Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C, and the rest of the demon gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 15 The Clankless Chain
"Isn't there something you want to tell me?"
Spike closed his hands over Buffy's and held her warm little fingers against his chest, head bowed. Waves of emotion had tumbled him today like surf; his feet had been swept from under him, and now his balance was uncertain. She had kissed him tenderly, and whispered that she was afraid he didn't love her, and wept in his arms - had it really happened, or was he dreaming again? But here she was, and here they stood together on the shadowy street, enveloped in the golden cone of lamplight. And she waited for him to tell her - what?
Her vibrant presence flooded his senses; he heard hear heartbeat quicken, felt her breath hot against his cheek, smelled the sweet rich blood swirling through her veins. Now that the moment had come, he couldn't find the words.
"Buffy," he said slowly. He raised his head to look into her deep and glorious eyes, shining with unshed tears. And with something else -
"You know!" he exclaimed.
"Darn it, Spike!" she said, dropping her forehead against his chest, and sliding her arms around his waist. "Why couldn't you tell me yourself? You know I'm not smart enough to figure it out. Dopey Buffy missed every clue."
"Then how - ?"
She looked up, laughing. "Angel told me."
"Pillock!" he growled. His ire was half-hearted, though. Truly, it was a relief; he'd been trying to think of what to say for months now, and hadn't come up with anything remotely convincing. 'Hi, honey, I'm home, and guess what?' No. He felt his shoulders relax, and folded his arms around her. "I specifically asked him - "
"He didn't mean to, it just slipped out."
"Typical!" he snorted. "He never could keep his mouth shut." Not that he really cared what Granddad thought, but... "What did he, uh, say?"
"He told me he knows it sounds stupid, but he's proud of you." She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder, smoothing her hands up and down his back. "It doesn't sound stupid to me; I am, too."
* * * *
"Hey, Mom!" Clem exclaimed. "They're kissing!"
"Clem, don't be nosy. Close curtains."
"They're kissing a LOT," he said, his ears twitching with interest. "Gee whiz! You mean you're not surprised?"
"No." She found the spellbook she was looking for, and drew it carefully from the bookcase. "She didn't like him, she wouldn't be so mad all the time."
"Well, if you say so," he said. He was glad his Sophie wasn't the type of girl to get mad like that, even if she was a human. Give him a peaceful life, that's what he always said (though, now that he thought of it, Spike never said that). At any rate, Spike seemed pretty happy now; he guessed that was what counted.
His mother pursed her lips over the page she read. "Clem, go get cauldron from basement, please; I think we need big potion this time."
"Sure, Mom."
* * * *
Angel heard Xander and Riley puffing behind him, and slowed his pace.
"Suck it up, guys," he said. "We've got a lot to do tonight."
Neither one was in very good shape for a tunnel prowl, which was annoying; and both were still afraid of him, which was even more annoying. Fred and Gunn were neither afraid nor panting - at least from exertion.
Leading the group through the darkened streets of Sunnydale gave Angel a curious feeling, as if he were returning to his childhood home. Everything seemed unaccountably small. He wasn't too familiar with this area, which was made up of row houses and small shops. The neighborhood was neatly kept, and smelled of cool brick and mossy stone, the rusted metal of old bicycles and autos in constant need of repair, and faint, diffuse traces of various types of demon, some acrid and some bitter. He remembered his way around all right, though in his day he'd always tried to avoid Demon Town. Characteristically, Spike felt right at home here; majestic isolation had never been his style. He'd always found some kind of camaraderie, even if it was hunting with Fyarls or, on one memorable occasion, teaching Tuscan were-bears to play craps.
In the old days, Angel had - Angelus had, he reminded himself impatiently - always felt snobbish about consorting with common demons, a prejudice Spike never shared and in fact openly scorned. Once more, Spike had been right; his friends and allies in the demon world were invaluable now. Who cared if they didn't exactly look like ladies and gentlemen?
"This is it," he said, as they turned a corner, "Deuce Lane."
"What nice little brownstones," Fred said. "Everything's so clean!"
"Looks good," Gunn agreed. Angel caught back a biting remark. Those two were so mutually supportive and devoted it got on his nerves, he had to admit it; he wasn't in the mood to coddle little fluffy bunnies. Or wasn't he like the dog in the manger, snapping and snarling to keep others from having what he couldn't enjoy? Romance had turned out to be beyond his grasp, certainly.
