeah."

"So what-"

Faith whirled around, and waved the gun at Buffy. "I wouldn't have hurt your kid," she said.

"Not while I still breathe," Buffy replied.

"I've gotta get out of here," Faith said, pushing open a door and striding into the night. "You wanna come?"

"What about Alice?"

"I'll take you there."

So turn and run, you cold killers of innocence. Against us, there's no defence.

One more guard, and he was inside the house. It was silent, too big to navigate in the dark. Room after room of pointless antiques - fakes, mostly, and-

A gunshot. Then another, then a third.

Spike started running. He got there the same time as two more guards, who he shot in seconds, and then it was just him and Wilkins, the latter lying there bleeding on the floor.

"Spike," the older man gasped. "What a pleasure seeing you again."

Spike shot his other kneecap, and Wilkins howled in pain.

"Could say the same, but I'd be lying. Where are they?"

"I have no idea-"

Spike raised his gun again.

"Okay - they left."

"Left? You let them go. Just wander around the grounds for a stroll, right?"

"With Faith."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "The bint who shot me?"

"She's a good aim-"

"Where?"

"I don't know - she just shot me and left-"

"With my wife and my daughter?"

"Well, just your wife-"

"Where's Alice?"

"Who?"

Spike fired one more shot, this time into Wilkins' shoulder.

"My daughter. Three years old, blonde hair. Likes dogs and Lieutenant Commander Data. Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?"

Wilkins shook his head. "I don't know." He laughed "you know Spike, I actually don't know. But I know she's dead."

Spike had ten bullets left in his gun, and he fired them all into Wilkins' body. Three went directly into his head.

Then he turned and walked out, his face grim in the darkness, fist clenched, eyes determined not to cry.

He got as far as his stolen car when the road outside filled with blaring lights and men in uniforms with guns, and Spanish yells of, "Police! Stop or we'll shoot you!" filled the air.

For a few seconds he considered letting them shoot him. But then he remembered Buffy, and even if Alice was - was - what he said - which she couldn't be, not his baby girl - then he still had to live for Buffy, she'd be so lost and hurt, and for Will, he'd miss his sister...

He dropped his gun and raised his hands, and let them take him.

Your flash and your wickedness will surely bring you down again.

Faith replaced the phone and looked up at Buffy.

"You okay?"

Buffy cuddled Alice to her and nodded. Faith had taken her to a house in the town where Alice was being held by a couple of men with guns. The little girl had been frightened, but both men had kids of their own, they told Buffy, and they'd never hurt Alice.

Faith had sent them away, then picked up the phone and called the police to give them Wilkins' location.

"Now what are you going to do?" Buffy asked.

Faith shrugged. "Got a life of crime behind me. I can either keep on running, or I can turn myself in."

"Which'll it be?"

Faith sighed. "If they get to the village they'll get to me," she said. "I can't get away fast enough." She handed the truck keys to Buffy. "Go. They won't be looking for you."

"I'm fairy sure we'll be filed as missing-"

"Not in Mexico," Faith smiled faintly. "Go, B. Mexico City's about an hour, hour and a half away. Go to the embassy or something."

Buffy hesitated. It seemed a little too good to be true.

She turned her head to a noise outside.

"They're coming," Faith said. "Go."

Buffy gave her a quick smile, then ran, Alice in her arms.

Somehow we will stay afloat: we won't give in to the undertow. Some things you will never know.

Spike woke in a Mexican jail cell, head thumping, shoulder leaking blood, and opened his mouth to start yelling.

You can't break our love: you can pull us down, but you can't break our love.

A.N. So... whaddya think? Poetic? Poignant? Irrelevant?

Will Buffy and Spike survive? Or will they both get kidnapped by a rival drugs cartel and die in a Butch and Sundance shootout?

The question is: how evil do you think I really am?