He mounted the steps of number 99, and the door opened. A lady demon stood in the entrance, surveying him with calm gravity. He felt strangely intimidated, and that surprised him; he wasn't usually the intimidate-ee. He hesitated, suddenly thrown off his stride.
"Mrs. Caprescu?" he said. "I'm - "
"I know - Angel." She smiled, showing the merest glimpse of fang. Disconcerted, he felt his jaw unclench, and discovered that somehow the steely anger he'd been suppressing for months was loosening its grip on his chest. She stepped back, opening the door wide. "Come in, please; you are all very welcome."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said sincerely.
* * * *
"So it's just humans and us vamps, this trip." Spike leaned on the table, examining the map spread out before them one last time. "This thrall thingy won't work on us, and we haven't got a defense against it yet for the others. We'll split up into two teams. So, Slayer, that's you and me - "
Xander opened his mouth to protest, but Buffy silenced him with a look.
" - And Gunn'll go with Grandpappy here."
"Hey! Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Angel said, predictably earning himself an insolent grin.
"We'll circle round here from different directions - " Spike continued, putting his finger on a point in the southeastern quadrant - "where these two main entrances are, and nose about a bit. If we can't actually rescue the girl, we might still suss out where she goes, and why."
"Sam is smart, and strong," Riley said. "Even without useful intel about us, she'd be valuable to any organization."
"Yeah, except for the brain-frying thing," Xander mused. Then, when everyone looked at him, he said, "What? Oh. Sorry. But it's what everyone was thinking, right?"
"You know, it's amazing how much you haven't changed," Angel said.
"Well, right back-at-ya, Mr. Swooshy Coat," Xander muttered.
Buffy felt her pulses humming with eagerness to be off. Looking for signs of Sam might seem like searching for one particular needle in a pine forest, but the likelihood of a demon or half-demon looking just like a tall, pretty, dark haired human girl were remote. If they found one, it would probably be Sam.
And once they found her, she admitted to herself, Riley would hopefully go away, and she and Spike would have some time to get re-acquainted. If she could get Xander out of her hair, too. Snatching the occasional odd minute for a kiss wasn't exactly, well, satisfying. She wasn't planning to share this motive with the others, but still, it counted for something.
It was a sign of how much she'd already come to trust Mrs. Caprescu that she considered consulting her about Xander, because she was beginning to wonder if something was seriously wrong with him. He must be over his hangover by now, but he still appeared pale and shaken, and unnaturally silent, for him. And several times she saw him looking at her with an expression in his eyes almost like fear.
"Here is potion," Mrs. Caprescu said, handing a small, brown apothecary bottle to Spike and another to Angel. "For sleep. Use just a drop and you can bring her back; she won't be frightened. Then we can fix thrall." She looked kindly at Riley, who met her ruby eyes with a hangdog expression Buffy found painful to witness. "Don't worry; soon she'll be free."
* * * *
If there was one thing Angel was expert at after all these years, it was gliding noiselessly through unlit tunnels. Somewhat to his surprise, he remembered his way around perfectly, even without the help of Spike's excellent map, and he knew just which paths would bring them toward the suspected location of the Doctor's lair. Gunn, too, despite his size and, well, human-ness, was adept at stealth, and followed him in silence. There was no one he'd rather trust to watch his back - except perhaps Spike, now. Without discussion, they kept their eyes open for scouts and guards, as well as for human-looking young women. They both knew the question wasn't whether or not they would meet an attack - the question was, when?
* * * *
The route they'd chosen, circling in the opposite direction from Angel and Gunn, was dimly lit, but by keeping Spike's pale head in view, Buffy followed him without difficulty. His movements through the narrow, low-ceilinged passages were swift and utterly soundless, as far as she could tell. They had hunted together before, but then it had always involved noisy pursuit and vigorous bashing of their quarry, which was enjoyable enough in itself. But she'd forgotten just how keen a predator he was. It was - well, she had to confess, it was exciting. Beasties beware, she thought; the Big Bad is out tonight. Except he's sort of... good.
* * * *
Left behind to baby-sit Riley while Fred enjoyed a nice talk with their hostess, Xander could hardly do anything but stare. His charge sat slumped in an armchair, leafing unseeingly through a copy of Family Circle. He looked awful, his cheeks stubbled and his olive drab garments crumpled. Was this the same super-cool secret agent guy he'd seen last spring? Xander could hardly believe it.
"So what's your organization called?" he said at last. "I'm guessing it's not anything with 'U.S.' in the title."
Riley looked at him without emotion. "You don't want to know that," he said. Xander felt a chill on the back of his neck. "You really don't."
* * * *
Fred had been given the grand tour, including the display of family pictures featuring the late Mr. Caprescu, the shawled and bowler-hatted ancestors in Romania, and Clem as an amazingly wrinkled (but adorable) infant; now she and her hostess sat at the kitchen table drinking tea. Xander stayed with Riley in the living room, and, figuring that everyone liked root beer and corn chips, Clem had taken some food down to Grak.
"It's not like I'm worried," Fred said. "Charles has been fighting demons - I mean, you know, evil demons - since he was a child, almost. It's just that we usually go together."
"Being apart means you see each other better when you're together again, sometimes," Mrs. Caprescu said.
"That's so true! And you know, I miss him when he's out of my sight for a minute!" Fred exclaimed, her color heightened. "I know that sounds SO sugary and sappy, but I - I was all alone, completely alone, for such a long, long time, and I never thought I'd have anybody, ever. Then one day I looked in his eyes - and there he was. It was just like a miracle."
"For young girl, falling in love IS miracle," Mrs. C said. Fred beamed, blushed again, and opened her mouth to speak.
But before she could say anything, there came sudden sounds of commotion at the back door.
* * * *
Spike followed Buffy through the kitchen door, trying not to swagger unduly. They'd done it - he bore an inert form slung inelegantly over his shoulder.
"We found her," Buffy announced; "she's unconscious, but okay."
"Knockout drops worked a treat, love. Quite a strapping girl, too," he said, grunting a little. "Just as well, I s'pose, if she's hooked up with the Great - ."
"Spike!"
"I meant, it'd help resisting the thrall thingy, love," he explained innocently. She gave him a look; replying with a sidelong smirk, he saw her struggle to repress an answering grin, to his delight.
"Bring her in here," Mrs. C said, leading the way to the living room.
Spike carried his burden in and laid the girl gently down on the sofa, setting a pillow behind her head. He could tell her heart and breathing were strong, but vamps weren't equipped to deal with brain trouble - she LOOKED all right. Her head lolled, and her arms fell loosely across her torso. Her face was pale and smudged with dirt, and she didn't show any signs of consciousness, but otherwise she seemed like a perfectly ordinary girl, if a mite disheveled. Riley sprang out of his chair and stumbled across to her, almost knocking the coffee table over in his haste.
'It's her - Sam!" he cried; he fell to his knees, clutching one limp hand in his and pushing the tangled hair off her forehead. "How did you find her? Sam!"
The others stood back in awkward silence; Spike looked away as Riley wept over the girl's still form, trying to ignore the ache in his own chest. He could see that tears stood in Fred's eyes.
"She'll sleep for a little while now," Mrs. C said soothingly. "Then we fix thrall."
"Is she okay? Are you sure she's okay?" Riley asked. "Why doesn't she move?"
The poor git was all wrought-up. "Knocked out, isn't she?" Spike reassured him. "She was getting around alright when we caught up with her."
"Did you hurt her? What did you do?" Riley's face flushed, and he leapt up, fists clenching.
"Riley!" Buffy snapped, with sharp authority, halting him in his tracks.
There was a pause; they heard the back door close again, and what sounded like casual shoptalk from the kitchen.
"Man, that dribbling demon was nasty," Gunn's voice said.
"You've always got to watch for secretions," Angel replied, sounding a bit muffled. "Some of them can - "
"What kept you two, Granddad?" Spike called out. "Slayer and I were back in record time. We win."
"Spike, it wasn't a contest!" Buffy said.
"Hold it - what do you mean, you win?" Angel said from beyond the threshold.
"Girl's right here," Spike said. "Good as new. Well, almost."
Gasps from Fred, Xander, and Buffy met Angel's appearance as he swept through the door, his black coat flapping like raven's wings. The old man did like to make an entrance, Spike reflected, with reluctant admiration. They were probably lucky Mrs. C didn't have a skylight for him to crash through.
In his arms was draped the limp body of a dark haired young woman, her face turned into his shoulder.
"So," Angel said, pausing dramatically. "If that's her, who's this?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"And on thy head I pour the vial
Which doth devote thee to this trial;
Nor to slumber, nor to die,
Shall be in thy destiny;
Though thy death shall still seem near
To thy wish, but as a fear;
Lo! the spell now works around thee,
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
O'er thy heart and brain together
Hath the word been pass'd--now wither!"
Lord Byron, Manfred
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C, and the rest of the demon gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 15 The Clankless Chain
"Isn't there something you want to tell me?"
Spike closed his hands over Buffy's and held her warm little fingers against his chest, head bowed. Waves of emotion had tumbled him today like surf; his feet had been swept from under him, and now his balance was uncertain. She had kissed him tenderly, and whispered that she was afraid he didn't love her, and wept in his arms - had it really happened, or was he dreaming again? But here she was, and here they stood together on the shadowy street, enveloped in the golden cone of lamplight. And she waited for him to tell her - what?
Her vibrant presence flooded his senses; he heard hear heartbeat quicken, felt her breath hot against his cheek, smelled the sweet rich blood swirling through her veins. Now that the moment had come, he couldn't find the words.
"Buffy," he said slowly. He raised his head to look into her deep and glorious eyes, shining with unshed tears. And with something else -
"You know!" he exclaimed.
"Darn it, Spike!" she said, dropping her forehead against his chest, and sliding her arms around his waist. "Why couldn't you tell me yourself? You know I'm not smart enough to figure it out. Dopey Buffy missed every clue."
"Then how - ?"
She looked up, laughing. "Angel told me."
"Pillock!" he growled. His ire was half-hearted, though. Truly, it was a relief; he'd been trying to think of what to say for months now, and hadn't come up with anything remotely convincing. 'Hi, honey, I'm home, and guess what?' No. He felt his shoulders relax, and folded his arms around her. "I specifically asked him - "
"He didn't mean to, it just slipped out."
"Typical!" he snorted. "He never could keep his mouth shut." Not that he really cared what Granddad thought, but... "What did he, uh, say?"
"He told me he knows it sounds stupid, but he's proud of you." She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder, smoothing her hands up and down his back. "It doesn't sound stupid to me; I am, too."
* * * *
"Hey, Mom!" Clem exclaimed. "They're kissing!"
"Clem, don't be nosy. Close curtains."
"They're kissing a LOT," he said, his ears twitching with interest. "Gee whiz! You mean you're not surprised?"
"No." She found the spellbook she was looking for, and drew it carefully from the bookcase. "She didn't like him, she wouldn't be so mad all the time."
"Well, if you say so," he said. He was glad his Sophie wasn't the type of girl to get mad like that, even if she was a human. Give him a peaceful life, that's what he always said (though, now that he thought of it, Spike never said that). At any rate, Spike seemed pretty happy now; he guessed that was what counted.
His mother pursed her lips over the page she read. "Clem, go get cauldron from basement, please; I think we need big potion this time."
"Sure, Mom."
* * * *
Angel heard Xander and Riley puffing behind him, and slowed his pace.
"Suck it up, guys," he said. "We've got a lot to do tonight."
Neither one was in very good shape for a tunnel prowl, which was annoying; and both were still afraid of him, which was even more annoying. Fred and Gunn were neither afraid nor panting - at least from exertion.
Leading the group through the darkened streets of Sunnydale gave Angel a curious feeling, as if he were returning to his childhood home. Everything seemed unaccountably small. He wasn't too familiar with this area, which was made up of row houses and small shops. The neighborhood was neatly kept, and smelled of cool brick and mossy stone, the rusted metal of old bicycles and autos in constant need of repair, and faint, diffuse traces of various types of demon, some acrid and some bitter. He remembered his way around all right, though in his day he'd always tried to avoid Demon Town. Characteristically, Spike felt right at home here; majestic isolation had never been his style. He'd always found some kind of camaraderie, even if it was hunting with Fyarls or, on one memorable occasion, teaching Tuscan were-bears to play craps.
In the old days, Angel had - Angelus had, he reminded himself impatiently - always felt snobbish about consorting with common demons, a prejudice Spike never shared and in fact openly scorned. Once more, Spike had been right; his friends and allies in the demon world were invaluable now. Who cared if they didn't exactly look like ladies and gentlemen?
"This is it," he said, as they turned a corner, "Deuce Lane."
"What nice little brownstones," Fred said. "Everything's so clean!"
"Looks good," Gunn agreed. Angel caught back a biting remark. Those two were so mutually supportive and devoted it got on his nerves, he had to admit it; he wasn't in the mood to coddle little fluffy bunnies. Or wasn't he like the dog in the manger, snapping and snarling to keep others from having what he couldn't enjoy? Romance had turned out to be beyond his grasp, certainly.
He mounted the steps of number 99, and the door opened. A lady demon stood in the entrance, surveying him with calm gravity. He felt strangely intimidated, and that surprised him; he wasn't usually the intimidate-ee. He hesitated, suddenly thrown off his stride.
"Mrs. Caprescu?" he said. "I'm - "
"I know - Angel." She smiled, showing the merest glimpse of fang. Disconcerted, he felt his jaw unclench, and discovered that somehow the steely anger he'd been suppressing for months was loosening its grip on his chest. She stepped back, opening the door wide. "Come in, please; you are all very welcome."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said sincerely.
* * * *
"So it's just humans and us vamps, this trip." Spike leaned on the table, examining the map spread out before them one last time. "This thrall thingy won't work on us, and we haven't got a defense against it yet for the others. We'll split up into two teams. So, Slayer, that's you and me - "
Xander opened his mouth to protest, but Buffy silenced him with a look.
" - And Gunn'll go with Grandpappy here."
"Hey! Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Angel said, predictably earning himself an insolent grin.
"We'll circle round here from different directions - " Spike continued, putting his finger on a point in the southeastern quadrant - "where these two main entrances are, and nose about a bit. If we can't actually rescue the girl, we might still suss out where she goes, and why."
"Sam is smart, and strong," Riley said. "Even without useful intel about us, she'd be valuable to any organization."
"Yeah, except for the brain-frying thing," Xander mused. Then, when everyone looked at him, he said, "What? Oh. Sorry. But it's what everyone was thinking, right?"
"You know, it's amazing how much you haven't changed," Angel said.
"Well, right back-at-ya, Mr. Swooshy Coat," Xander muttered.
Buffy felt her pulses humming with eagerness to be off. Looking for signs of Sam might seem like searching for one particular needle in a pine forest, but the likelihood of a demon or half-demon looking just like a tall, pretty, dark haired human girl were remote. If they found one, it would probably be Sam.
And once they found her, she admitted to herself, Riley would hopefully go away, and she and Spike would have some time to get re-acquainted. If she could get Xander out of her hair, too. Snatching the occasional odd minute for a kiss wasn't exactly, well, satisfying. She wasn't planning to share this motive with the others, but still, it counted for something.
It was a sign of how much she'd already come to trust Mrs. Caprescu that she considered consulting her about Xander, because she was beginning to wonder if something was seriously wrong with him. He must be over his hangover by now, but he still appeared pale and shaken, and unnaturally silent, for him. And several times she saw him looking at her with an expression in his eyes almost like fear.
"Here is potion," Mrs. Caprescu said, handing a small, brown apothecary bottle to Spike and another to Angel. "For sleep. Use just a drop and you can bring her back; she won't be frightened. Then we can fix thrall." She looked kindly at Riley, who met her ruby eyes with a hangdog expression Buffy found painful to witness. "Don't worry; soon she'll be free."
* * * *
If there was one thing Angel was expert at after all these years, it was gliding noiselessly through unlit tunnels. Somewhat to his surprise, he remembered his way around perfectly, even without the help of Spike's excellent map, and he knew just which paths would bring them toward the suspected location of the Doctor's lair. Gunn, too, despite his size and, well, human-ness, was adept at stealth, and followed him in silence. There was no one he'd rather trust to watch his back - except perhaps Spike, now. Without discussion, they kept their eyes open for scouts and guards, as well as for human-looking young women. They both knew the question wasn't whether or not they would meet an attack - the question was, when?
* * * *
The route they'd chosen, circling in the opposite direction from Angel and Gunn, was dimly lit, but by keeping Spike's pale head in view, Buffy followed him without difficulty. His movements through the narrow, low-ceilinged passages were swift and utterly soundless, as far as she could tell. They had hunted together before, but then it had always involved noisy pursuit and vigorous bashing of their quarry, which was enjoyable enough in itself. But she'd forgotten just how keen a predator he was. It was - well, she had to confess, it was exciting. Beasties beware, she thought; the Big Bad is out tonight. Except he's sort of... good.
* * * *
Left behind to baby-sit Riley while Fred enjoyed a nice talk with their hostess, Xander could hardly do anything but stare. His charge sat slumped in an armchair, leafing unseeingly through a copy of Family Circle. He looked awful, his cheeks stubbled and his olive drab garments crumpled. Was this the same super-cool secret agent guy he'd seen last spring? Xander could hardly believe it.
"So what's your organization called?" he said at last. "I'm guessing it's not anything with 'U.S.' in the title."
Riley looked at him without emotion. "You don't want to know that," he said. Xander felt a chill on the back of his neck. "You really don't."
* * * *
Fred had been given the grand tour, including the display of family pictures featuring the late Mr. Caprescu, the shawled and bowler-hatted ancestors in Romania, and Clem as an amazingly wrinkled (but adorable) infant; now she and her hostess sat at the kitchen table drinking tea. Xander stayed with Riley in the living room, and, figuring that everyone liked root beer and corn chips, Clem had taken some food down to Grak.
"It's not like I'm worried," Fred said. "Charles has been fighting demons - I mean, you know, evil demons - since he was a child, almost. It's just that we usually go together."
"Being apart means you see each other better when you're together again, sometimes," Mrs. Caprescu said.
"That's so true! And you know, I miss him when he's out of my sight for a minute!" Fred exclaimed, her color heightened. "I know that sounds SO sugary and sappy, but I - I was all alone, completely alone, for such a long, long time, and I never thought I'd have anybody, ever. Then one day I looked in his eyes - and there he was. It was just like a miracle."
"For young girl, falling in love IS miracle," Mrs. C said. Fred beamed, blushed again, and opened her mouth to speak.
But before she could say anything, there came sudden sounds of commotion at the back door.
* * * *
Spike followed Buffy through the kitchen door, trying not to swagger unduly. They'd done it - he bore an inert form slung inelegantly over his shoulder.
"We found her," Buffy announced; "she's unconscious, but okay."
"Knockout drops worked a treat, love. Quite a strapping girl, too," he said, grunting a little. "Just as well, I s'pose, if she's hooked up with the Great - ."
"Spike!"
"I meant, it'd help resisting the thrall thingy, love," he explained innocently. She gave him a look; replying with a sidelong smirk, he saw her struggle to repress an answering grin, to his delight.
"Bring her in here," Mrs. C said, leading the way to the living room.
Spike carried his burden in and laid the girl gently down on the sofa, setting a pillow behind her head. He could tell her heart and breathing were strong, but vamps weren't equipped to deal with brain trouble - she LOOKED all right. Her head lolled, and her arms fell loosely across her torso. Her face was pale and smudged with dirt, and she didn't show any signs of consciousness, but otherwise she seemed like a perfectly ordinary girl, if a mite disheveled. Riley sprang out of his chair and stumbled across to her, almost knocking the coffee table over in his haste.
'It's her - Sam!" he cried; he fell to his knees, clutching one limp hand in his and pushing the tangled hair off her forehead. "How did you find her? Sam!"
The others stood back in awkward silence; Spike looked away as Riley wept over the girl's still form, trying to ignore the ache in his own chest. He could see that tears stood in Fred's eyes.
"She'll sleep for a little while now," Mrs. C said soothingly. "Then we fix thrall."
"Is she okay? Are you sure she's okay?" Riley asked. "Why doesn't she move?"
The poor git was all wrought-up. "Knocked out, isn't she?" Spike reassured him. "She was getting around alright when we caught up with her."
"Did you hurt her? What did you do?" Riley's face flushed, and he leapt up, fists clenching.
"Riley!" Buffy snapped, with sharp authority, halting him in his tracks.
There was a pause; they heard the back door close again, and what sounded like casual shoptalk from the kitchen.
"Man, that dribbling demon was nasty," Gunn's voice said.
"You've always got to watch for secretions," Angel replied, sounding a bit muffled. "Some of them can - "
"What kept you two, Granddad?" Spike called out. "Slayer and I were back in record time. We win."
"Spike, it wasn't a contest!" Buffy said.
"Hold it - what do you mean, you win?" Angel said from beyond the threshold.
"Girl's right here," Spike said. "Good as new. Well, almost."
Gasps from Fred, Xander, and Buffy met Angel's appearance as he swept through the door, his black coat flapping like raven's wings. The old man did like to make an entrance, Spike reflected, with reluctant admiration. They were probably lucky Mrs. C didn't have a skylight for him to crash through.
In his arms was draped the limp body of a dark haired young woman, her face turned into his shoulder.
"So," Angel said, pausing dramatically. "If that's her, who's this?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"And on thy head I pour the vial
Which doth devote thee to this trial;
Nor to slumber, nor to die,
Shall be in thy destiny;
Though thy death shall still seem near
To thy wish, but as a fear;
Lo! the spell now works around thee,
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
O'er thy heart and brain together
Hath the word been pass'd--now wither!"
Lord Byron, Manfred